I’m done doubting Jarett. He’s shown his true colors time and again, most of all today, with his thoughtfulness and kindness.

And God, the way he acts with my mom, his respect, the wistfulness in his eyes when she talks to him… it’s not a romantic thing. It’s not sexy. But it touches me in a way nothing ever has.

It tells me I want to keep him.

Why didn’t he stay over? I thought after the connection we shared today he’d come to my bed. I’d hoped… yeah I’d hoped he wouldn’t ever stop coming over.

That he’d stay with me.

I stop the niggle of worry from growing too much as I hop into a cab and head over to his place. Last night he didn’t come over, either, and he was okay. Maybe he’s just tired.

Or he had gang business to attend to—and that’s another thing I don’t want to worry about. Not when I’m so happy that Octavia had the baby and they are both fine, that Mom’s ankle isn’t broken and that Rett was there, right there with me, with all of us. Part of the family.

Did he like them? Does he want to stay?

I climb out of the cab as the drizzle that has been falling all evening turns into rain. I run to the building entrance and text him that I’m there.

A few seconds later, the door buzzes open, and I rush inside the building to take the elevator up to the second floor.

Memories assault me on the slow ride up. Of the times I was here, how he pissed me off, how he turned me on.

The things we did. His hands in my hair, his lips on mine, his cock inside me as he held me up against the wall…

My heart is thumping hard by the time I’m standing outside his door. I lift my hand to ring the bell, and the door swings open.

Seeing him hits me square in the chest, in the heart, every time, and today’s no exception. He’s in worn jeans, an old black hoodie with holes in the sleeves, and gray socks. His jaw is scruffy, his hair a mess, sticking up in all directions, as if he’s been tugging at it.

He looks exhausted. Bruised.

And sexy. Only Jarett could pull that combo off.

“What happened now?” I reach up to touch his face, and he lets me, his eyes haunted. “Can’t leave you alone for a few hours before someone tries to hurt you?”

“Guess you shouldn’t leave me alone,” he mutters, catching my hand and pressing it to his bruised jaw, even though it must hurt. “Ever. I could get into trouble.”

“I think trouble follows you.”

He draws me into the apartment and closes the door, then presses me against its smooth surface, molding his strong body to mine. “Maybe that’s my middle name. Trouble.”

“Very funny.” I’m all breathless, his scent turning my knees weak, the hot length of his hard-on poking me in the belly. “Is it?”

“What do you think?” He catches my face in his hands, eyes zeroing in on my mouth. “Fuck, I need you, Gigi. So bad. More than I ever thought I could need anyone, and…”

I kiss him. Can’t help myself. His full mouth is so close, and I’ve been dying to touch him again. He tastes of bitter tobacco and smoky alcohol and sugar.

He kisses me back, and the world fades. His palms tighten on my cheeks, rough and cool, as his lips move over mine, as his teeth nip and his tongue sweeps into my mouth, stealing my last scraps of reason.

I’d tried to ignore how I missed him, even those few hours we were apart, how I can’t get enough of his touches and kisses. I need that connection to him. He probably doesn’t see it that way, but to me that’s a promise.

The greatest promise of all: how we hold each other, and bring each other pleasure, how our desire strips us of our control, and how our feelings turn those touches gentler.

Unless it’s just me. Those feelings… am I the only one who has them? What he did for me, for my family today, he was just being kind, or does he care for me?

We move toward the sofa, losing our clothes on the way, stumbling and somehow never breaking the kiss except to pull off a sweater or a T-shirt.

By the time he rolls me on the cushions, I’m tossing off my bra and he’s also naked, gorgeous and aroused, his slick cock sliding on my thigh as I open my legs to let him between them.

“Fuck, condom.” He fishes blindly by the sofa for his pants and his wallet.

I keep distracting him, kissing his mouth, his jaw, his neck, his chest, his arm. I’ve never been fascinated by a man’s body so much, tracing the veins under his skin, the bulging biceps as he braces himself on the backrest, his small, taut nipples, the ink flowing over his ribs and arms.

“What does it mean?”

“What?” He glances up, the torn package of the condom in his hand, gaze unfocused.

“Your ink. These.” I caress the knights and warriors and castles tattooed on his smooth skin. “Battles and medieval armor and walls.”

He looks down at himself as if he forgot all about his tattoos. “Oh that. It was something Connor said. Back when I lived with him. That every day is a battle. That we’re fighters, you know? And after he died, I just…” He shrugs, a roll of those powerful shoulders. “It’s all I have left of him.”

My eyes well up. My fingertips skim over more drawings, inks and watchful eyes and skulls. “And these?”

“He said that the dead watch over us.” He shivers when my hand trails over his ribs.

“And this one?” It’s a smirking devil drinking from a bottle on his shoulder.

He goes cross-eyed, squinting down. “Dunno. I was drunk for that one.”

I laugh, and the somber mood is broken. “What about this, then?” I put my hand around his cock, and he hisses through gritted teeth.

“That’s… great.” The condom falls from his hand to the floor, and I doubt he’s noticed.

I love watching his face as I stroke his hard-on, the way his lips part, his lashes flutter, his jaw slackens, the way his body tenses up and those delicious abs clench.

He’s beautiful.

I brush my hand over his cock and it jumps. His breath comes out in a gasp.

Then he’s on top of me, his pupils blown huge, his mouth crushing mine, and his cock is pushing into me, stretching me open.

I cry out, and he swallows the sound, thrusting deeper, until I don’t think I can take anymore. I can’t breathe, so full of him, my pussy stretched to its limits, my body unsure if it’s feeling pain or pleasure.

“Fuck,” he breathes suddenly. “Condom.”

“I’m on the pill.”

He groans in response, a sound of relief and need rolled into one. He shifts, pulls back an inch or two, pushes back inside with a roll of his hips, and it’s all pleasure.

I arch up, helplessly moaning. He tugs my lower lip between his teeth, rocking again, startling a cry from me. The pleasure is like lightning, striking all my nerve endings, burning me from the inside out. I have current in my veins, and with his every thrust, my body seizes and the pressure in my belly becomes unbearable.

I need to come.

He moves over me, in me, faster and faster, sweat slicking his skin, making his ink glow as his skin catches the light. His hair sticks to his temples, his forehead, and his mouth seeks mine again, the hard planes and ridges of his chest rubbing on my boobs, on my sensitive nipples, setting off more sparks of pleasure in my core.

It’s starting, I feel it uncoiling deep inside me, I feel that trickle that’s about to turn into a flashflood and take me under.

I kiss him back desperately, my hands slipping behind his muscular back, drawing him closer to me, deeper, and we rock together. His breath catches, and somehow he swells bigger inside me. It feels good, frigging amazing, and…

Oh God.

The orgasm hits me without a warning. I hold on to Jarett as wave after wave pounds me, as I tighten around his hard cock, and shudder again, the sensations going on and on.

He’s panting, I realize, rocking in shallow thrusts inside me, and then he stills, moaning long and low, looming over me, every muscle taut and his beautiful face twisted with pleasure as he comes. I feel his hot cum spill inside me, triggering new spasms of pleasure.

I catch him when his arms give way, and he drops on top of me. He tries not to crush me, but it takes him a long moment to find his coordination.

“Stay,” I tell him, wrapping my arms around him as he struggles to push off me. I like his weight on me. “Please stay.”

Stay with me.

He sighs, his head resting on my boobs. “Love you, Gigi,” he mutters, and I blink, not sure I heard him right.

But he says nothing more, and I thread my fingers through his thick, dark hair, wondering.

* * *

We doze on and off, and eventually he gets up and drags me off the sofa.

Then he swings me up in his arms and carries me to his bedroom. He lays me down, and I stare up into his clear eyes, smiling.

His mouth quirks. He lies down beside me and pulls the covers over us, then puts his arms around me. “I missed this last night. Missed you.”

“Then why didn’t you come over?”

“I dunno. Cuz of things going to shit, I guess. Losing my job, and all these… these fucking doubts. About myself. About what I considered important.”

I stroke his bare chest, and feel a few raised ridges under his ink. My hands can see things my eyes can’t.

“You have scars on your chest.”

He’s been half-dozing, but now he frowns, a small unhappy line between his brows. “A few. That accident, when I was little. Then a couple more over the years. Once I fell off the porch when I lived with Connor. Busted my head open, too.”

“Where?” I trail my hand up the side of his face, to his hair, and he shivers. “Ah, found it.” A thin scar, on the top of his head. “Where else?”

He huffs. “My fucking knee.”

“Let me see.”

“What for? It’s damn ugly.”

“Nothing about you is ugly. I want to see.” I meet his heavy-lidded gaze. “To see everything that hurts. Everything that made you who you are.”

He looks like he’s about to refuse, object, but he releases me from his arms and pushes down the covers. He folds his arms under his head, all those strong muscles in full display, but his face is stoic as I crouch over his leg. Like he expects me to make a face, or say something nasty.

I study the mass of scars. “Surgery?”

“Yeah. Several. For a while they thought I wouldn’t walk again.”

Ow. I hurt on his behalf. The scars are shaped funny, like they’re too short for the width of his leg, and then I realize it’s because he was little when it all happened.

Bending over, I kiss the scarred flesh, gently caress it with my fingers.

Gasping, he half rises, abs tightening into a six-pack, his cock stirring. “Fuck.”

Grinning, I move my lips over the mass of scars to the inside of his thigh, so close to his balls and cock his musk fills my senses. Fascinated, I watch his cock fill out steadily, his balls draw up.

He drops back on his elbows, gaze going dark. “Gigi.” His voice has dropped to a low growl. “Don’t start something you’re not gonna finish.”

“Who says I won’t?” I run my hand over his thigh, over his muscled stomach, watching his cock swell more and lift up.

“You’re killing me,” he groans, and lets out a hissing breath when I take his cock in my mouth. “Hot damn…”

His spine arches. His body jerks. Then he tries to settle down as I suck on the saltiness of his length, placing one hand on his taut stomach, letting the other play with his balls. I roll them on my palm and more saltiness floods my mouth.

His fingers curl in the covers. “Fuck, that is…” His hips rock up as he fucks my mouth. I release his balls and wrap my hand around the base of his thick cock. “Yeah, like that. Shit yeah. Suck it hard. Harder.”

I’m so horny just from sucking him, hearing him, seeing how excited he is, sensing how close to the edge. From tasting him, so bitter and spicy and so sexy, so perfect with his scars and his pain, his loyalty and his hidden vulnerability.

I’ve never felt so close to anyone before.

His breathing is frantic now. His hips rock up uncontrollably, his cock twitches, spilling more salt and bitterness in my mouth, and I drink him in, stroking him and sucking until he cries out. Then I pull back, breathing hard, still stroking his cock, watching his cum splash on his chest, painting it in long white lines.

That’s hot. His cum, crisscrossing his tattoos, covering the scars, laid over his abs and strong pecs.

“A work of art,” I whisper, and then I catch the glint of his cat-like eyes and grin.

“You’re a crazy girl.” He chuckles, a deep, husky sound that I feel inside my belly, and between my legs.

“Like you didn’t know.”

“You’re right, I should’ve known. After all, you’re here with me.”

I look around for something to clean him up with, hiding my face, because my eyes burn. “Of course I am.”

Grabbing a discarded T-shirt that’s draped on the nightstand—how did that get there?—he sits up and wipes his chest clean, then throws it to the floor.

“Come here.” He opens his arms and winks. “My turn to make you cry out.”

“No, just…” I don’t know how to express everything I feel for him. My body is flushed and aroused, but that’s not what I need right now. “Just hold me?”

“Always,” he breathes. “God, always.”

Those words, and the feeling of being hidden in his embrace. Yes, this is exactly what I need. This. Now and always.

* * *

Early morning finds us in his tiny kitchen, drinking instant coffee in chipped mugs. The only ones he owns, apparently. I sit on the table, swinging my legs, while he stands at the counter, sipping his coffee.

He looks hot, in those low-slung sweats that reveal the delicious dimples at his hips and show his bare chest in all its glory.

Then again, what’s new? This boy’s always hot.

As the caffeine seeps into my system, though, clearing cobwebs, I realize there’s something wrong with this whole picture. “What happened to your chairs?”

“Seb broke them in one of his fits.”

God. “That what happened to the rest of your mugs, too?”

He grins cheekily. “Nah. Never needed more than two.”

I snicker. “Tell me you only have one fork and knife, too.”

“Fewer things to wash.” His grin fades. He glances around. “Yeah, I know, this place’s a dump. I won’t be staying here for much longer anyway.”

“Why not?”

He shrugs. “No money for rent. I’ll find something cheaper. But first I need to find another job.”

“About that. I had this idea. My brother in law, Matt? He and his brother own a garage. Mancave.”

“You serious? They called the garage Mancave?”

“Ah-huh. Newsflash: my whole family’s sort of crazy.”

His smile returns, fainter. “I believe you. And they’re nice people. Like you.”

Aw, be still my heart. “Yeah, they’re super nice. Matt and Kaden, his brother, have been expanding their business. They just took on a new mechanic, Evan, but they need more help. My sister was helping them out in the office, but now with the baby she’s out of commission for a while, and they’ve been looking for an assistant to take her place. I figured you could do that. Until you find something better.”

Hope flashes in his eyes. Then it dims again. “Why would they hire me? They barely know me, and I don’t want any favors.”

“It’s not a favor when it’s for the family.”

I stop. Have I gone too far?

But he’s only giving me a strange look. “Okay. I’ll ask.” And then he smiles, his eyes crinkling. “Thank you.”