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“Filthy.” He winks at me. “I’m filthy, Francesca.” And Jesus, just hearing him say those words in that tone, has me wet.
He smirks. God, that dimple. “Filthy dirty is my expertise. I’d be more than happy to demonstrate my kink for you, maybe while my hips are pressed against yours, and I’ve got you pushed up against the wall with my hand wrapped loosely around your throat.” Jesus, he always wins. I bet Jackson gives awesome dirty talk in the bedroom, if he’s got me feeling like this over breakfast.
“I want you, Jackson. I always have. And however that has to look, for however long, I’ll take it.”
“I have a ton of regrets. But what I have right now? At this moment? If all that shit got me to here with you, I’d do it all over again. Because having you right here with me? It’s everything, Chess. It’s everything.”
Everyone gets a little lost, but if you leave the light on, we can all find our way home.
“Hold onto the headboard, baby girl. This is going to be hard.”
