I blinked. “I’m not sure what the fuck brought this on, Jack.”
Jack paced the room, his hands fisted at his sides like he didn’t trust himself to speak. When he finally turned, his voice came out low and rough. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
“What wasn’t?” I asked, folding my arms.
“You and him.” He swallowed hard. “You’ve shared men with me before. You’ve watched me fuck them,Iwatchedyoufuck them. Butthis—”
I blinked. “Jack—”
“It’shim,” he bit out. “It’s Elliott. He’s not like the others. He’s got his shit together. He’s older. Smarter. Hot as fuck. He’s your type, Hana. He’severyone’stype.”
I stared at him, my breath shallow. “This is aboutElliott?”
“Yes. You want to know why this feels different?” he snapped, his voice breaking. “Because I was never involved with him. I never touched him. I watchedhimfuckyou. And I saw something on your face I haven’t seen since…”
He didn’t finish.
“Since Michael?” I asked, anger and hurt and confusion in my words.
Jack’s eyes flared. “Don’t fucking say his name.”
I stepped forward, my voice softening. He didn’t need my anger—he needed to be pulled back. “Jack, he’s not you. I never wanted him instead of you.”
His eyes were still wild with emotion. “I don’t want to feel like I’m competing for you. Not again. Not with a guy likethat.”
I reached for his face, cupping his cheek. “Then let’s stop. No more pretending we’re okay with this if we’re not. No more pushing past our boundaries.”
His hand came up to hold mine, keeping it anchored to his cheek. “You swear you’re mine?”
“I’vealwaysbeen yours,” I whispered. “Even before I knew it.”
Tears filled his eyes.
“I can’t be perfect, Hana,” he said finally. “I can’t always be okay. I can’t always share. And I’m tired of pretending I’m not still the same possessive, desperate sod who took you and made you fall for me.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
My breath was still uneven, my hands trembling slightly as I held his face between them. “Tell me what you want,” I whispered.
Jack’s eyes darkened instantly. That familiar flicker—possessive, ravenous, heated—rose in him like a storm. His hands slid down to my hips and yanked me tight against him.
“You,” he growled. “The way I always have you. Screaming, desperate, begging for more.”
Before I could respond, he spun me around, bending me over the edge of the bed. His palm came down hard across my ass—once, then twice.
“I’ve been starving for this,” he muttered, yanking my underwear down, his mouth hot at the nape of my neck. “For you.”
A moan spilled from my lips. “Then take me,” I gasped. “Take what’s yours.”
He didn’t hesitate. He thrust into me hard, and I cried out, pushing against the bed as he gripped my hips like he was reclaiming what had always been his.
This wasn’t sweet or careful or patient. This was Jack unfiltered—raw, jealous, desperate. The Jack who took what he wanted and made me beg for more.
He wrapped his hand in my hair, yanked my head back just enough to breathe into my ear, “You’re mine, Hana.”
I whimpered, “Yes.”
He slammed into me again. “So say it.”
