This was a woman truly hurting, a woman who was trying to hold it together. Even if she was digging, I couldn't ignore her pain as much as I wanted to.
It wasn't in my nature.
"Thank you," she said as she opened her door and stepped inside.
Before she could close it, I heard the first sob break free. The sound hit me harder than I would have thought. She tried to muffle it, but it was too late.
Against my better judgment, I followed her inside, closing the door behind me. She stood in the middle of her living room, arms wrapped around herself, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
"Elena."
She turned, her face wet with tears, and something in me broke. I crossed the room in three strides and pulled her into my arms. She stiffened for a moment, then collapsed against me, her fingers clutching at my shirt as she cried.
I had no words to reassure her. Whatever was tearing her apart wasn't something I could fix with words. So I just held her, one hand stroking her hair, the other firm around her waist.
When she lifted her face to mine, her eyes red-rimmed and desperate, I knew what was coming. I should have stopped it. Should have pulled away. But when her lips found mine, I was lost.
The kiss was hungry, desperate, a plea for distraction. Her hands moved to the buttons of my shirt, fingers shaking but determined.
"Please," she whispered against my mouth. "Make me forget. Just for a little while."
A warning bell sounded in the back of my mind. She could be playing me. This could be part of whatever game she was running. But as she pressed her body against mine, all rational thought fled.
It felt too real, too genuine, and even if it was, I'd beat her at her own game.
I backed her against the wall, my hands rough as I pulled her blouse over her head. If she wanted distraction, I'd give it to her. Hard and fast and mindless.
Her breath hitched as I unhooked her bra, exposing her breasts to the cool air. I lowered my mouth to one nipple, drawing it between my teeth, and she gasped, arching into me.
"Jackson," she moaned, her fingers digging into my shoulders.
I lifted her, carrying her to the dining table—the same one I'd imagined bending her over. She wrapped her legs around my waist as I set her down, her skirt riding up her thighs.
"Is this what you want?" I growled, pushing her skirt higher, hooking my fingers in the waistband of her panties.
"Yes," she breathed, lifting her hips to help me remove them. "Please."
I unbuckled my belt, freeing myself from the confines of my pants and kicking them off. She reached for me, her fingers wrapping around my length, guiding me to her entrance.
Fuck, she was already slick and ready. That only fired me up even more.
I thrust into her in one smooth motion, and she cried out, her head falling back. I set a punishing pace, my hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. She met each thrust, her nails digging into my back through my shirt.
The table creaked beneath us, the sound barely registering through the haze of pleasure. Elena's moans grew louder, more desperate, as I drove into her again and again.
"Harder," she gasped, and I obliged, gripping the edge of the table for leverage.
With a sudden crack, the table collapsed beneath us. We tumbled to the floor in a tangle of limbs, the shock of it cutting through the moment.
Elena blinked up at me, stunned, and then, to my surprise, she started to laugh. The sound was bright and unexpected, a stark contrast to her tears from moments before.
"I'm sorry," she gasped between giggles. "That table was already wobbly."
Despite everything, I found myself chuckling along with her. The absurdity of the situation—the broken table, our half-dressed state, the fact that I was still inside her—was too much.
"Bedroom?" I suggested, and she nodded, her eyes darkening with renewed desire.
I lifted her, still joined, and carried her to the small bedroom off the main living area. We fell onto her bed in a tangle of limbs and half-removed clothing. This time, our pace was slower, more deliberate, but no less intense.
