Page 57 of False Catch

"It's okay," she says. "I trust you. Both of you."

The words hang in the air between us, loaded with possibility and permission and a hundred different ways this could go wrong. But looking at Jackson's face, seeing the careful walls he's built starting to crumble, I realize that sometimes the risk is worth taking.

Sometimes you have to trust that the people who matter will catch you when you fall.

"The movie's still playing," I point out, settling back against the couch and opening my arms in invitation.

Reese looks between Jackson and me, reading the change in the dynamic. Then she moves, settling back against my chest but angling herself so she can maintain eye contact with Jackson.

"Much better," she says, pulling the blanket back over us.

My arms come around her automatically, and this time when my hand settles on her side, it's with deliberate intent. My thumb traces the hem of her shirt, occasionally dipping beneath the fabric to brush against the warm skin of her ribs.

She sinks into the touch, her body growing pliant against mine. After a few minutes, she shifts slightly, and my hand ends up higher, fingers spreading across her ribcage just below the curve of her breast.

Her breath hitches, and I feel rather than see Jackson's attention sharpen.

“Eli,” she whispers.

“Yeah?”

“Higher.”

The way she says it, soft but insistent, burns a line of heat straight down to my dick. My hand slides up, slow and deliberate, until I’m cupping her breast through the thin cotton of her shirt. No bra. Just the heat of her body, her nipple stiffening instantly under my palm.

Her moan is quiet but raw, and it wrecks me. Jackson hears it too; I can tell by the way his breathing roughens, the restraint he clings to starting to splinter.

I knead her in my hand, rolling her nipple beneath my thumb, watching her arch hard against me. Her head tips back on my shoulder, mouth parting, the sweet ache of her scent filling the air until I can barely breathe.

Jackson is staring openly now. He isn’t pretending to watch the movie anymore. His fists are clenched, his jaw tight, his whole body locked like he’s holding himself back by sheer will.

Reese’s hand finds my thigh, her nails dragging higher until I bite back a groan.

“You’re killing me,” I growl against her ear.

“Good,” she breathes, and her hand slides higher until her fingers wrap boldly around my cock through my sweats.

“Fuck.” The word rips out of me as my hips jerk into her palm. She makes a low, satisfied sound that tells me she knows exactly what she’s doing.

Jackson makes a choked noise, and when I look at him his pupils are blown, his cock straining against his sweats his chest rising and falling too fast.

“Jackson,” Reese says. She keeps stroking me but extends her other hand toward him. “Come here.”

It's not graceful. It's desperate and hungry and a little clumsy as he crosses the space between us and settles beside Reese on the couch. Close enough that his thigh presses against hers, close enough that I can see the rapid pulse at his throat.

Reese turns slightly, bringing one hand to his face. "Is this okay?"

He leans into her touch like it’s the only thing keeping him together. “Yeah. Yes. More than okay.”

Her smile is soft and wicked at the same time. Then she pulls him into a kiss, messy and wet, all need and no hesitation. Jackson growls into it, tangling his hand in her hair and kissing her like he’s been waiting years for the chance.

When they break apart, both of them are gasping. Reese looks between us with eyes heavy and dark.

“Better,” she murmurs, and her hand squeezes my cock harder, dragging a groan from me.

Jackson’s gaze drops to where she’s touching me, and I see the exact moment his control snaps. His hand clamps down on her thigh, fingers spreading wide, claiming her.

“Touch her,” I rasp, my voice rough.