Page 84 of Heartscape
“I’m not.” Jax finds his own punctuation in rough kisses and snatched breaths. “Humans don’t appreciate the stuff that comes easily.”
“True story. I’m pretty pumped Jerry decided not to open Black Claw after all. Humans wreck everything.”
Jax hums vaguely enough that I can’t tell if he agrees or not, but it doesn’t matter. We don’t have to agree on everything. Life would be boring if we did. And trust me, life with Jax isn’t boring, whether we’re up here doing his job in the great outdoors, or huddled in my apartment above V and V. It works because we want it to.
I kiss Jax again, taking control of what he started, and rolling him over on the blanket I laid out while he was messing with the tent we’ll sleep in later. It’s summer, so he’s wearing cargo shorts. The sun has lightened his hair enough that he really does look like the surfer dude he once was, and it’s longer now too. Wavier. I grip the golden strands as I plunder his mouth, then I groan as he takes advantage of my distraction to unbutton my shorts.
He has calloused hands from his time in the Vermont wilderness. They feel amazing on my dick, and it doesn’t take me long to strip us both of the rest of our clothes. We brought lube, obviously. We don’t camp without it.
I dig it out of my discarded shorts and pop the cap. Jax doesn’t ask where I plan to put it, and I don’t ask him what he wants. Being happily versatile works for us, but I can’t deny there’s something special about fucking him up here. It’s the other benefit of Black Claw staying closed to the public—we can fool around out in the open without worrying about being caught. The spot we’ve picked only has one approach route, and I can see it clearly every time I glance up, which admittedly isn’t as often as I should. With Jax naked beneath me, tearing my gaze from him is impossible.
I fuck him slowly, rocking into him with deep, steady thrusts that make his eyes roll. I’m on my knees, body curved around him, and his legs are bent to his chest, one knee hooked over my shoulder. There isn’t an inch between us, and no sound in the air that isn’t completely fucking natural. No bar patrons or friendly bosses calling our names. Just him, me, and the squirrels who are totally watching us fuck.
Jax shudders through his orgasm. I screw him a little harder, pumping my hips, chasing the ultimate pleasure that’s twisting his handsome face. It’s not far from my grasp. Sensation overwhelms me. I bury my face in Jax’s cut chest and come with a deep groan.
After, we lie together, panting and sweating, and then drowsing as we look out over the land and run lazy hands over each other. Jax tells me Molly’s asshole ex-boyfriend has moved to Seattle, which still isn’t far enough in my opinion, after a douchebag lawyer got the charges against him dropped. I tell him Eve’s friend Rumi still wants to paint us, and he wants us to be naked.
Jax laughs, and it really is as magical as the fucking sun. “I’ll do it if you will.”
“For real?”
“Sure. I mean, it’s finger painting, right? How the hell is he gonna capture fucking teeth marks with his pinky? Or all your ink? How bad could it be?”
I snort, and then shiver as he runs a finger down the jagged scar on my wrist. It’s pretty tidy compared to the scars Jax has, and mostly hidden by ink, but some days it seems starker than others.
Today I’ve forgotten it’s there. I’m as Zen as I ever feel, and even Jax talking about his finalized divorce doesn’t piss me off. “It never bothered me that you were still married, but I’m glad you’re not anymore.”
“I was never sure you even knew until after her lawyers found me. You never asked.”
“It didn’t matter to me. Only bad feelings I have about it is that it made you feel so shitty about yourself.”
“It’s over now.”
“I know.” And it’s true in more ways than one. The pain Jax has endured to get to this point is more subtle than mine, but he’s a different man than the one I found on his ass last winter. He’s sharper, stronger, and has no problem telling me or anyone else exactly what he wants. Choices no longer faze him. And he’s not scared of being happy. Neither of us are.
We talk about Gabi’s new job with a local PI agency, and how hilarious it is that he’s still living with Eve at her yoga commune. We talk about the poker game I play with Jerry on Monday nights. Then we fall silent. My heart is still banging against my ribcage, but it’s no longer anxiety making my pulse jump. It’s Jax’s arms around me, his head on my shoulder, and his soft breaths in my ear. It’s the box he still keeps behind the couch in my apartment, and his hand in mine when he sits outside my therapist’s office with me.
It’s everything we never knew we needed.
It’s Jax.
It’s me.
It’s the heartscape we’ll leave behind when we’re gone.
T H E
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