Chapter 121
Ellie's POV
I stood in the doorway of my childhood bedroom, watching Jackson carefully arrange blankets on the floor. He'd insisted on showering first, emerging from the bathroom in a perfectly proper set of pajamas—dark blue flannel pants and a matching long-sleeved shirt—his hair still damp and curling slightly at the ends. Now he sat on his makeshift bed with deliberate formality, spine straight, hands resting on his knees, phone screen casting a pale glow on his face.
The distance between us felt both careful and fragile.
I could feel his struggle—the constant push and pull between instinct and intention. Orion was there, just beneath the surface, a low growl of want that Jackson was working hard to suppress.
Our mate, Thalia murmured in my mind, contentment radiating through every syllable. So close. So right.
I grabbed my pajamas—a conservative set with long sleeves and pants—and headed for the bathroom. "I'll just... be quick," I said, my voice embarrassingly breathless.
Jackson looked up, and for a moment, those warm brown eyes met mine with an intensity that made my heart skip. Then he smiled, soft and reassuring. "Take your time, Ellie. I'm not going anywhere."
The bathroom still smelled like his soap—something woodsy and clean that made Thalia practically purr. I showered quickly, trying not to think about how Jackson had stood in this exact same spot just minutes ago, water running down his—
Stop it, I told myself firmly, turning the water temperature down a few degrees.
When I emerged, towel-dried hair falling around my shoulders, Jackson was still sitting in the same position, though his grip on his phone had tightened. His eyes flickered to me and away, then back again, as if he couldn't quite help himself.
"Everything okay?" I asked, settling at my vanity to start my skincare routine.
"Perfect," he said, but his voice was slightly strained.
I opened the top drawer of my vanity, reaching for my moisturizer. My fingers brushed against an unfamiliar small box tucked in the corner. Frowning, I pulled it out, squinting at the packaging in the dim light.
Then my eyes focused.
Oh my God.
"AHHH!" The screech escaped before I could stop it. My hand jerked, and the box went flying across the room in a perfect arc—
—landing directly on Jackson's lap.
He blinked down at it. Picked it up. For one blessed second, his expression was completely blank.
Then understanding dawned, and his lips twitched. The corners of his mouth lifted in a rueful, almost amused smile that somehow made my mortification worse.
"Well," he said slowly, holding up the box of condoms like he was examining a particularly interesting artifact, "it seems your parents are... thorough in their preparations."
My face was literally on fire. I could feel the heat radiating from my cheeks, spreading down my neck. "I didn't—I had no idea—"
"Ellie." His voice was gentle, but I could hear the laughter underneath. "It's okay."
"It is absolutely not okay!" I buried my face in my hands. "My parents just basically gave us their blessing to—to—"
"To be responsible if we chose to take that step?" Jackson finished diplomatically. Through the bond, I felt his amusement mixing with something warmer, something that made my stomach flip. "It's actually pretty... progressive of them."
I peeked through my fingers. He was still sitting on the floor, the box resting in his palm, looking at me with such tenderness that my embarrassment began to shift into something else entirely.
"You're not... weirded out?" I asked.
"By your parents acknowledging that we're adults who might make adult decisions?" He set the box carefully on the nightstand—not throwing it away, I noticed, my pulse quickening. "No. If anything, it shows they trust us to be smart about things."
Smart about things. The phrase hung in the air between us, loaded with implications that made Thalia stir restlessly.
"Come here," Jackson said softly, his eyes moving to my damp hair. "Let me help you dry your hair."
I hesitated, one hand instinctively touching the wet strands. "You don't have to—"
"I know." His voice was gentle. "But I want to. Please?"
Something in his tone—the quiet request, the need to take care of me—made it impossible to refuse. I grabbed my hairdryer from the vanity drawer and moved to sit on the edge of the floor pallet. Jackson shifted to kneel behind me, his presence warm and solid at my back.
"This okay?" he asked, and I could feel his breath against the back of my neck, raising goosebumps.
"Yeah," I managed. "It's okay."
The hairdryer hummed to life, and Jackson's free hand came up to gently card through my hair, separating the strands. His fingers were careful, patient, working through the tangles with a tenderness that made my chest tight.
He sectioned my hair methodically, the warm air flowing over one portion while his fingers supported and guided. Every so often, his knuckles would brush against my scalp, sending pleasant shivers down my spine. I could sense his concentration in the deliberate way he moved—and underneath it, the slight tremor in his fingers, the careful control in every touch.
"You're good at this," I said, my voice slightly breathless.
His thumb swept along the curve of my ear as he tucked a dried section of hair back, and I couldn't suppress the small shiver that ran through me. His hand stilled for just a moment, his breathing changing—becoming deeper, more measured.
"Sorry," I whispered. "That just—it felt—"
"I know." His voice was lower now, rougher. The hairdryer moved to another section, but his other hand lingered at my temple, fingers trembling slightly against my skin. "Trust me, I know."
The air between us felt charged, heavy with unspoken awareness. Every place his fingers touched seemed to burn, leaving trails of warmth across my scalp, behind my ears, along my neck.
Jackson's fingers worked through the last section of damp hair, his movements slowing, becoming almost meditative. The hairdryer's warmth felt like a caress, and his touch—God, his touch was everywhere and nowhere near enough all at once.
"There," he murmured finally, turning off the hairdryer. But he didn't pull away. Instead, his fingers continued their gentle path through my now-dry hair, smoothing it down, tucking it behind my ears with infinite care.
I felt the exact moment something shifted—his fingers pausing at the nape of my neck, his thumb brushing along my hairline in a way that was definitely not just about drying hair anymore. His breath came faster, warming the side of my neck.
I could practically feel the battle raging inside him—the want versus the restraint, instinct versus intention. His hand trembled against my skin, and I knew Orion was right there, pushing, demanding.
His thumb brushed along my jaw, and I couldn't suppress the small shiver that ran through me.
More, Thalia whispered. Need more.
We were so close. Close enough that I could count the darker flecks in his brown eyes, could feel his breath ghosting across my lips.