Page 102 of Playboy’s Purgatory

But I harbored those feelings in my heart.

“I’ve never told anyone this,” I murmur and Jettson’s brown eyes sharpen. It’s intense. “In the beginning, even though Mom was relieved when I stepped up, I was waiting for them to accuse me of being selfish.”

The chuckle that comes out of me is not pretty. It’s rooted in pain so deep that ignoring it feels like survival.

“Not long before the adoption was finalized, my parents asked me if I was sure about making it fully legal. They asked if it wouldn’t be better to treat it as a family arrangement. I told them I wasn’t going to sit around and wait for Lola to come back and decide to be a mom only to treat Vanessa like an accessory while handing me some IOU written on a paper napkin,” my voice is bitter.

I hate this feeling. It rises up from my gut and makes me swallow hard against it. It’s poison, those memories, those feelings.

“I knew then that I could use their help because I needed it and they owed me that much, but there was really no changing them.” I sigh, “Not in any truly meaningful way.”

I brush my tears away; the movement is angry. Now I’m more annoyed at myself than at Rumble. Jettson brushes a few tendrils of hair away from my face. His eyes are filled with love.

He’s here. He’s not running. He’s steady.

“Then Rumble showed up like its normal with a room ready for Vanessa. I don’t know what to do with that,” I admit. “I don’t know what to do with you either.”

I look down and my gaze fixes on his chest. I’m not sure I can look at him.

“I’ll keep earning your trust and we’ll keep going slow but let me help you with the load you’re carrying,” he gently coaxes me. “We can figure out the logistics of it all in the next couple of months.”

“The next couple of months?”

“It’s going to take a couple of months for the house to be finished. When it is,” he tips my chin up and looks into my eyes, “I want you and Vanessa to move in with me.”

I look at him like he’s lost every bit of sanity he had left. Poor guy.

“I also want you wearing my cut,” he keeps talking like what he’s saying is completely normal. “I already have it for you. I’ll give it to you and when you’re ready, you put it on. Don’t do it until you can trust it all—me, the club, and Dogwood Ridge.”

I’m completely at a loss. He already has a cut for me?

I’ve already been let in on just how important it is for him to give me a cut. I would be considered his property. As much as I want to rebel against any such insinuation, I’ve seen how the Old Ladies of the club are treated.

When I don’t say anything, Jettson keeps talking. “You can keep the apartment above Bunz Out as a parachute, or you can rent it out. Whatever you want to do, we can do. Just,” he pauses and takes a deep breath, his voice going hoarse, “give me some hope, woman.”

“Playboy,” I blurt out and his eyes darken, “when the fuck did you make me fall in love with you?”

His smirk is devastating. When he kisses me, it feels like a branding. I melt into him, my fingers clutching his shirt and pulling him closer to me.

It’s not the words. Not yet. But it’s close.

He doesn’t kiss me like he cares about the difference. It makes me fall a little harder for him.

With his hands on the backs of my thighs, he lifts me and I wrap my legs around his waist. His strides are long and fast as he carries me to his office.

“I’d take you on my tattoo chair right fucking now, Cupcake,” he growls against my lips, “but I don’t want to waste time later sanitizing it again. I need you right fucking now and then I’m taking you home and having you again.” He sounds like he’s in pain as the door slams behind us and he closes the distance to his desk. “I can’t fucking wait to bury myself inside you.”

“Less talking,” I moan.

Our hands scramble for our clothing, every movement jerky and driven by desire. I wrap my fingers around the base of his cock once we’re both naked while my ass is perched on the edge of his desk. Looking for purchase as his mouth attacks my neck, my other hand knocks a box off the edge.

Jettson jerks back from me and scrambles over to the box, his cock bobbing, and his eyes wide with worry.

“Oh no,” I gasp, starting to stand up, “I’m so sorry. Is it a part or ink or something? It won’t explode right?”

Jettson opens the flaps and pulls out a figurine nestled in brown paper—a cluster of irises. He lets out a relieved breath and tucks it back away before putting it safely on the floor.

“It’s for Ariel’s tank,” he rubs the back of his neck with a sheepish smile on his face. “I couldn’t find one, so I worked with someone to have it custom made for her.”