But never Jules.
I blink at him again, heat crawling up the back of my neck, lips parting like I might say something smart, except all that comes out is—“What?”
Rafe narrows his eyes. “What what?”
I blink again. “You—uh. You said…”
I trail off like a moron. My brain is scrambled eggs and painkillers and Rafe calling me Jules in that voice. The voice that sounds like gravel and murder and maybe a little bit mine.
He stares at me for another long second, then tilts his head, unreadable. “You bleeding out again or just stupid?”
I grin, teeth sharp. “Maybe both.”
But inside?
I’m a fucking puddle.
I forget.
Just—forget.
The pain, the stitches, the hole in my fucking leg. All of it. It’s Rafe’s fault. Him, sitting there like a carved monument to rage and self-control, arms crossed, mouth in that line, andJulesstill ringing in my ears like a bell that won’t stop echoing. I don’t think. I just move. Try to sit up again like I haven’t been literallyimpaledand stitched back together less than twenty-four hours ago.
Bad idea.
Agony shoots up my thigh like a lightning strike. My visiontilts, stomach flips, and for a moment everything goes white-hot and narrow, like looking down the barrel of consciousness and watching it almost blink shut.
“Shit—” I choke out, collapsing back, the world spinning like I’m on a carousel from hell.
The chair screeches across the floor.
“You littleshit!” Rafe groans, already moving, already at my side. His hands are on me again—one pressing my shoulder down, the other yanking the blanket back over me with more force than necessary, like he’s punishing me for being this fucking reckless. “What the hell do youneed?”
I blink up at him, dazed, grinning like an idiot because whatever Kai shoved into my IV is clearly taking full effect now. Everything feels warm and floaty and a little bitglitteryaround the edges, like I’m weightless and also full of champagne. My skin hums. My brain purrs. Rafe is leaning over me again, all gritted teeth and heat andconcern-disguised-as-anger,and I want him. Like,now.
I reach up, fingers brushing the edge of his hoodie.
“Mmmmyou,” I slur, voice dropping into a low purr that I didn’t exactlymeanto sound like sex but definitely does.
His brows draw together. “What?”
“Youuuu,” I say again, dragging the word out like I’m singing it to him, dreamy and drugged. “Need you. Raaaafe. You smell like fire. Come here, lemme lick it.”
Rafe stares at me like I just proposed marriageandwar at the same time. “Christ,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Kai fucking drugged you like a housecat.”
“Mmmmm-hmmmm,” I hum, grinning wider, blinking slow. “He loves me. You do too. It's okay. I won the game. I deserve snuggles.”
Rafe growls under his breath, but doesn’t move away.
I don’t even realize I’m doing it until it’stoo late.One second, Rafe’s looming over me like the patron saint of threats and restraint, glowering like I just pissed on the blue line. The next, my hand curls into the front of his hoodie and Iyank.
“No—” he starts, too late.
“Come here,” I slur, voice soaked in painkillers and poor decisions. I tug with all the strength I don’t have, and for a split second, Rafe resists, body rigid, like he thinks I’m not serious.
I’m serious.
Ineedhim.
