Perfect Redemption

Twenty Two: In Which He Deserves A Shot At Redemption

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[ J A X ' S P O V ]

The second we're home, neither of us can keep our hands off each other.

I've been fiddling with the damn doorknob for five whole minutes because I've been too distracted with Blaire. That and I find my hands unable to leave Blaire's body. They're everywhere—sliding down her face, roaming down her body, sneaking under her shirt, dancing over her skin. I can't seem to keep them still, nor do I want to.    

    My lips also already have a mind of its own, stealing as many kisses as I can get from her. I'm obsessed with her lips—I'm pretty sure there's fucking narcotics on them because I literally get high off kissing her. She tastes of flavors that I've never tasted before—of heaven; of sanctuary; of home.

    Damn. Home. It's been a while since I have one.

    I trap her against the door, one of my hands buried in her hair, pulling her to me. Even though we're so close, I desperately try to close the almost non-existent distance between us. Tongues entwining, lips moving, bodies trembling—it's something that I highly doubt I will never get bored off with her.

I need her. All of her. Now.

    She presses her hips against mine, her hands clenching my butt so the friction between our bodies become unbearable. Fuuuuck. I'm half tempted to take her, right here, right now, against the front door, while the cars whizz by. My need for her knows no fucking bounds.

    "Jackson," she breathes against my lips. "Open the fucking door already."

    "I can't," I groan. "You're too distracting."

    Blaire chuckles, then grabs the keys dangling on my right hand, and when I try to protest, she places a hand on my chest to stop me. She turns away from me, sliding the key into place and unlocking the door. She kicks the door open and then reverts her attention back to me, thrusting the keys back to me.

    "There," she whispers. "Now, please, can we continue?"

    "Okay." I nod.

    She grabs a fistful of my shirt and crashes our lips together again. She jumps so she can wound her legs around my hips and I take that as an opportunity to take her wherever I want us to go. With my hands cupping her butt, I walk her over to the living room, where there's a sofa waiting to be fucked on.

    I walk the both of us over there and lay her down gently on the sofa. She pulls me down with her, her arms slung over my neck. Our bodies mold together, our legs entangled, our lips never once parting from each other.

    A thought hits me and I break apart from her briefly. "Wait," I say.

    She looks at me with irritation. "What?"

    "Did Belle reach home safely?" I ask her, suddenly worried.

    She widens her eyes at the abruptness of my question. "You're asking me this now? While we're making out?"

    "I feel like I'm stealing you away from her. I feel guilty," I sieve my fingers through her hair and pout.

    "She's fine," Blaire murmurs, then continues to press sweet kisses down my jaw. But I'm not really into it. I frown, knowing that I can't fuck her unless I get all my questions out of me.

    "Wait," I say again.

    She pauses. "What now, Jackson?"

    "Ben took her home right? I mean—she didn't walk home alone, right?"