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I slide in and out as she trembles around me, her orgasm building.
“Home,” I grind out as I thrust two more times toward my own climax as she reaches hers and slumps against me in satisfaction.
“Home,” she whispers, kissing me softly before separating from me.
Damn right we are home.
Chapter Nineteen
I watch him sleep beside me, unable to do the same. I upset him today. I upset him, and he ravaged me.
Me, not Heidi.
Me.
I still have to remind myself that Jason wants me, Lo, not Hi.
“You give me good, Lo.”
I wrap my arms around myself, knowing I’m not all that good.
“I need you, need to feel you, need to be one with you. I realized some shit today. You’ve gotta know, Lo, that you and me . . . This is it.”
I hold myself more tightly, trying to keep myself together, knowing what I am going to do can and will make that impossible.
“This is home.”
I press my eyes shut, unable to look at him when I know that’s what I want. I want to give that to him and take it for myself, yet I know I have something to finish first.
“Home.” He growled it as if he was taking without permission, promising without reserve, and giving regardless of the fact that I can’t give him back what he is promising.
“Home,” I responded, knowing if I could, I would make it so . . . for as long as he would have me, while my crossed fingers stayed hidden from him.
I open my eyes and look at him again. The tattoos forever stain his skin, and the faint pink scars across his back are something he will carry forever. I know in some way, shape, or form, I am going to scar him, too.
I turn my body to get out of bed, but he grips my thigh. “Lo, you need something?”
“You,” I answer honestly. “I need you.”
He opens his eyes then cocks his head to the side as he raises his arm up above the pillow. “Then get over here.”
I rest my head on his strong, hard chest. His arms surround me, and his lips touch the top of my head.
“Sleep, angel.”
I do.
On Wednesday, Jason holds my hand as he pulls me out of the vehicle.
“Don’t let him see you sweat, angel. He’ll think he can walk all over you.” He looks at the Realtor, his eyes narrowed, before looking back at me and kissing me hard, possessively. I borrow strength from him that this place depletes me of.
The Realtor is waiting. He is almost six feet tall, in his thirties, and average-looking. He wears a suit, tie, and a big smile.
“James Rock.” He holds out his hand. “I’ve already gotten the outside photos. Now let’s see the inside.”
“It’s—”
Jason squeezes my hand. “It’s all ready.” He looks down at me and winks. Then he nods to the door.
When I walk in, I hold my breath and keep my eyes on the ground.
“Beautiful entry,” James comments. “And look at that stairway.”
I tense up, waiting for him to yell, What the fuck is wrong with you? Instead, I get, “Beautiful wood. Absolutely stunning, the center of the home. Perfect shot.”
Slowly, I look up and see the stairway to hell looking like it did when the house was a happy place. I lean into Jason’s protective embrace and look up.
He doesn’t have a look on his face begging for praise. He gives a small shrug, squeezes my hip lightly, and looks back at the Realtor.
“You get whatever pictures you need. We’re gonna grab the last of the boxes out of the garage.”
He holds me snugly against him as we walk into the kitchen where all the cabinets are open and empty. He opens the door to the garage where four totes sit.
“This was all in her room. I didn’t want to throw any of it away.”
I nod then shake my head, turning into him and hugging him tightly. He drops his arms low around my waist and leans back.
“Eyes.”
I look up. “I have no idea how to”—I pause—“how to thank you.”
“It’s really nothing. The place was clean, Lo. I just needed to get rid of some things.” He shrugs.
“You only knew two days ago. How . . . ?” I stop when he sighs.
“My angel works twelve-hour shifts. I work eight. I have some extra time. No big thing.” He shrugs again. “Let’s get these boxes in the car.”
He calls me angel, but I know better. I know he is mine.
Over the next couple days, I push aside revenge and vengeance and surround myself in him as often as I can. When I return back to work, he brings me lunch every day. Every day for three now.
The way my coworkers look at him should make me jealous. The way he looks at me and only me, though, tells me jealousy is unnecessary.
