Chapter 4: Unveiled Desires
1085 Words
Elizabeth's POV
The city lights reflected on the windows, but I barely noticed them anymore. For the first time in hours, or maybe years, I felt the world shrink to just the both of us on the edge of the bed, wrapped in the quiet aftermath of truths finally spoken.
His confession about Pearl lingered in my mind bitterly. She’d blackmailed him, forced him. And all this time, I’d thought I was the shadow, the one who faded into the background while she shone.
The realization still stung, but it was a different kind of sting now. One that carried relief instead of shame. He hadn’t chosen her, he’d endured her. And somehow, through all of it, he’d still seen me.
My thoughts drifted to his uncle, and I pressed my lips tightly together as I pondered on it. I can't divorce Jackson, and I can't break the deal with Mr Bronx either. What the hell should I do?
After a while of thought, an idea suddenly popped into my head, brightening up my face instantly. But then again, I couldn't help but to wonder how effective that would be.
I shifted slightly, lifting my head from Jackson's shoulder to meet his gaze. Those gray eyes held mine without wavering, steady as stone and twice as warm.
“You really meant it,” I whispered. “About wanting me first.”
Jackson nodded, brushing my cheekbone again with his thumb. The touch was so light it almost tickled, yet it sent sparks shooting down my spine.
I’d spent so long pretending not to want this kind of closeness. But now, faced with it, I didn’t know where to put my hands or my thoughts.
“Every word.” Jackson replied, and a shiver ran through me, not from cold but from the heat building up within me.
He studied me for a long moment, the pad of his thumb still tracing circles along my cheek. Then his expression softened.
“I’m going to take a shower,” he said quietly. “You should too. To calm our nerves, perhaps."
The suggestion was so ordinary, that it almost felt obscene after everything we’d just confessed.
A shower. Something people did every day without a second thought. Yet the thought of being naked together made my pulse stutter and then race.
I swallowed hard. “Okay.”
Jackson gave me a reassuring smile and stood up, offering me his hand. I let him pull me up, but my legs felt unsteady, like they’d forgotten how gravity worked in the space of one heartbeat to the next.
My palm was clammy against his; I hoped he didn’t notice.
Jackson and I moved toward the ensuite bathroom in silence, his fingers still loosely entwined with mine.
The closer we got, the louder my thoughts became. Halfway across the room my mind suddenly lurched as something slipped into my mind.
I froze on the spot as the realization slammed into me, my hand slipping from his as though my fingers had gone numb.
I’d never been with a man before. Not once, not even close. What if—God, what if being this close together, made him… react?
What if he got hard? What if the simple act of standing under running water beside him turned into something else entirely?
My heart sank, and I bit the inside of my lip bitterly as I continued to ponder on it.
What was wrong with me? Why did the thought fill me with equal parts of longing and terror? I wanted him, had wanted him for longer than I cared to admit. But wanting and doing were separated by a line I’d never crossed.
I felt painfully unprepared, like I’d skipped an entire chapter of life everyone else seemed to know by heart. What if I didn’t respond the way he expected? What if my nerves ruined everything?
Would he be disappointed? Would patience eventually turn into frustration?
The thought terrified me, not because I feared judgment, but because I didn’t want this moment to become another thing I regretted.
I pictured the water sliding over his shoulders, tracing the lines of muscle I’d only glimpsed through shirts and jackets. I imagined the moment he might glance over, catch me staring, and smile that crooked smile of his that always made my knees feel unreliable.
And then what? My breath ceased for a moment, and my heart trembled as I began to think deeper than I should.
Suddenly, Jackson stopped and turned toward me, then drew his brows together as he saw my face.
“Hey.” He called out. “Come on… or don’t you want to join me?”
My cheeks burned instantly as I looked up at him. I saw nothing in his expression, other than patience, and curiosity.
I opened my mouth to say, "No, I can’t. I’m not ready. I’ve never—"
But then I imagined how his face might change. How the warmth in those gray eyes might dim, how the faint lines at the corners might deepen with hurt he’d try to conceal.
I pictured him stepping back, giving me space I hadn’t asked for, assuming he’d pushed too far. Or worse, that I didn’t want him after everything he’d just confessed. Could I bear to make him feel rejected now?
The thought hurt more than the fear. I pressed my lips together, took one shaky breath, then another. My fingers flexed at my sides as though searching for something solid to hold.
“I do,” I whispered. “I want to.”
His gaze searched mine for a few seconds, and I couldn't help but wonder if he could see every panicked thought flashing behind my eyes.
Then he nodded once like he understood far more than I’d actually said.
“Okay.”
He didn’t pull me this time. He didn’t reach for my hand again. He simply waited until I took the last two steps myself.
When I reached him he brushed the backs of his knuckles down my arm, before turning toward the bathroom door. I followed without another word.
Jackson stepped inside first, then glanced back at me over his shoulder, probably waiting again.
My pulse thundered in my ears. I could feel it in my fingertips, in the hollow of my throat.
I crossed the line, and closed my eyes slowly as I heard the door clicking shut behind us.
"Shall we?" Jackson blurted with a hoarse voice.
- Writer
