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It hits me then, how many nights Jett spent at our house, becoming an honorary member of our family. But what about his own home? I furrow my brow, lost in thought.
Sensing my confusion, Jett's hand pauses on the quilt. “What is it?” he asks softly.
“You know, I don't think I ever went to your place. I can't even picture what it looked like,” I muse aloud, shaking my head.
Jett's mouth twists, and he looks down at his hands. “There's a reason for that, Scar.”
The heaviness in his voice makes me pause. “What do you mean?”
He leans against the dresser, eyes narrowing as if weighing his words. “What can I say? There was nothing good happening at my place. Just a lot of yelling, usually. Slamming doors. The usual fun when you've got an old man with a mean temper and a taste for the bottle.”
I remember how Daniel would subtly change topics whenever Jett's issues came up, believing I was too young to understand. Now, all the times Jett stayed for dinner, the weekends he crashed on our couch make sense. It’s no wonder Daniel is so protective of Jett and why his loyalty is unwavering.
“Daniel helped you out, didn't he?”
His voice breaks, each word coming out as a cracked whisper. “Your family was like my safe haven. Your mom, she’d always act like it was no big deal, but I knew she was worried. Without you guys, I might’ve ended up just like him.”
Tears prick my eyes. “I'm sorry. I wish I could've been there more for you.”
Jett blinks rapidly as if chasing away shadows from his eyes. “You never looked at me like I was a lost cause.”
My chest rises and falls with shallow breaths as I drink him in—the familiar angles of his face, the lips I've fantasized about more times than I care to admit.
I reach out instinctively, my hand resting on his arm. “You do matter, Jett. You always have.”
His fingers wrap around mine, grazing with patches of rough skin. I'm acutely aware of every point of contact between us—my hand on his arm, his knee brushing against mine.
Desire courses through my veins like liquid fire, igniting every nerve ending with its scorching heat. The temptation to give in and claim Jett's lips with mine is overwhelming. I meet his smoldering gaze, my eyes silently pleading for answers.
Do you still see me as a starry-eyed girl, Daniel's kid sister? Or someone more—a woman who can match your intensity?
Jett's stare is molten. “I've been running for so damn long, I couldn't see that everything I needed was right here in front of me.” His gruff admission sends shivers racing down my spine.
My lips part with a trembling sigh as he leans in achingly slow. The first brush of his mouth against mine is soft, almost reverent, but there is barely leashed passion thrumming beneath the surface. His tongue flicks over the seam of my lips–a tantalizing promise of pleasure yet to come. It's a tease of a kiss, a sample of the forbidden. A feast I’m dying to savor.
“I mean it, Scar,” Jett rasps, his calloused thumb tenderly brushing my flushed cheek. “No more running from this–from us. It's time I stopped being a chickenshit and faced whatever this is between us.”
I fist the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. Jett's mouth slants over mine. This time there's no hesitation, no holding back when his strong hands splay across my lower back, pulling me flush against the hard planes of his body.
Jett pours all his aching need into the glide of his mouth over mine, the kiss rapidly deepening as I wind my arms around his neck. He swallows my whimpers, my moans of pleasure-pain as desires ignite that I didn't dare let myself feel before now.
I've been kissed before, sure. But never like I'm the only thing in the world that matters. It's utterly intoxicating.
When we finally break apart, I'm dizzy and flushed. Jett's eyes have gone molten, the pupils blown wide. “Tell me to stop,” he rasps hoarsely. “Before I fucking lose control.”
But I can't stop when every part of me is aching, yearning, screaming for more. “Don't you dare,” I breathe, my fingers curling into his hair to pull him back in for another scorching kiss.
Jett's tongue sweeps into my mouth, possessive and demanding, tasting every secret corner like he's determined to unravel me. He's staking his territory, leaving no doubt that I'm his.
This is no sweet, gentle exploration–it's a conquest, a claiming, a branding. And I surrender willingly.
Chapter 7
Jett
The kiss is everything I've been craving—raw, real and utterly intoxicating. I'm done running from what I want, from what I feel. And god, do I feel for this woman.
The taste of her, all sweetness and sin, lingers on my tongue, an addictive flavor I'll never get enough of. This woman is in my veins now, a part of me, and damn if that doesn't feel more right than anything in my whole messed up life.
