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“No.” He squeezes my fingers. “Not anymore. Can’t.”
“We can talk in the morning.” When he’s not wasted, and I’ve had a chance to recover from this half seizure, half heart attack assault on my soft omega soul.
“Give you a present.” He tugs my hand to his face and rubs it like a cat.
I tear away, rescuing my fingers before they betray me and sink into his hair. “Take a shower and brush your teeth. I’ll bring you water. Okay?”
“Okay.” Jett stumbles to his feet, lurching toward the shower, already ripping off his pants, and I get the hell out before I have to see what’s below the curve of his dimpled lower back.
I slam the door and press a hand to my pounding heart.
I think Jett finally broke.
Now he wants me broken too.
I step into Finn’s closet and grab the closest handful of guys’ clothes, not daring to dig after spotting his box of floggers and rope.
After setting the stack outside the bathroom door, I dash to the kitchen to grab water and pills.
I take my time coming back, hoping Jett will already be passed out. Then, tomorrow, he can pretend he doesn’t remember.
I peek through the crack in his door.
Jett sits on the floor, back to the bed. He’s shirtless, wearing a too-long pair of Finn’s sweats that hang ultra-low on his carved hips. Long hair soaking wet and tangled, he looks more like a disoriented caveman than his usual put-together statue with a permanent scowl.
I’d duck away, but he’s already watching me like he’s been tracking my footsteps since I stepped into the hall.
“Lilac.”
Trembling, I move to crouch at his side. “Take these if you don’t want a headache.”
I hold out the painkillers, but instead of taking them, Jett lifts my wrist to his mouth.
He sucks the pills off my palm.
While he chugs water, I’m left with a permanent lip print on my skin.
Water drips down his shoulders.
He watches me like nothing else matters while I rummage to find a towel and a comb. I shouldn’t touch him. Shouldn’t let this go on, but I’m weaker for him than anyone, and his need calls to the deepest, softest part of me.
The little girl who never stopped waiting for JJ to come back.
I scoot behind him on the bed, towel him dry and gently work the comb through the drunken mess he’s made of his poor hair. He’s motionless until I hit a snarl.
Then he jerks, hitching my legs over his shoulders and shackling my ankles in that soft-tight grip.
“Jett.” His shower-steamed skin sears my calves.
“Don’t call me that.”
Fingers in his hair, I close my eyes. “JJ.”
“Mmm.”
I keep combing long after the tangles are gone. He strokes my ankles with his thumbs.
It’s so peaceful, I start to tip forward, finally getting sleepy.
