He kissed me.

Raine Storm kissed me.

More like, he fucked my mouth, but… details. Johns never kiss me. Even though I get tested regularly, who knows where my mouth’s been, right?

But he kissed me, and now his hot breath is washing over my shoulder, his body pressing me into the wall. I shouldn’t think about it. Shouldn’t like it so much.

He’s so warm. Hot. That muscular, perfect body is blanketing me where I’m standing, and even if I’m so turned on my senses have gone haywire, I’m aware of the lump clogging my throat.

And I dunno why, goddammit. Have I turned into a fucking pussy, falling apart whenever he touches me? My brain is really messed-up if kissing and humping in the shower translates as something to write home about.

And yet.

Damn.

It was hot. He was hot. If anyone could turn me on, make me come, it’d be him. If I could just let go of this fear, let the barrier fall. Could I do that? Am I able to, anymore?

He lifts his face, something shifting behind his blue eyes, and I can’t decide what it is, not with my heart still banging around in my chest and my dick hovering at half-mast, excited and sensitive like never before.

“You said you never get hard,” he says, and I flinch, then steel myself as his hand wanders back down to my cock. “Never all the way.”

I turn my head to the side, swallow. Try to get my wits back together. “This ain’t about me.”

He sighs, his warm breath feathering over the side of my neck, and pulls away.

A shiver goes through me. I’m wet and getting cold now his body isn’t pressed to mine. I wanna pull him back to me. Want his hand on my dick. His mouth on my shoulder. His voice in my ear.

Fuck…

Raine is still studying me, I realize, and I try to suppress another shiver. Are we done now, or does he expect me to suck him? Or fuck?

I’m so damn exhausted, but it doesn’t stop my dick from twitching at the thought. What the hell, right?

What in the fucking hell.

“Close your eyes,” he says and I turn to stare at him instead.

“Why?”

“Just close your eyes.”

Licking my lips, I try to get a cue from his expression, but it’s blank, except for a tightening at the corners of his lips, which could mean he’s angry, or just impatient.

Fuck it. Why am I fighting it tonight? Easier to give in. I’ve known guys who liked me blindfolded as they beat me up and fucked me over, so sue me for not being thrilled at this development.

As I close my eyes and wait for something to happen, I try and fail not to tense up, my muscles seizing. My breathing turns faster, and there’s a weight on my chest.

God, enough already tonight. I can’t… I fucking can’t take anymore.

Fingertips brush over my jaw, and I squeeze my eyes more tightly, waiting, waiting.

“Jase,” he whispers, and I can’t even correct him, my teeth gritting so hard I’m probably wearing down my molars. “Relax.”

Easy for you to say, I wanna say, but see the above problem.

“It’s just water,” he says, and I frown, jerking a little when the shower starts again and rains down on me, cool at first, then getting warmer. “Keep your eyes closed.”

Scent of apples, then his fingertips slide up from my face to my hair.

“What are you… what are you doing?” Fuck, I hate that my voice breaks like that. It’s just that I can’t catch my breath, and his strong fingers massage my scalp, sending bolts of pleasure down my back. My dick stirs again, and my head swims.

“Washing you.”

“I, uh.”

His hand slides down the back of my neck, and I moan, unable to keep quiet. Oh shit. His thumb strokes my nape, and my dick fills out some more, lifting up from between my legs.

What the fuck? Why is he doing this?

God, don’t let him stop.

He strokes the back of my head, then his hands slide down my shoulders and to the front, over my chest, a thumb flicking at the piercing in my nipple, and hot need shoots straight to my cock.

An inarticulate sound leaves my throat, and my head falls back. My knees feel like rubber, unable to hold my weight.

And his hands travel over me, never touching my dick, circling my hips, smoothing over my back, over my ass, spreading the scent of apples and cleanness, water and warm skin until I don’t know what to do.

I grab for him, dizzy.

“Hey. All right?” He lets me hold on to him, on to his arms, as the water flows over me, warm and soft, melting away the tension, turning my muscles to jelly. It’s a wonder I’m still standing and haven’t oozed down to the floor in a puddle. “Jason.”

“’M all right,” I manage, but it’s wheezy. Fuck, I’m really wiped out, and the steam and heat of the water is making me loopy. Has to be that, because I think I hear worry in his voice, and that’s fucking crazy.

The guy hates me, hates the fact I’m a hooker, and that his brother dared spend any of his time on me when I was sick, and that was years ago.

I know all this.

It’s not helping with the way my mind keeps latching on every fucking word and gesture, turning it into something it’s not.

A rustle, his body moving even as he pushes me back against the wall, propping me there, then something soft falls over my head.

A towel.

He towels my hair off, and I can’t think or react. He throws a bigger towel over me and leads me out of the shower stall, stepping over a heap of soaked fabric. His pants, I realize, and wonder if I should pick them up, only he tugs me out of the bathroom, toward the living room.

Oh right. Okay, that’s fine. He didn’t want to keep fooling around in the shower, so we’re moving to the sofa. I’m sort of sleepwalking by now, but I can do this. Got it under control.

It’s just so warm, dammit. And the sofa he pushes me down onto is soft and smells vaguely familiar, of apples and Raine.

I blink as he grabs a pair of sweats from a chair and pulls them on, then blink again when he appears in front of me. Feels like I’m losing time.

“I’m gonna grab some dinner.” he says, looking down at me, and then walks away. His disembodied voice drifts over from the direction of the kitchen. “Didn’t eat anything tonight.”

Like I did? Heh. And the thought of food has my empty stomach cramping. Shit.

“Listen, Raine, I should get going…” I start, and stop.

I don’t wanna move yet. It’s so warm here… Warm and comfortable, and as a delicious smell starts wafting over from the kitchen, my stomach growls and twists with hunger. With my luck, by the time he comes back out, I’ll be drooling all over his sofa.

Yeah, I need to go. I make it to my feet, one hand braced on the back of the sofa since my legs still feel unsteady and the fucking room is spinning, when I remember that my clothes are wet and covered in puke and cum.

Fuck. I look down at myself, at the blue towel Raine has wrapped around my waist. Yep, I’ll have to put those stinky clothes back on and head out, pick up more customers.

“Hey.” Raine wanders back into the living room, sets something on the coffee table. A pan. “Did you have dinner? This lasagna’s pretty good.”

His words hang in space, floating like small balloons, unable to sink in.

Lasagna.

Dinner.

My stomach growls again, the sound embarrassingly loud in the quiet. “Uh, look…”

“Eat with me.” His gaze nails me, steel in his eyes, and I wonder what he’s pissed off about now. Then he shakes his head. “Sit. There’s enough for both of us.”

I blink at his handsome face, my heart thumping an uneven rhythm in my chest. “Okay, sure.” Christ, I hope my voice doesn’t betray me. “Thanks.”

Far be it from me to refuse a free dinner, and the smell’s killing me. He places a fat piece of lasagna on a plate, fluffy white and thick red sauce pooling, and it’s like food porn.

I swallow hard and sit back down.

He pushes the plate my way, together with a fork, and nods. “Dig in.”

It smells delicious, and I’m stuffing my face before he’s even served himself a plate. It’s hot, and holy shit, it melts in my mouth.

I barely notice when he turns on the TV on low and mutters something about channels and series and shit. Background noise. It doesn’t bother me—and since when am I so comfortable in Raine’s home?

Fuck it. I shovel in the food, barely pausing to breathe, moaning and not giving a shit. So damn good.

Then a doubt strikes me, and I pause with the fork halfway to my mouth.

Is this even real? Maybe I’m curled up in my sleeping bag, behind the dumpster, dreaming lasagna dreams.

Christ.

In that case I’d better hurry the hell up before the dream ends, right?

“There’s more.” Raine sits down beside me before I can speak. “Gimme your plate.”

He heaps another huge, steaming piece on it and I accept it gratefully. “Thanks.”

“Kayla cooked it, not Shun, so I think we’re safe. My brother thinks he can cook but…” He shudders. “Even raised on cat food, I can’t always digest what he makes.”

I pause in the process of inhaling the lasagna and stare at him. “Cat food?”

He shrugs. “I told you about my dad.”

Right. “You sure did.”

Downstairs, before we came up, sitting inside his pick-up truck. Thing is, I was in a bit of a fog then—cold, and tired, and stressed out.

Not that my mind’s much clearer now, sitting here warm and comfortable with a full belly—and with him so close. Yeah, even food can’t distract me from the bare-chested hottie beside me.

He has very little ink for someone who works in a tattoo shop. Hell, someone whose brother is a tattoo artist. Just a line of text on one hard pectoral that I haven’t been able to read, and a band on a thick biceps that flexes when he lifts the fork to his mouth.

My mouth goes dry, watching him eat, watching the strong lines of his body, his beautiful face shadowed by the fall of his dark hair, his golden skin so tempting, making me want to run my fingers and my tongue all over him.

“So… you had a hard childhood,” I mutter.

I dunno why I feel the need to comment, show I’m listening. Feels like it’s the least I can do after he fed me dinner. And washed me. And… shit, this is fucked-up.

He swallows, puts his fork down in the plate. “It was okay. I had my brother. And Livvy. Until…”

I wait, but he’s silent, staring down at his half-eaten food.

And despite the fact that my first thought is to ask if I could finish it, if he doesn’t want it, I find myself asking, “Until what?”

He rubs a hand over his face. “Ocean sent me away to my aunt, and our folks kicked him out to the street.”

Fuck. Sounds like a page taken out of my own story. Which sucks ass.

The few days I spent in the company of Raine’s brother years ago, and the times I met him afterward, he never offered any details about his past. Or Raine’s. I assumed it meant there was nothing noteworthy about it, that they were normal kids, raised by a normal family.

Not by wolves, like me.

“I’m sorry,” I offer, cuz that’s all I’ve got.

He nods, and he’s quiet. The TV is humming in the background, and I glance at it, my belly so full I feel vaguely sick. There’s a bite of lasagna left on my plate and I make myself eat it. Can’t waste good food. Then I wonder if it’s okay to lick the sauce off the plate.

Hm… The room is darkening. I give a slow blink, jolt when my fork thunks down on the plate.

Damn.

“You ever watch this series?” Raine asks, and I struggle to focus on his words. These past few nights I barely slept a wink and it’s catching up on me. “Shadowhunters. Fantasy and all that shit, if you like it.”

“Uh sure. Mayleen likes it. It’s all right.”

“Mayleen?”

“A friend. We watch TV sometimes when I crash at her place.”

“Why, where do you normally sleep?”

I rattle off the intersection, trailing off at the end because rhe room does that darkening thing again. Either I’m falling asleep or passing out, not sure which.

“You rent a room?”

I rub a hand over my eyes. It ain’t helping. “Nah, I got a sleeping bag. Unless Mayleen can put me up, you know. If she doesn’t have a customer.”

Keeping my eyes open takes up all my focus. The music soundtrack from the TV is like a fucking lullaby.

Hush… hush, little baby…

Raine makes a funny sound in his throat, and I blink. “Shun said you’re renting a room.”

Ah fuck. Forgot about that. “Not at the moment.” It comes out a bit slurred. And it strikes me as funny. “Jesus.”

“What?” He sort of catches me, and that’s when I realize I’d been sliding sideways.

“Nothing. No money left over, man.” I’m warm with his arm around me. His fingers slide through my hair. “I got nothing…”

“It’s okay,” he whispers, or I think he whispers, unless I’m dreaming already. “I’ve got you, Jase.”

Yeah, most definitely just a dream.

Figures.