His mate’s breath hitched. Color bloomed across his cheekbones, pink spreading down his neck. But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering half-closed. “Thank you. For this. For everything today.”
“You don’t need to thank me.”
“Yeah, I do.” Jamie’s hand rose, fingertips grazing the edge of Sloane’s jaw. “You didn’t have to do any of this. Show up at work, take me skating, put up with my disaster of a life.”
“Your life’s not a disaster.”
“My ex is a psycho, I got assaulted at work, and I can barely keep my apartment clean. That’s pretty much the disaster trifecta.”
Sloane caught Jamie’s hand, keeping it against his face. “You’re also brave, funny, and gorgeous. That cancels out the rest.”
Jamie’s breath stuttered. “You can’t just say things that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t know what to do with them.” Vulnerability flickered across Jamie’s features. “With you. You make me want things I told myself I couldn’t have.”
“What things?”
Instead of answering, Jamie rose up on his toes, closing the distance between them. The kiss started soft, just a press of lips, testing. Then Jamie made a small, whimpering sound, and Sloane’s control shredded. His hand found Jamie’s jaw, angling him closer, deeper. Jamie’s fingers twisted in Sloane’s shirt, pulling him in, and everything else ceased to exist.
When Sloane’s teeth caught Jamie’s bottom lip, his mate made a sound that went straight to Sloane’s cock, needy and perfect.
Breaking apart left them both breathing hard. Jamie’s pupils had blown wide, his lips kiss-swollen and tempting. Everything in Sloane demanded he claim his mate, completely, until everyone knew exactly who Jamie belonged to.
“Come home with me,” Sloane said.
I want you near me.
I want you safe.
I want you where I can see you.
I want you in my space because you fit there.
Jamie’s pulse jumped visibly in his throat. “To your place?”
“Yeah.”
For a moment, Jamie just stared at him, conflict written across his features. Then he nodded, decision made. “Yes.”
Relief and want tangled in Sloane’s ribs. He opened the passenger door, waiting until Jamie was settled before rounding to the driver’s side. The engine purred to life, and Sloane pulled out of the lot, very aware of Jamie beside him, of the energy crackling between them.
Jamie was quiet during the drive but not tense. He rested his head against the window, watching scenery blur past. Exhaustion had started to creep in, visible in the way his eyes grew heavy, blinks lasting longer each time.
“You okay?” Sloane asked, glancing over.
“Mmm. Just tired.” Jamie’s voice came out soft, drowsy. “Today was a lot.”
Understatement. Between the assault, the police, the emotional upheaval of everything, Jamie had to be running on fumes. Add in the physical activity of skating, and exhaustion was inevitable.
By the time they reached the mountain road leading to the pack house, Jamie’s breathing had evened out, deep and steady.
His face had relaxed, worry lines smoothing away, making him look younger. Vulnerable. Trusting.
Sloane’s throat tightened. His mate felt safe enough to sleep in his presence, to let his guard down completely. After everything Jamie had been through, that trust felt sacred.
The pack house appeared through the trees, sprawling and solid. Sloane killed the engine then moved around to the passenger side. Opening the door carefully, he caught Jamie before he could tip out.
