Page 81 of The Intimacy of Control

I pressed my lips against his, smiling into the kiss. When we pulled away, I searched both of his eyes for the ocean I used to see in them. It didn’t scare me. It didn’t make me want to run away. It was comforting, just like water used to be for me. It was everything—he was everything. “Let’s own a house together.”

“Let’s fill it with love.”

“Our love.”

Our love. Our love. The same love I’d convinced myself didn’t exist. The same kind of love I never thought I’d find, too afraid to give up the pieces of me I wasn’t ready to. I thought it meant giving up all the control I’d worked really hard to retain, when that wasn’t it at all.

I just had to find someone I trusted enough to give it to. I had to find someone who took my breath away and made it feel like magic and freedom and all the good things I’d chased my entire life.

Forrest Castillo was my catalyst. He was the one, and he was worth diving into uncertain waters for.

chapter twenty-eight

After anxiously waiting an entire month for the new deed and then taking a few days to move everything in with some help from our newfound mutual friends, we were finally moved into our new home. Our very own house.

My apartment got leased out pretty easily, and Jack’s house was still on the market, waiting for someone to put an offer in. We’d given his house a well-fitting goodbye party, despite it apparently looking sad and loveless. Callum had convinced him to leave the table behind, too, since his Papa had furnished parts of the house with much better quality handmade wooden furniture.

The sun had set an hour ago, and the most we’d done was unpack the entire bedroom and the essentials for the kitchen. We had a long way to go, but we had time.

All we had was time now.

I made my way through the maze of boxes sitting in the living room and down to the bedroom. The door was partly open, and Jack was standing in the center of the room with a towel still wrapped around his waist. He was rustling through one of the suitcases we’d packed, trying to find some clothes to wear.

I couldn’t help but watch him, hidden by the door and the shadows surrounding me. Jack was, and had always been, the most handsome man I’d ever met. And he was mine. All mine from now until forever and ever and ever.

He sighed, shaking his head and turning. I noticed the moment he saw me, his eyes widening for a moment before they softened. A life was waiting for us in them, as green as a field of hope and as gorgeously brown as a forest of adventure. It was us. “Are you watching me, Mr. Castillo?”

Shrugging, I pushed past the door. “Depends. Am I going to get your number, or am I going to get your address, Mr. Owner?”

He met me halfway across the room, reaching out for me. “What’ll you do if I give you my number?”

“I’ll respect you as the man you are.”

He trailed his fingers up my arm and then scraped his nails across my collarbones. Thank God for open-necked shirts. “And what’ll you do if I give you my address?”

I grabbed both his wrists, pulling him in. Leaning down, I breathed in the small gasp he gave me. “How do you want it?”

“Rough. I want it rough.”

“Then I’ll fuck you like I never respected you in the first place. I’ll make you mine. Mark you from the inside. Is that what you want, Mr. Owner?”

Watching his eyes flutter closed was my favorite thing in the entire world. He went almost limp in my hold, swaying toward me. “Yes, Forrest. I want it. I want you. Always want you.”

I pressed our bodies together, grinding against his erection. Licking along the shell of his ear, I whispered to him. “Where do you live, then, Jackson?”

He wrapped his arms around my neck and tilted his head to the side, giving himself to me. “With you. Wherever you go, I go.”

The sweet, gentle confession hit me right in the chest. My heartbeat was nothing more than his name in Morse code.

I bent down, hooking my arms under his legs as I lifted him. He squealed as he wrapped them around my back, gripping my neck tighter. “You’re mine, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I’ve been yours since the first night we met.”

Smirking, I walked us over to the bed. “Good boy.” And then I threw him onto it, watching as his body bounced on the mattress. “Already all clean for me, aren’t you, sweetie?”

He nodded.

I pressed my knees into the mattress, looming over him. The towel had to go, so I untied it from his waist and prompted him to lift enough that I could throw it off to the side. He was still a little wet—drops of water rushed down the planes of his body, pooling in the V of his hips.