I could own him with a few graphic words.
Too easy.Too fast.Better to let him squirm.Let him question.Let that image poison his brain from the inside out.Because if I want to break Jag Rath, I won’t do it with fists.
I’ll do it with suggestion.
With silence.
With every moment I don’t answer, every breath I leave hanging.
Let him wonder if I’ve claimed the only thing he’s ever pretended to love.
Let him choke on it.
As I resume tattooing, the silence pulls like skin over bone, broken only by the hum of the machine.
The intensity vibrating off Jag Rath won’t quit.Neither will my questions.
What is he to Dove?More than a stepbrother?Has he touched her?Has she let him?How far have they gone behind closed doors, and how fucking wrong did it feel when they didn’t stop?
I want to ask.Hell, I want to demand it.
But I don’t.He won’t give me the truth.
Besides, it’s not just his story to tell.When I hear what happened between them, it must come from Dove.Her voice.Her terms.
I force myself to focus on the tattoo, my steady hands contradicting my turbulent thoughts.
Hours slip by.The needle purrs, and my fingers move closer to Jag’s groin, toward the untouched space beneath that sad little drape of underwear we’re still pretending is a barrier.
A barrier that does nothing to hide his unmistakable reaction.
Goth Jesus, help me.
He’s hard.
Not subtly.Not maybe.This isn’t some half-chub he could blame on pressure or friction.
This is full mast.
Salute-the-flag.
Big enough to be a third wheel on date night.
Maybe he gets off on pain.Not unheard of.Some people become glassy-eyed and float when the needle hits.
But this doesn’t feel floaty.It feels diabolical.Like I’m being observed, analyzed, and seduced by something that’s not supposed to seduce me.
Or is it me?The way I’m leaning between his legs?The way my fingers drag across his inner thigh, anchoring my hand while I work?
My face is close.Closer now.Heat rolls off his body, blending with the scent of ink, blood, skin, and something darker.Spicier.
Desire.
The worst part?I’m not repulsed.I should be.After what Denver did to me, this should trigger the full freak show, complete with a panic attack, explosive violence, and a sobbing manic spiral into lights-out land.But I don’t sense any of that looming.
Maybe because Jag doesn’t scare me.
He fascinates me.
