I lean forward and kiss him on his soft lips. Six months have passed since Jackson won his fight. Once it was over, Amelia came through with the money—like she claimed she would—and we never heard from her again. I can’t complain, but I must admit that there’s a small part of me that wants to know what happened between Cedric and Connor. Did she leave Cedric? Was there something truly there with Connor or was she stringing him along for the fun of it too? Jackson doesn’t care. He got what he wanted, the rest is history.
Shifting his weight, Jackson comes closer, his lips pressing harder against mine. These islands work like an aphrodisiac. I swear there’s something in the water, or in the sand. Out here, if I so much as breach Jackson’s personal space, it lights him up like a Christmas tree.
The hand that massages my torso slips south, over my hips, and onto my ass. Quickly, the kiss turns from gentle to desperate, and the curious hand on my ass becomes confident as it shoots my back and toys with the strings to my bikini.
In the next heartbeat, I feel my heavy breasts slip from underneath the loose fabric and I break the kiss.
“Don’t we have dinner plans?” I ask, gripping my bikini and pulling it over my head.
“We’ve got time to spare.”
I smirk. “That’s what you said at lunch and we never made it.”
I push myself to my feet as Jackson groans in protest, grabbing at my wet hips and sliding off. “Where are you going?”
“For a swim.”
I stroll into the water until the torches can’t light my body, and my belly button is submerged. Turning, I lock my stare with Jackson’s and bend low. My firm nipples dip into the water as I push my bottoms down my legs and pull them off my feet. Jackson pushes himself into a seated position and watches, closely, as I scrunch my bottoms into a ball and throw them onto the sand at his feet. Scooping them up, he smirks at me before he tosses them over his shoulder and stands up. I watch, smiling like an idiot, as he unties his shorts and shoves them down his legs, allowing all of his beautiful glory to spring free.
It’s what I like most about him. He’s never afraid of being seen, and it thrills me to no end because I also don’t mind being seen. A stranger could walk past right now and I couldn’t care less if they saw my naked breasts.
I glance over the tattoo on Jackson’s thigh as he approaches. He had it redone a while ago—when I was in hospital. Although the spiders were hauntingly beautiful in a sad kind of way, the roses he had done over the top—just for me—are infinitely more beautiful.
Jackson descends into the water. It swishes gently with every step he takes, covering his strong calves and outrageously muscular thighs. I expect him to hesitate as the water draws closer to the apex of his legs, but he pushes through until the water submerges his cock completely and stops at his delicious “v” lines.
I open my mouth to speak, but my throat is dry. I’ve seen Jackson naked more times than I can count on the hands of everyone I know, but I’ve never seen him in this light. Never half in the water, half out. Never with the raging flame of a bamboo torch behind him that can barely reach to cast its glow upon us. It’s like I’m seeing him for the first time.
And I realize how small I am compared to him. How weak I am compared to him.
Jackson takes a final step and it puts him in the same groove my feet are in.
“I like your hair like this,” he utters, pinching a lock off my chest.
Instinctively, I reach up and touch it. It’s lighter now than it was six months ago, thanks to the sun, and it’s dry and covered in sand, but it feels amazing. I take the lock of hair Jackson admires and I inspect it. When was the last time I had a trim?
I’m yanked from my thoughts at the feel of his rough thumbs as he grazes the side swell of my breasts, forcing my nipples to their maximum point. I glance up at him and the way his familiar eyes smolder with lust and desperation traps me. Dropping my hair, I inch closer. He moves his hands, an invitation for me to slide my breasts right into his palms. I do, and in his hands, I feel so full.
“Perfect,” he mutters to himself in a voice that is incredibly low and deliciously rough.
I reach up and touch his biceps. They’re as firm as rocks underneath his skin.
“Perfect,” I say, muttering it in the same tone he did, which makes him smile.
With a growl deep in his chest, Jackson pulls me out of the water and into his body. Laughing, I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck. Even in the dim lighting, I see the familiar fire in his eyes. I hold myself up as he drags his open palm along the back of my thighs and onto my ass. I consider glancing over his shoulder to see if anyone is watching us, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I’d sooner let the fire in his eyes consume me.
“Selena?”
Jackson’s hands tighten on my ass, squeezing hard. Exhaling, I peer over Jackson’s shoulder and back at the shore. As Olivia stands there with Seth at her side, her hands cupped awkwardly over her mouth, all I can think about is if the water completely covers Jackson’s ass or not.
“You have to get ready,” she calls out.
I hear a subtle laugh as Seth chimes in with a, “You’ll have nothing left for tonight if you keep going at this rate.”
They have a point, of course. This is the fourth and final island we’ve visited. For five months, all we’ve done is sunbathe, swim, eat, sleep, and have sex. Tonight, if we can bring ourselves to leave the water, we’ll finally tie the knot and he’ll be stuck with me forever. In three days, we set off on our honeymoon across Europe. All of our destinations are known by Jackson, but not by me, and I’ve never been so excited!
“We’re coming back here right after the ceremony,” Jackson states, kissing my neck.
I watch as Seth and Olivia turn and leave our bay, walking the wooden path back to the cabins on the other side of the monstrous cliff.
I sigh and close my eyes, tipping my head to the side. “I’ll be counting down the seconds.”
Maybe there’s nothing in the water or in the sand that makes him want me the way he does. Our whole relationship I’ve undermined my value by comparing myself to him and to his previous lovers. Regularly, I’d convince myself that he’d put me on a lower shelf when, in reality, he put me on the highest shelf he can reach. He loves me more than he’s ever loved anyone. How can I ever argue with that?
The sunset we just watched is the last sunset I’ll enjoy as Selena Graham. Tomorrow, I greet the sun as Mrs. Selena Quinn…
…the one and only.
Jackson
A few years ago, I would have sworn back and blue that marriage was not for me. It was out of fear, the fear of trapping myself in a relationship with someone like Amelia, who sought only to destroy what was left of me. I judged every female I ever met as if they were wearing a mask, and what I saw on the outside wasn’t who they truly were deep down. I imagined them dead on the inside, a soulless being with nothing better to do than suck the life out of a man who only wanted their love.
Early in our relationship, and for the longest time, I painted Selena in the same light as the girl before her. I compared everything she did and said. As a result, I kept Selena at arm’s length, treating her like she was nothing more than a conquest. A convenient lay. It was easy to believe for a while. Selena never once tried to convince me otherwise. Instead, she let me use her, and it wasn’t until I could feel her under my skin even when she wasn’t with me that I started opening up to the idea of keeping her all to myself. Of course, my heart rejected the notion. It wanted nothing to do with love ever again, so I acted out irrationally, hurting Selena in every way I could just to get her to leave me, but when she tried to let me go, I couldn’t handle it. I forced myself into her life, not allowing her to move on without me.
Because I needed her more than I thought I did.
When Amelia waltzed back into my life, I was mortified…and somewhat relieved. I’d always imagined the moment Amelia would come back to me. The sight
of her face would suck all my anxiety away, I wouldn’t be so angry anymore, and I’d no longer be lost. However, the moment our stares locked for the first time in years, I’d never felt so sick. I’d come such a long way, and I didn’t even realize it. I probably wouldn’t have realized it if I didn’t have Selena. In that moment of staring down my old love, I noticed immediately that she didn’t have the power to dispel my anxiety, my anger, or my hate. It only brewed the longer I looked at her…
…and the second I was with Selena again, the anxiety melted away.
Because she was my new love. She held all of the power.
The more time I spend with Selena, the less I find myself clutching to old devices. I no longer find myself itching to fight or drink, and I’m happy with the love making and the sensuality of it.
Over the past six months, I have changed. Breaking the personality that I had cultivated to protect myself from another Amelia will take me a long time to achieve, and I know I’ll struggle, but I have Selena, and I have Seth, Darryl, and Olivia.
I’ll never be perfect. There will always be parts of me that’ll remain a little bent out of shape, but as I stand here at this beautiful beach altar with Selena’s hands in mine, I can only promise to never let them get the best of me or allow them to damage what we have.
I’ve dragged her through a lot to get where we are. Six months ago, Selena was treated for her non-viable pregnancy—which we still have six more monthly blood tests to do before we can even think about having unprotected sex—and I won my fight against a very strange Connor Cage. After that night, we never saw Amelia again. It helps that I changed my number so I never have to hear that sinister purr of hers come down my line.
Ever.
Does she deserve redemption? Does she deserve a happily ever after? I’m not so sure. I don’t care about her story and I don’t care what happens to her. There is no room in my new life for her and there never will be.
The last thing I needed to get our new life on track was the blessing of Selena’s father…
…I never got it.
I spoke with him face to face before we left for the first leg of our travels. I told him the date and the time, and I even offered to pay for his flights and accommodation. I tried my hardest to make it up to the man, but he made it very clear as I stood outside his front door, nervously squeezing my cap in my hands, that I’m not the man he wants for his daughter…
…that I’ll never be.
He swore to never attend any event we invite him to so long as she’s with me—even the birth of any grandchildren.
Heartless.
Selena doesn’t know. I told her that her dad would have loved to come, but he’s preoccupied with a pretty important case. I told her that he’d like her to send him photos of her smile every day. You should have seen her eyes light up…every morning after breakfast, she takes a selfie and sends it to him. He never responds, but she hasn’t noticed. I just hope he opens them and sees just how happy I make her, and promise to make her, every day. She’ll realize, eventually, that I lied to her about it, but I didn’t want her to be down about anything on a night like tonight, and I hope that’s obvious to her in the future.
For now, though, we have each other, and we will continue to have each other until our skin loosens, our muscles sag, and our hair turns gray. That I promise.
I glance over my shoulder at Seth, who stands behind a pregnant, round-bellied Olivia, rubbing her swollen middle gently. He smiles at me and I return it. They used to make me jealous, so jealous I’d hope their relationship crashed and burned. Now I no longer fear the future. I no longer fear being left behind to rot while others move on with their lives. Selena and I will get everything we’ve ever wanted…
…we’ve just given everyone else a head start.
The End
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About the Author
Skyla Madi was born in the small town of Port Maquarie, New South Wales in 1993. She spent half her life growing up in Wauchope, a thriving rural town at the heart of the Hastings River Valley before making the leap to the busy city of Brisbane.
Whenever this young Australian writer isn’t changing diapers, watching cartoons, cooking for her husband or doing other motherly-wife things she is actively working on her writing and improving her writing skills.
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Skyla Madi, Crushed
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