My heart flipped.
The night waited for us, thick with promise.
And for the first time, I was ready to be claimed.
Chapter Nine
~ Rawley ~
After the last plate hit the drying rack, I made a point of setting the sponge in the exact center of the sink. Not because I cared about neatness—Jojo had already blitzed every surface with his own brand of clean, his kind of order—but because I needed to do something with my hands before they found their way to him.
He was drying his wrists on a kitchen towel, oblivious, humming the tail end of an old country song under his breath. His eyes darted to mine when he caught me staring, and he smiled, slow and bright, like he was used to catching trouble and didn’t mind one bit.
“You want tea?” he asked, already reaching for the kettle, but I caught his wrist mid-motion.
“Later,” I said, and didn’t let go.
He stopped, senses going alert. Not fear—he wasn’t scared of me, not anymore—but a kind of charged anticipation that made the air snap between us.
I took the towel from his hand and tossed it over the chair. Then I crowded him, letting my body do the talking. He stepped back, hit the counter, and laughed, breathless.
“You’re really bad at waiting,” he said, tilting his chin up to dare me.
“Not planning on waiting at all,” I said, and scooped him up before he could get another word out.
He let out a startled whoop as I hauled him over my shoulder, feet kicking in protest that was all show. His palms pressed to my lower back, gripping fistfuls of shirt, but I could feel him smiling against my spine.
“You’re insane,” he said, but it was a compliment.
“Yeah,” I said, taking the stairs two at a time, “and you love it.”
He laughed again, the sound muffled by the fabric of my shirt. I hit the second-floor landing, then turned down the hall to the main bedroom, my grandfather’s former bedroom. It still smelled like cedar and linen, but now it was ours.
I kicked the door open and set him on his feet, making sure he slid all the way down my body on the way. He looked up at me, cheeks flushed, lips parted, and the charge in his gaze made me want to wreck him on the spot.
“You move your stuff in here tomorrow,” I told him, no question in my voice.
He grinned so wide it almost split his face. “Okay.”
I pulled his shirt over his head in one motion, leaving his hair standing on end. His chest rose and fell fast, skin bright in the dim yellow lamp light. I wanted to taste every inch of him, mark him up until everyone for twenty miles could tell who he belonged to.
He started to reach for my shirt, but I caught his hands and pinned them behind his back with one hand. The other went straight for his fly. He gasped when I flicked the button open, his body going soft all over except where it counted.
“Somebody’s impatient,” he said, but his voice shook on the last syllable.
“I want you so fucking bad,” I growled, kissing the words into his neck. He smelled like sweat, flour, and the sweet salt of omega, and I wanted to bathe in it.
He arched into me, pressing his chest to mine, bare skin meeting cotton. I could feel the ridges of his ribs, the soft line of his stomach. He was smaller than me, but built strong in all the places I liked—shoulders, thighs, the curve of his ass that filled my palms even before I finished stripping him.
I unbuckled his belt, then shoved his jeans and boxers down in one rough move. He stood there, naked and blushing, but didn’t hide. His cock was already hard, pale and pretty with the head flushed dark pink, and his balls drawn up tight under the shaft.
He looked me up and down, eyes gone wide and hungry. “Are you going to keep your clothes on?” he asked, voice small.
“Hell, no,” I said, and yanked my own shirt off. I let him see what he was getting—shoulders like concrete, slick chest, a scatter of old scars across my ribs. I undid my jeans, pushed them down, and let my cock spring free. He stared, not even trying to hide it.
He bit his lip, pupils blown. “Jesus,” he whispered.
I took a step closer, let him get a good look. I liked the way he stared—like he was hungry, like he couldn’t believe I was real. It lit up something primal in me, something mean and greedy and tender all at once.
