"Tell me if you want to stop, for any reason. No explanations needed."
"I won't want to stop."
He exhales shakily, something wild and wanting in the sound that makes heat pool low in my belly. His grip on my hips tightens, fingers flexing against my skin.
"Okay, little bird. Let me take care of you."
He kisses me first. Slow and deep, his tongue sliding against mine, his hands traveling up my sides. I melt into him, letting the heat of his body seep into my bones.
Then he stands, lifting me with him like I weigh nothing. I wrap my legs around his waist and hold on as he carries me through a door I hadn't noticed before, into a room I've never seen.
His bedroom.
It's sparse but comfortable. A large bed with a dark comforter. A dresser. A window overlooking the back lot. The sheets smell like him, leather and smoke and something warm beneath.
He lays me down on the bed and follows me, covering my body with his. The weight of him should feel oppressive, but it doesn't. It feels safe. Grounding.
"I've been wanting to touch you since the moment you walked through my door." His voice is a low rumble against my throat, his lips tracing a path down my neck. "Two weeks of watching you, learning you, wanting you. I'm done waiting."
His mouth finds the spot where my shoulder meets my neck, and he bites down gently. I gasp, arching into him.
"These are mine now," he murmurs against my skin, his lips brushing over my collarbone where the bruises used to be. "Every inch of you is mine. And I'm going to worship every inch."
He strips my shirt over my head with careful hands, watching my face for any sign of fear. I'm not afraid. I'm burning.
His eyes trace over my body, lingering on curves I've always tried to hide. With Garrett, I was never enough. Too soft, too plain, too forgettable.
Jett looks at me like I'm a revelation.
"Beautiful," he breathes, and the word hits me like a physical blow. I didn't know how much I needed to hear it until this moment.
His mouth follows his eyes, trailing kisses across my chest, down my stomach. He unhooks my bra and tosses it aside, then cups my breasts in his hands like they're something precious. When his mouth closes over one nipple, I cry out, my fingers digging into his shoulders.
"That's it." His voice is a satisfied rumble. "Every sound you make is mine. Every shiver. Every moan. Mine, Sparrow."
I reach for his cut, desperate to feel his skin against mine. He shrugs it off, then pulls his shirt over his head, and suddenly I understand why he waited. Why he gave me time. He wanted me to be sure, because once I saw him like this, there would be no going back.
His body is a work of art. Muscle and ink and scars, a roadmap of violence and survival. I trace the tattoos with shaking fingers, following the lines across his chest, his shoulders, down his arms.
"You're beautiful," I whisper.
He laughs, rough and disbelieving. "I'm a lot of things. Beautiful isn't one of them."
"You are to me."
Something shifts in his expression. Something raw and vulnerable that he probably doesn't let anyone else see. He kisses me again, deeper this time, more desperate.
His hands find the button of my jeans, and he pulls back just far enough to look at me. A question.
I lift my hips in answer.
He strips me slowly, reverently. Jeans, then underwear, until I'm bare beneath him. I should feel exposed. Vulnerable. Instead, I feel powerful. The way he's looking at me, like I'm the most precious thing he's ever seen, makes me feel like a queen.
"Jett." His name comes out breathless, needy.
"I know." He presses a kiss to my hip bone. "I've got you."
He settles between my thighs, and my breath catches. I know what's coming. My body tightens with anticipation.
