Her voice was soft, sweet, reflective.
She got it.
OG.
Always there.
Right at the heart.
It would always be them.
His mom.Dutch.Hound.Wilder.
His dad.
OG.
He wanted to answer her question, because he had an answer,but all of a sudden, his throat had shut down.
His throat had shut down.
She took his hand, moved it to her inner right arm, andwrapped his fingers around the three symbols inked there.
Even with his hand covering them, he knew what they were.Inthe last few days, he’d spent some time taking in her tats.
Those were detailed, intricate, even if not a one of themwas bigger than his thumbnail.
Two Hamsa hands protecting a Chakra Third Eye.
Yeah.
With that tat, with the easy way she talked about shit,shared it, Jag knew she was there.
She knew herself or was capable of digging deep if somethingreared that needed contemplation.
He was not.
“Where do you go from there, Jagger?”she whispered.
He wanted to give it to her but he couldn’t.
Instead, he closed his eyes, dropped his head, and felt thetight muscles pull hard in his neck.
She left his hand where it was on her arm and swept hersover his hair.
She caught it at the back in a gentle fist.
“This is mine, okay?”she stated, tugging lightly.“From nowon, you don’t cut it unless I say it’s cool.Yeah?”
At her words, that tug, his dick started to get hard and hishand moved in a way it didn’t feel like he was moving it.With a mind of itsown, it went to hers and took control.
He positioned it, wrapping it around his throat.
Then he lifted his head and locked eyes with her.
“Here,” he forced out.
That syllable was guttural.
