I chuckle, nodding. “You kept staring at my butt. I thought I was getting a wedgie or something.”
Jackson shakes his head, his hand stroking down my back to rest on my hip, just on the upper curve of my butt. “Not quite.”
I reach my own hand down, fully cupping his ass.
Jackson leans forward, and we kiss, not like in the limo where I was giving him seductive kisses that never touched his lips but real, tender, and heartfelt ones. His lips caress mine, our tongues reaching out, probing each other, as I taste the wonderful, sexy man in front of me.
I moan when his hand comes down and grabs my ass, his strong hand kneading the flesh and muscle. I've always favored my ass over the rest of my body, and Jackson somehow knows, pulling me on top of him and grabbing with both hands as I laugh. “Mmm... you're more aggressive than I thought you'd be after I nearly broke your arm.”
“I like to live dangerously,” he teases. “Or at least, you inspire me to.”
We kiss and grind against each other, Jackson slipping his hands inside the waistband of my pants and grabbing the naked skin underneath. I'm hot, so hot I can't believe it, it's never felt this good before. Even when Carla taught me the Touches, it was never with this feeling inside my chest, never this dam that threatens to explode and consume me with what's held behind it.
I sit up, groaning when my hips straddle Jackson's and I feel his cock pushing up at his pants, my pussy aching for it to fill me. Still, I reach down and begin unbuttoning his shirt, easing the cloth to the side with each button, exposing his perfect chest and stomach. Every muscle is defined, his skin slightly tanned and hairless, not at all like my pale skin that barely sees the light of day most of the time. His nearly white hair and blue eyes gleam in the light of the candle, and as my hand goes over his heart, he lets go of my hips to cover his hand. We don't say anything, just look at each other. There's no need for words, not right now.
I finish unbuttoning his shirt and Jackson sits up, shrugging out of it before wrapping his arms around me in an embrace, the passion creeping out. We're hungry, devouring each other, pushing clumsily at the pants keeping us from what we need. Somehow we roll as we strip, until I'm underneath Jackson, his cock probing at the entrance to my pussy, his eyes sparkling as he looks into my eyes. “How do you feel about me?”
“I loved you then,” I tell Jackson, and he pauses, tears in his eyes.
“I love you now,” he replies, pushing in. He's perfect, filling me the way that no partner has ever done before. He slides in and out, my body lighting up, his cock giving me sensations I've never felt before. He's just on the edge of being rough, a little but not too much, driving his cock into me over and over, his mouth kissing me hard, almost bruising. I claw at his back as pleasure explodes over and over in my body, battering at the walls around my heart, electricity tingling along every inch of my skin. Jackson's powerful but tender, rough but gentle, and I'm washed away, giving in to him and submitting to my every desire.
I open up to him, and in that instant, I see it all. I see a future I've never imagined before, of happiness, of growing old next to him, of children running in a park, of snowcapped mountains and high lakes. I see...
It's all washed away as Jackson's cock drives in again and again, pushing me toward the edge. I can feel him trembling, holding back to take care of me, and I kiss him, as tenderly as I can with the way my body is being hammered higher and higher. “Jackson... I'm... I'm...”
I can't say anymore as he pushes me over the edge, and whiteness fills my heart and my mind, driving away the darkness that has been ever present for the past decade. His heart, his love obliterates it, banishing it away, and as my orgasm fills me with light, I feel him shudder and fill me again, his cock exploding deep inside me.
“I'll always love you,” Jackson whispers as he gathers me. “There is nothing we should be quite so grateful for as the last line of the poem that goes, 'When your own heart asks.'”
“When you own heart asks...” I repeat, the quote from Hagakure echoing in my thoughts as I come back to reality. My body aches, unfulfilled desire aching in my loins and my nipples tight in my sports bra. I sit up, shaking my head again. A fantasy lover, never to be found in the real world. And what's this bullshit about a future? About love? My life is going to be measured in terms of days and hours once I unleash the next broadside against Peter DeLaCoeur.