"Isn't for two hours." I grab his hand and drag him toward the stairs. "We've got time."
"You're still healing—"
"Then we'll be careful." I stop at the bottom of the stairs, turn to face him. "I need this, Asher. I need you. Not because I'm scared or hurting or trying to forget. Because I finally figured out what Jace meant."
"What did Jace mean?"
"That I need to know what I'm fighting for before I walk into another mission." I hold his gaze, let him see everything I've been hiding. "It's you. You're what I'm fighting for. Just you.”
His expression shifts. The surprise fades, replaced by something warmer. Something that makes my chest ache in the best possible way.
"Okay," he says.
"Okay?"
"Okay." He takes my hand, threads his fingers through mine. "Lead the way."
We make it to the bedroom without encountering anyone. Small miracles.
I lock the door behind us and turn to find him watching me, dark eyes soft, waiting.
"What do you want?" he asks.
"You. All of you. Whatever you'll give me."
"That's not very specific."
"Fine." I cross to him, grab his shirt, start unbuttoning. "I want to taste every inch of your skin. I want to make you come so hard you forget your own name. I want to feel you inside me, fillingme up, making me forget that anything else exists except the two of us."
His breath catches. "That's more specific."
"I'm a fast learner."
His shirt hits the floor. Then mine. We strip each other with an urgency that has nothing to do with desperation and everything to do with want. Pure, simple want.
The bed catches us when we fall, tangled together, skin against skin.
This time is different.
The first time was violence and need and two dominants fighting for control. Teeth and nails and the desperate clash of bodies that couldn't decide whether to fuck or fight. This time is slower. Deeper... loving.
His hands run all over my body like he's memorizing it, tracing scars and tattoos and the places where I'm sensitive. His fingers linger on the fresh scar at my side, the place where a bullet almost ended everything. He kisses it, gentle, reverent, and my throat goes tight.
"Still here," I whisper.
"Still here," he agrees.
My mouth finds his throat, his collarbone, the spot behind his ear that makes him shiver. I learn the sounds he makes when I touch him right. The sharp intake of breath when I scrape my teeth over his nipple. The low groan when my hand wraps around his cock.
"Jinx." His voice is rough, “You’re so fucking good, so fucking hot, yeah, fuck. Just like that.”
"Tell me what you want."
"You. Inside me. Right fucking now.”
I take my time preparing him. Slick fingers working him open, one then two then three, watching his face for every reaction, every gasp, every flutter of his lashes. His cock is hard against his stomach, leaking, and his hips rock into my touch like he can't help himself.
"More," he demands. "I need more."
