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She’s got stretch marks there, and on her stomach too, from carrying Sonya. Over the past few months when she was feeling particularly small and sorry for herself, she used to wonder if that was part of what went wrong last time—if Jack had pictured her one way for so long that her real, actual body was a disappointment, something other than what was advertised on the label.
    Mari had pictured Jack pretty much exactly the way he is.
    Now he’s reaching for the button on her jeans while Mari toes off her boots, both of them caught up in the mechanics of it for a second. But when she glances up and catches how he’s staring, she swallows hard enough to choke.
    â€œHi,” she says. There was a moment like this the last time too. It stopped being something that was happening and became something they were doing, actively, a choice. If you ask Mari, that’s when they should have stopped.
    â€œHi,” Jackson answers.
    Then he ducks his head and puts his face between her legs.
    Mari blushes. That was part of the problem last time too, how her body wasn’t ready, the slippery condom helping but not quite enough. She guesses Jackson remembers.
    It is—yeah. It is not so much going to be a problem this time.
    Jack must notice, because after a few hard licks he’s crawling back up her body, nosing at her belly and breasts. Mari fights the urge to cover herself and grabs for his belt instead, trying to ignore the way her stomach crumples up into rolls when she reaches. Jackson helps, and then suddenly there they both are, naked as jaybirds. Just like last time, Mari is embarrassed to look.
    â€œJesus.” Apparently Jackson isn’t.
    â€œCome here,” Mari gasps, holding out her arms. She’s warm all over, exposed and flustered and not really sure if she likes either. She wants him in, suddenly, on top and covering her. “Come on, come here.”
    Jack shakes his head, adamant. “No,” he says, then immediately shakes again. “Just—let me look a sec, okay? Can you just—” She’s caught him by the wrist and he twists his hand until their fingers are laced together, his knuckles warm and rough. Mari makes herself breathe. His gaze is slipping down over her body, breasts and belly and hair at the V of her thighs, this hungry expression on his face like he’s never seen her this way before—which he hasn’t, Mari guesses, not really. Last time they fumbled their way through in the dark. “Fuck, Mari.”
    â€œDon’t,” Mari says, wanting to cover her eyes like Sonya does when they’re playing hide-and-seek, like if she can’t see him then the reverse is true also. Mari’s not shy, hand to God she isn’t, but it’s Jack, it’s Jackson , and even with her head tipped away, nothing about him is lost on her: not the bunched muscle of his shoulders or the low-slung freckles near his waistline, cock curving up against his stomach.
    â€œI want to see you,” he tells her, so quiet Mari isn’t even sure he knows he’s saying it. “I always want to, I want—”
    â€œJack.” It sounds like a sob. She wrestles her fingers free of his and reaches for his neck, his head with that unfamiliar buzz cut, no hair for her to cling to. “Don’t, can we just—” Her gaze bounces down between his legs without quite meaning to and suddenly she’s staring at him directly, unable to look away.
    â€œNo,” Jackson is saying, arguing semantics like they’re working a case. “Just let me.” He unhooks her arms from around his neck, pinning her wrists against the motel pillows. Then, even quieter than before, “You’re beautiful, Mari.”
    Mari’s still staring. Jack’s cock, Jesus Christ, it was inside her before but she’s never looked like this. It’s feels out of context and wrong, like seeing your teacher in a supermarket.
    It