Page 90 of Jayson
Gently, he turns my wrist, pressing my palm over his chest. Heat pulses there, steady and wild. He waits—always giving me a choice—but I’m already tipping forward, already hungry. My fingers slide into his hair and tug.
That tiny pull? It’s all the agreement he needs.
He surges up, mouth crashing into mine—salt, heat, the metallic aftertaste of fear turned into fury. I answer with a gasp that sounds too much like surrender. His kiss is rough, almost punishing, and my body lights up like fire.
He breaks away just long enough to haul me off the sofa, pushing me back until I collide with the wall of bookshelves. Leather spines thud; dust motes burst in the faint light. One of his hands braces above my head, the other skims under my hoodie in a single, searing pass that leaves my stomach trembling.
“Tell me you want this,” he growls against my mouth.
“I want you, Jayson. Every reckless, ruined part of you.”
Something primal flashes in his eyes, twisted with desire. He lifts my thigh, hooking it around his hip, grinding hard enough to steal all my thoughts. The world narrows to harsh breathing as buttons snap and fabric tears.
He doesn’t bother with finesse, and I don’t want him to. I want the weight of him, the bruising grip, the bite at my collarbone that promises devotion through violence. Every press of his body says ‘you are safe’.Every drag of his teeth against my skin says‘you’re mine to protect’.
My own hands aren’t gentle either. I shove his shirt off his shoulders, trace the scars there—badges of sins he’s never confessed. He curses when my lips follow, when I taste each mark like I could memorize him with my tongue.
His control frays. He spins me, palms flat to the shelf, booksrattling. A feral sound tears from his throat as he kisses the back of my neck, breath hot and ragged. One large hand pins my wrists overhead; the other slides lower, claiming every inch of skin with ruthless intent.
I arch into him, moan his name—half challenge, half prayer.
“Keira,” he mutters, the word shredded. “I’ll give you an out. But I’ll only do it once.”
I laugh—dark, breathless. “Close all the doors and shutter all the windows. Because I’m not going anywhere.”
His answering movement is sharp enough to bleed me dry. He frees my wrists only to drag me back against him, guiding my hand to the evidence of how badly he needs this. Needsme. The hunger between us is a live wire; the house could burn and we wouldn’t notice.
Clothing falls in pieces. The rug bites at my knees when he lowers me, follows me down, spreads me open to the moonlight pouring through the windows. He hesitates one heartbeat—checks my eyes—then claims me with a thrust that knocks the breath from my lungs and the past from my head. There’s nothing gentle here, only a raw collision of skin and devotion and pent-up terror spun into heat.
We move together—hard, unrelenting, searching for obliteration. His name leaves my lips like a warning, like worship. He answers with low curses, with whispered promises that sound suspiciously like forever. Each thrust forces my spine to arch, my fingers to claw at his back. Pleasure builds too fast, too sharp, and shatters me when it breaks.
He follows, a guttural groan ripped from his chest, burying his face in my neck as he trembles. For a moment, we don’t breathe—just cling, hearts racing in the same brutal rhythm.
When the haze recedes, I run shaky fingers through his hair. Outside, a breeze rattles the windowpanes; somewhere in the house, a clock chimes the hour.
Neither of us moves. Because for now—just now—the messages, the cellar, the ghosts can wait.
He lifts his head, eyes softer but still fierce. He kisses me once more—slow this time, almost tender. Then he gathers me into his arms, rises, and carries me upstairs.
The war can have us in the morning. Tonight belongs to the ruin we make holy in each other’s arms.
36
JAYSON
The door slams behind us, wood shuddering like it knows better than to test my temper. Keira’s still trembling in my arms—body slick with sweat and aftershocks—so light it feels like I’m carrying air. But the moment I step into the marble bathroom, I feel every pound of her. Every sweet ache she’s left clawed into my skin.
I kick the shower on full blast. Steam erupts, curling around us like a feral thing. She blinks up at me, lips swollen, hair a wild halo. Bruises bloom where my mouth has been. And fuck, I want to plant more.
“We’re nowhere near done,” I rasp, voice rough as gravel. “The floor was just a warning, sweetheart.”
Her pulse jumps at her throat—fear and hunger wrestling for first place—but she still meets my gaze head-on. “Prove it,” she whispers, breath hitching. Damn, she’s brave. Or reckless. Or maybe she’s just too damn perfect.
I set her on her feet beneath the pounding water. The sleek droplets paint her skin gold, mask the marks I’ve made. I won’t allow that. My palm slides up her spine and fists in her soakedhair, tilting her head back until her eyes are all I can see—dark, defiant, begging.
“Look at you,” I growl against her ear. “Mine now. Say it.”
“Yours,” she breathes, barely audible over the water. But it’s enough to detonate something savage in my chest. I crush my mouth to hers—teeth, tongue, everything brutal and claiming. She tastes like lightning and storm.
