Jack Who? (Book 1 Draft Version)

CHAPTER 21

♪♫••═════CHAPTER 21 ═════••♬ ♭

An internal alarm woke me, and I lay staring into the shadows, enjoying the feel of Jack's leg twisted with mine, and the sound of his breath. A few quiet snores, the ones I remembered from the hospital, intermittently broke up his breathing. It had been more than five years since anyone but Tristan had been in my bed.

Tristan was the reason I waked, and my gaze drew spontaneously to the door left open a crack to listen for him, once Jack and I were done and dozing. Padding to the bathroom, I took care of that urge, and my eyes blissfully fell to the two foil packets in the trash.

Stepping into a steamy shower I began to soap up, and every brush of the lofah caressed skin still tingling from last night. After washing and rinsing my hair, I wrapped in my robe and returned to the bedroom.

Jack had moved to lay diagonal in the bed, as if searching for me in his sleep, and now rested with his head on my pillow. Easing back into the bed, I allowed my fingers what they craved, the slick softness of his hair, the smooth firmness of his skin, and stopped short of what I really wanted, contemplating the light of dawn through the slats of the mini blinds. Unable to resist, I pressed my lips to his chest, then again..and again...unconsciously drawing closer to my craving..and was rewarded when he responded in a very conscious state.

“Mariss....” That particular utterance of my name was an addiction. “Mariss mmh...”

“Mmmh,” I drew out the echo against him and savored the immediate response.

Minutes later, my cheek was against his chest, and he was mumbling in sated satisfaction about the best way to wake up in the morning.

With another look at the window, I unwillingly whispered, “You need to get out of here before Tristan gets up.”

Fully awake, he raised his head, and the shadowy pools of his eyes sought mine, “Okay," he agreed, then, “Wait do you mean leave, leave? Or is it okay if I move to the couch?”

Always he double checked with me any important decisions about Tristan, and this was reassuring, and endearing. One of his hands stroked through my hair, and my lips turned to the warmth of that inked forearm as I answered, “The couch.”

Despondent, yet entranced, I watched as he returned from the bathroom and picked through the clothing on the floor, dressing. Lastly, he pulled on his tee shirt, then pouncing onto the bed, he hunkered over me on all fours and raised goosebumps with a line of kisses down my neck.

“Mariss?”

“Mmh?”

“When are you going to be ready to tell him?”

My muscles went rigid as he spoke against my skin, and I pushed at him needing to see his eyes. The room was getting lighter by the minute and I studied his earnest expression. In the middle of the night I had waked intertwined with Jack and idly fantasized telling Tristan that Jack was his daddy. But, in that imagining, we were also telling our son that we were married, or were about to be married. In my fantasy, there was a future with the three of us, and no fear of me losing Tristan in this equation to some belated custody hearing.

“I don't know...” Fingering the necklace dangling from his neck, I considered, and softly replied, “We will figure it out today. Okay?”

With a last press of a kiss to my hairline, he bounded out of the room, cracking the door behind him as it was.

The sun was now bright, casting vertical shadows on the wall, and I closed my eyes, yet still couldn't drift into any sleep stage, although we had been up most of the night. A vibration sounded from the night stand, and my head twisted as the face of Jack's cell lit up. Resolutely, I ignored it, but when it sounded again only a couple of minutes later, my curiosity won. With a wary look through the narrow slit, to the shadowy hall beyond the door, I brought up the missed calls finding them both from 'Randi.'