Someone tell me what the hell I’m doing. Have I gone completely off my rocker? Following Jason into the night, abandoning my date, punching a random guy in the face because he was manhandling Jason—and now taking him home with me.

Jason, not the other guy.

Still.

I’m so goddamn pissed at myself. Didn’t I promise I wouldn’t think about Jason, let alone invite him over? What was I thinking?

Jason doesn’t look thrilled, either. Slumped back in the passenger seat, he manages to look both bored and tense at the same time.

And sexy.

But I refuse to think about that last part, focusing instead on the street, ignoring as best I can the heat coming off his body. His hand is lax on his thigh, long, slender fingers and the trailing ends of dark tattoos on pale skin, distracting me every time I stop at a traffic light.

His arms are corded, the tattoos full sleeves on his forearms, flowers and bursting stars and moths and demon faces. I know he had a big part of them done at Damage Control. Ocean and Jesse who worked on them didn’t ask him for payment.

I’ve always wondered why they felt it was so important for Jason to get those tattoos. I’m itching to trace them, follow their patterns and lines.

Fuck, get a grip, Raine.

My knuckles are smarting, red and swollen, and Jesus Christ, I knocked the guy out. Could have killed him.

I take a breath that’s meant to be bracing, but comes out shaky instead.

“So,” I say, “what was that about?”

A beat of silence. Then, “Nothing.”

I turn to him, incredulous, heat climbing up my neck. “You serious right now? You won’t tell me after I jumped in to save your ass?”

“It’s a damn fine ass,” he says, one side of his mouth tipping up in a half smirk.

“Jase.”

“Jason.” His smirk slips. “Nobody asked you to save my fine ass, okay? I didn’t need your fucking help.”

“You didn’t, huh?” I try to control my temper, but I slam my foot into the gas anyway, and we jerk forward. “Didn’t look like it.”

He grips the door handle, his face going white, and says nothing. In fact, he says nothing more until we’re parked outside my building, and I throw the pick-up into park, killing the engine.

I jump out, but he takes his sweet time climbing out, every movement slow and measured. I’ve no idea what he’s playing at, so I wait him out, lock the truck, and then lead the way up to my apartment.

Way too aware of him following. His steps. His presence. His subtle scent that I haven’t yet been able to place, but which hits me under the belt and gets me all sorts of hard.

Damn… This is gonna be a long evening.

The light switch is by the door, but I ignore it. Instead, I step inside to turn on a standing lamp I bought at a street market when I first moved in. Somehow bright light would be too harsh after what happened, and I can’t even explain why.

So I stop trying, and just go with my gut feeling.

Jason walks over to the sofa and props his hip against the back, looking at me through hooded eyes. Strange that he doesn’t glance around, isn’t curious enough to explore my small living room.

Then I remember he’s been here before—back when this was my brother’s apartment. He’d been sick, and Ocean let him crash for a few days.

That was right before I turned eighteen, left our aunt and came here to be with my brother. When I met Jason for the first time.

And was a total jackass to him.

Even then, from the first look, he got under my skin. Seems to be a talent of his, among others—and no dammit, I won’t think of Jason’s other talents. His talented mouth. His talented hands. His talented—

“You changed a few things,” he says coolly, and that bored air is still there.

The tension too. I see it in the trembling of his hands when he runs his fingers through his hair, making it stand up in spikes, in the rigid line of his back.

“I sure did,” I mutter. I actually kept most of the furniture, but put up movie posters on the walls, and I bought a deep blue rug that makes me think I’m floating on the deep sea. It has been my apartment for two years now, and it’s so damn weird to have Jason here.

In context, and yet out of context. Like stepping into the past, only it’s the present and everything’s changed. I’m not an angry eighteen-year-old with issues anymore.

Well, I’m not eighteen anymore. As for the issues…and as for Jason…

I don’t really know him. That hasn’t changed over the years. But my awareness of him has. It’s sharper. Stronger.

Deeper.

And it pisses me off.

Most things do these days.

“Sit.” I gesture at the sofa and try not to stare at his chest where the jacket is gaping open, the way his tank top is riding high, revealing a taut stomach with threads of tattoos and a dark happy trail that disappears into his pants. “Drink?”

He shrugs, a fluid, powerful movement. “Tequila, if you’ve got any.”

For some reason, I’d been thinking of hot coffee, but I guess this will work, too. “No tequila. Jack?”

“Sure.”

I grab two glasses from the shelf by the door and pour us two fingers each, then walk over to him. He straightens at my approach, his gaze sliding from the glasses to my face, and he starts to strip off his jacket.

It’s an actual strip-tease, sparse and minimal and thoroughly masculine. My mouth goes dry when he pulls the flaps open, one by one, his eyes never leaving mine. He lifts his shoulders as he pulls the jacket off them… then lets it fall to the floor.

Damn. I’ve seen him dressed in just a tank top before, but the first time I was angry as all hell with him, and it was years ago. The second was at the bar on my birthday, but from a distance, and the other day he’d been drenched and nearly hypothermic, and in need of help.

But now...

Now he tilts his head to the side, silky black hair falling in his face, silver hoops glinting in his ears. He looks very… elfin like this. Is that a word? Like a dangerous, sexy dark elf come to break me.

With his tight, black tank top and jeans over slim hips and broad shoulders, his combat boots with silver chains looped over them and his long-lashed, chocolate eyes, he’s pushing every damn button in me.

I can’t remember the last time I was so hard. I’m dizzy with all the blood flowing south. All I want is to slam him into the wall and fuck his mouth with my tongue, then maybe my dick, and then—

“Thanks,” he says smoothly, taking one of the glasses I forgot I had in my hands and gulping down the Jack. He coughs, then grins and wipes his mouth on his forearm.

And I’m still staring, dammit.

Tearing my gaze away, I swallow my Jack, and it goes down like sweet fire, the heat spreading to my limbs and down my back, relaxing muscles I hadn’t realized had been pulled taut like violin strings. I pass the glass to my left hand and flex the right, feeling the sting in my knuckles.

“This is damn good stuff,” Jason drawls, and I realize my mistake the moment I look back at him because he’s licking his lips. He smirks at me, letting a hint of fang show.

He takes another sip and bares his teeth. Never realized how sharp his teeth look. A grin full of bite, and a bolt of heat rushes straight to my dick.

What the fuck, right? I don’t get it, but my dick likes Jason’s grin. Judging from its hard, hot and wet state, my dick likes it a lot.

Likes it even more when he tugs his tank top up and runs his sweating glass over his hard stomach, leaving a trail of moisture from his hard abs to his navel and lower, all the way to the button at the front of his pants.

I swallow hard. What is he doing to me? It’s like magic. A black spell.

He lifts the damn glass back to his lips and drinks. I watch his throat work as he takes a gulp, watch as he lowers the glass, empty now, and a flush spreads on his cheekbones, making his eyes glitter.

Hot damn. I step closer, drawn to him in spite of myself, wondering at the dark line of ink on his neck that I never noticed before.

“Gonna fuck me?” he asks, and I open my mouth to send him to hell, but what comes out is not that.

“Yeah,” I say, and I barely recognize my voice. “I’ll pay.”

“You’d better.” He winks and takes the glass from my hand, placing both his and mine down on the floor. “Next time.”

Next time?

Holy shit, what am I doing? I can’t even remember what I brought him here to discuss, what questions I wanted to ask.

I shake my head, open my mouth again to set things right, but he’s already unbuttoning my shirt, the feel of his rough finger pads on my bared skin sending sparks down my nerves, down my spine. He pushes the light material off my shoulders, and I throw the shirt away impatiently. My skin is burning.

And I need to see him, touch him.

“Strip,” I hear a hoarse voice command, and realize it’s mine. “Take it all off.”

Something like surprise flickers over his handsome face, and I notice a trace of eyeliner over his eyes. He rolls one shoulder in a shrug and grabs the hem of his tank top, pauses for a moment, his gaze holding mine before he complies.

My breathing accelerates. The stretchy material slides up and up, revealing more ink and tight abs and then taut pecs with small brown nipples.

One of them is pierced with a small silver hoop.

God. Damn. I didn’t know I had a thing for piercings. Didn’t know I had a thing for anything at all. Though I sure have a thing for Jason.

I shut that thought down before it fully forms, because fuck, that’s crazy talk and implies things that aren’t true. Jason is just hot, and here, and I’m horny because I haven’t been laid in what feels like years.

Never had a proper lay in fact, and… yeah, another thought to shut down ASAP and get on with the show.

And it is a show. He’s paused with the tank top rolled up, looking at me. I’d have whipped it over his tousled head in under a nanosecond, but he’s taking his sweet time, stretching his muscles so that every dip and ridge of his chest is outlined in the faint, golden light of the lamp.

Then he finally gets it off and he’s standing there, the fabric bunched up in one hand, dressed in his low-slung pants and boots, one brow arched at me, like a sexy god of the underworld, his gaze full of dirty promises.

I shake my head slowly, trying to clear it.

It’s not working.

I want him to push down those damn pants, let me see his dick, see if he’s as hard as I am. See what his dick looks like. If it’s pierced, too, oh fuck…

The heat flows like molten lava, pooling between my legs, a heavy, sweet pressure, settling behind my balls, making my cock swell more, so instead of words, I groan.

At this rate, I’m gonna come in my pants just from imagining him naked.

On the heels of that thought, he steps closer, until we’re chest to chest, and his scent hits me, something spicy that isn’t an aftershave but more like pure male sweat and blood and musk, and I grab his face in my hands, unable to stop myself. My mouth is watering like I’m starving and he’s a feast. I wanna run my tongue all over him, taste that sinful mouth.

But when I lean in, he turns his head slightly, as much as my hands will allow him, until my fingertips are buried in the soft hair of his nape on one side, touching the soft skin of his throat with the other.

“Gonna suck you,” he whispers, a dark seductive purr to his deep voice, and he goes down on his knees in one movement, leaving my hands empty.

He unzips my pants and tugs them down together with my black briefs. My breath comes out in a gasp when the cool air hits my overheated cock.

Jesus, I…

Can’t think. Not when he produces a condom from somewhere in his pants and snaps it over my dick, then puts his mouth on me.

My hands drop to his dark head, twist in the soft strands, and then it’s a struggle to keep quiet as he goes to town on me, sucking and humming and working my hard-on with his tongue, and oh man…

The pressure increases, and I look down to see he has taken my whole cock into his mouth. My fingers tighten in his hair. He’s deep-throating me, and the last thread of my control snaps.

He does something with his throat that has me crying out and shaking as I come, my dick jerking and my balls pulsing. I’m pretty sure the top of my head has blown off.

Holy fuck… This is the mother of all motherfucking bad ideas, but right now I couldn’t care less.