He cocked his head, considering. “You think you’re still desperate?”
I smiled. “Maybe a little.”
He grinned, big and sudden. “I like that about you.”
I felt the heat rise in my face, and I ducked my head, hair falling in my eyes. “I like you, too.”
He let out a breath, then stood, gathering the plates in one hand. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s clean up.”
I followed him to the sink, the kitchen warm with late afternoon sun. We moved around each other, our bodies brushing in small, accidental ways that felt more intimate than anything we’d done the night before.
When the dishes were done, he turned to me, hands still wet, and pulled me in for a kiss. It was softer this time, slow and deep, like he had all the time in the world to learn me.
He broke the kiss, then rested his forehead on mine. “You’re mine now,” he whispered.
I let myself believe it.
And for the first time, I didn’t feel alone.
The next minute felt as delicate as glass. Rawley looked at me like he was waiting for the punchline—like maybe any second I’d bolt, or tell him that I couldn’t handle the weight of what he’d just laid out.
I didn’t. I wasn’t even tempted.
Instead, I stepped into his space, close enough to feel the heat rolling off him in thick waves. I set my palm flat against his chest, right over where his heart beat. It was steady and strong, but I felt a jump when I made contact.
“You really want me here?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
He caught my wrist, gentle but unyielding, and covered my hand with his. “Don’t ask dumb questions.”
I tried to laugh, but it came out shaky. “Just making sure.”
His eyes got that hard, storm-gray look I’d only seen a couple times. “I meant what I said at the table,” he said. “You’re mine now.” His voice went lower, almost a growl. “You know what that means?”
I thought I did, but hearing it out loud sent a shock straight through me. “Tell me,” I said, and the tremor in my words didn’t sound like fear.
He leaned in, so close I could see the flecks of silver in his eyes. “It means I’ll take you anywhere. Anytime. I don’t care if it’s the kitchen or the fucking barn. If I want you, I’m going to have you.”
The words slammed into me like a fist. I felt my knees wobble, but I stayed upright, locked on the sound of his breathing.
“But—” he added, softer now, “If you ever tell me stop, I stop. That’s the rule. Doesn’t matter if I’m halfway gone or about to break. You say no, I stop.”
I nodded, because I couldn’t find my voice.
He let go of my wrist and cupped my jaw, thumb tracing the line of my cheek. “You ever been claimed, Jojo?”
I shook my head.
He smiled, slow and hungry. “Good. I want to be your last.”
His other hand slid to my hip, fingers digging in just enough to make me aware of every inch of skin between us. I could feel my own pulse hammering under his palm.
I wanted to say something clever, something that would make him laugh or at least soften for a second, but all I managed was, “You can have me. Whenever you want.”
He made a sound—half growl, half sigh—and pressed his forehead to mine. “You mean that?”
“Yeah,” I said, and I meant it with every cell in my body.
He kissed me, harder than before, and I tasted honey and salt and something that was just him. I clung to his shirt, afraid if I let go I’d fall right through the floor.
