by Renee Rocco
“She had two shots and a few sips of beer.” Jester pushes off the bed. “She’s funny drunk.” Because she’s obviously not busy worrying over every word about to come out of her mouth. “Nothing happened.”
Jamie’s mouth is twisted in a smirk. “You can leave now, Wraith. Wouldn’t want you to keep your trollop waiting. Her pigtails might get all in a twist.”
Trollop?
Did we travel back in time a few centuries?
This can go in one of two ways. I can walk out of this room and pretend I don’t give a shit if she lets every guy in the Northern Hemisphere run train on her. Yeah, no. Thought I could play this game. Thought by hurting her, it would ease the betrayal of her walking away a second time.
Shit’s backfiring on me like a motherfucker.
Another way is for me to admit I’m a dick and apologize. Again, no. I’ve sacrificed enough of my pride groveling at people’s feet. Can’t—won’t—do that again. I’ve created this mess and made Jamie and Jester unwitting participants in my self-destructive game. But now that Jamie’s embraced the challenge, I realize I have a third option, and it’s diabolical.
I love diabolical.
Ferryman might spread the word that Jamie’s mine, but she has to make the ultimate decision for herself—and I’m done waiting.
Tonight, in this room, she has a choice to make. She was supposed to have made it in Gomorrah, but apparently, she didn’t. Tonight, though, it’s all or nothing. Not saying we’re going to go all happily ever after or anything, but this bullshit where she’s in my arms one minute and thinking about leaving the next stops now.
Jester strides toward the door, but I stop him with a curt shake of my head. He frowns in disapproval. I throw him a look with trust me written all over it. He rolls his eyes. I cock a brow. His expression tells me he wants to kill me, but he plays along and turns back to Jamie in full predator mode.
He gets where I’m going.
I lean my hip against the dresser, smirking, and nod at Jester. “You want him, Jamie? Come and take him.”
The subtle flare of her nostrils betrays her as she slides off the bed, tugging to keep her skirt from riding up. Haughty as hell, she hoists her chin. I hear the rasping misery of her every breath. But she puts up the wall, ducking behind it, her pride the mortar sealing up any cracks in the stone.
“You heard the man.” Jester tilts his head, his smile pure aggression as he cups his dick through his jeans. “Come and take me.”
“You think I won’t?”
Her tone is colder than the Delaware River in the heart of winter, and that’s Jamie’s tell. The greater her fear, the more she withdraws.
Not tonight, Runt. All in or all out.
Jamie hisses in a breath when Jester snakes an arm around her waist. He backs her up to the bed. Turns and sits on the edge and positions her between his spread legs. He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. Traces his fingers down her cheek. Follows the path along her jawline.
“Nah, sweetheart, I don’t.”
It takes every ounce of control to keep my feet rooted to the spot. Can’t tell if the pounding I hear is from the music drifting in from the main room or the hammering of my heart. But when Jamie grabs a fistful of Jester’s shirt and leans into his touch, I know with certainty nothing I suffered in the dungeon hurt half as much as watching Jamie and Jester together.
“Easy, Jamie. I’ll take care of you,” Jester says. “By the time we’re done, you won’t even remember this asshole’s name.”
Jamie arches her back when Jester slides his other hand down her spine. I can’t see her face. Can’t see her nuanced reactions to his touch. I can only imagine what’s going on in her mind and wonder if she likes his touch over mine. It’s a new form of psychological torment unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
“What’s the rules, Wraith?”
“Ask her.” My voice is hard, battle ready.
“Hear that, James? It’s up to you.” Jester’s hand lingers on the small of her back. He leans in close, his lips on her throat. “What do you want me to do to you?”
Nothing. Tell him you want him to do nothing to you.
Jamie appears to hesitate. To say something, then decide on something else. Her breathing is erratic, her body rigid, and her words are a blast of winter wind when she speaks. “What you would do if I were any other woman.”
“So, you want it nasty.”
Sonofabitch.
Jester has to pry his shirt out of Jamie’s clenched fists to get her to back up a few steps. “Let’s take off this dress.”
I didn’t think it was possible, but Jamie’s spine goes stiffer when Jester reaches for the hem. He shimmies it up her legs, with the golden glow of lamplight revealing silvery scars along the smooth skin. My mouth runs dry at the sight of her white lace panties. My dick strains in my pants, throbbing against denim, and I almost give up the game.
But Jester isn’t done. He’s doing this for my benefit, not his own. He’s making this lesson hurt.
He inches Jamie’s dress farther up her body. Over the gentle curve of her hips. Up her torso. When he pulls it over her head, her hair lifts, and I glimpse the matching bra to the dainty panties before he tosses the dress on the floor. Christ, she’s so fucking perfect. How the hell am I still rooted to this spot and not ending this shit right here, right now?
Because she needs to end it, not you.
“Shut the light.” Jamie’s husky plea cuts through me.
Doesn’t take a genius to put it together. She wants it dark because she’s ashamed of her body.
Jester leans away, his expression one of abject horror. “Fuck no.”
“Please,” she grits out between clenched teeth.
He drags a gaze over her, and it’s obvious that he finally understands her embarrassment. “Shit, Jamie, we’ve all got our battle scars.” He rips off his shirt and drops it on the floor. Points to where he got stabbed a few years back, but all I see is Jamie standing between my best friend’s legs. His bare torso is offered to her like a golden fucking god. I want to peel that flawless skin off his bones because he’s everything I was before Crane turned me into…this. “Put your hands on me.”
The monster claws at my brain. Its fists pound at the inside of my skull as it screams for freedom. For blood. For pain.
She stops breathing. Her arms are rigid. This is where it ends, and she calls my bluff. She won’t touch him—
Motherfucker.
Jamie flattens one hand against Jester’s pec. One. A tentative touch, but it’s enough, and he hisses when she smooths her palm down his chest. He pulls her in close. She rattles in a breath and squares her shoulders like a soldier heading into war. My stomach twists, and I have to, literally, fight back vomit when she lowers her head and presses her lips to his.
The dungeon taught me how to withstand torture. To mentally put myself somewhere else while my body was pushed to the limits of agony. But this…Jamie kissing Jester…is an assault on my mind and my heart. I have to remind myself that I’ve never run from battle. Not once in all my twenty-four years. I’ll be damned if I start now.
And this is a battle.
Not of physical weapons, but of wills.
Jester is just the unlucky bastard caught in our crossfire.
Without taking his mouth from hers, Jester stands and, in one smooth motion, lifts her. She clings to him as he kneels on the bed and lays her down. He settles on top of her, his legs nestled between hers, and goddamn but each breath I take is more painful than the last. How can this hurt more than ket? Like my heart is being sliced to shreds. I don’t even recognize who the hell I am anymore, and I don’t give a shit. Six months in the dungeon changed me on a cellular level, and when I move toward the bed to rip Jamie away from Jester, I freeze mid-step.
I don’t have to do a good goddamn thing to stop this. Jamie is doing it all on her own. She’s a corpse beneath him, with Jester exerting a hell of a lot of energy for a pitiful amount of payoff.
/> The monster retreats to its cage in the recesses of my mind.
Jester lifts his head. “Kissing is a two-person job, James. You gotta help me out and put some effort into it.”
“I’m trying,” Jamie whispers.
“If you have to try, you’re kissing the wrong man.” He pushes away from her and climbs off the bed. He retrieves his shirt and pulls it over his head. Pissed, he strides toward the door, stopping when he passes me. He slaps a hand on my shoulder and narrows his eyes. “I love you, bro, but if you ever do this to me again, I’m fucking you up.”
He storms out, slamming the door behind him.
Jamie’s a disheveled mess as she awkwardly tries to cover herself—as if I haven’t already seen her in her underwear. Or made intimate friends with her gorgeous pussy. “You’re an asshole.”
“Apparently,” I drawl. The wall of ice around her has dropped the temperature in the room by at least ten degrees. “Still drunk?”
She shakes her head. “You ruined my buzz.”
My brows shoot up at that. “I ruined your buzz?”
“Yes, you.” Somehow, even looking like a train wreck, she manages to stare down her nose at me. “Once I got over the hurt of seeing you with that woman, I was having a perfectly good time. But you had to ruin it.”
I relax my stance and cross my arms. “Oh, I’m sorry. Do you want me to call back Jester?”
She throws up her hands then drops them, slapping the bed in frustration. “I don’t understand you. Everything was going great until we rode off the mountain. What happened? Why are you so mad at me?”
“You know what happened,” I growl.
“No, I don’t.”
I stalk right up to her and grab her chin. “You told Discord you’re leaving.”
“You’re an ass.” Jamie smacks my hand away. “All this over that? You could have talked to me, Wraith, like a sane person. I would have explained to you that I want to stay, but I’m afraid.”
I sink on the bed and drag a hand through my hair. “Yeah, of what?”
She motions between us. “Of this. Us. Because… Just because.” She grabs as much blanket as she can and tries to cover herself. “God, I don’t want to do this now. But just so you know, I’m staying. I would have told you before, but you were otherwise occupied.”
“Come here.” I reach for her, but she scoots away.
“Hell no.” She shakes her head. “Just because I’m staying in Mayhem doesn’t mean I’m staying with you. I don’t even want to go back to your house tonight.”
Now what the hell is this shit?
“Hate to break it to you, Jamie, but you don’t have a fucking choice.”
“Oh yes, the hell I do, Wraith.” She points to the door. “Go back to that woman because you’re not wanted in here.”
I blow out a long, frustrated sigh. “I didn’t fuck Rissa.”
“So, I didn’t see what I saw?”
The rebuke in her tone is enough to make me feel like ten pounds of shit stuffed in a five-pound bag. “I swear to God, not a single second of this night was spent with my dick in any part of her.”
“She was on her knees.” Jamie clasps her hands and wrings them within an inch of their lives. The anguish I put on her gleams like crystals in her eyes.
I put a finger under her chin and tilt her head up. “I was pissed, and I wanted to hurt you, so I put on a show. It was a dick move, and I’m sorry.”
Her eyes are so goddamn sad, and if even one of those tears slips down her cheek, I’ll cut out my heart and lay it at her feet.
But she drags in a breath and blinks them away, fortifying herself, and fuck me if it doesn’t make it even worse. I’d rather her cry than know I’m one more asshole who made her retreat into herself and hide inside her fortress. “I believe you.”
Thank God, because not only didn’t I do a damn thing with Rissa, I didn’t want to do a damn thing with Rissa.
“Brutal of you to choose Jester.”
She gives me an impish shrug. “He was the only one I trusted to stop because I knew I’d chicken out.”
Holy shit, she’s priceless.
I pull her across my lap before she can protest and claim her mouth. When I let her up for air, she clings to me, a breathless spectacle in white lace. “You’re mine, Runt. Best get right with that because tonight isn’t ending with a kiss.”
“I’ve always been yours, Wraith.” She traces her finger along my lower lip, and I hitch in a breath at her tender touch. “One of the reasons it didn’t feel right to be with someone else was because I left my heart with you.”
19
Jamie
“All in or all out, Runt. Last chance.”
Wraith’s warning is a vibration against my bones. I ran once, and that mistake cost us nearly a decade, and so much more. There’s a reckoning waiting for me—but not tonight. Tonight, I shove guilt aside because I’m selfish, and I need this after a lifetime of emptiness.
“No more running, Wraith. I’m all in.”
“Thank fucking God.”
The words are a growl that come a breath before his lips crash down on mine. His kiss is a brand on my soul, forcing my mouth open to allow his tongue to sweep past my teeth. I breathe him in as he dominates me, obliterating every insecurity that’s lived in my mind since the first time my father’s anger left a mark on my body.
My entire being hums with life and radiates with heat as his hands roam over me. He explores every hill and valley, leaving no part of me untouched. But I want more. Crave more. Skin to skin. I need his strength so I can let go of mine. So I can be free, because with Wraith, I’ll always be safe.
I tear my mouth from his and catch the bottom of his shirt. “Take this off.”
“Look at you, being bossy.” He laughs as he tugs the shirt over his head and tosses it to the floor.
Wraith shirtless is a danger to my equilibrium—and no, it has nothing to do with the two shots I did earlier. The complete debacle with Jester slammed me into sobriety. Well, not completely, but enough to move me out of the realm of drunk. More like there’s a lingering relaxation of my inhibitions. Or it could be from what Wraith’s doing with his mouth. The man seems to have way of lifting the burden of a lifetime’s worth of baggage when it comes to my body’s imperfections. And with him teasing feathery kisses along my collarbone, it’s difficult to remember exactly why I’m supposed to be embarrassed when I’m naked. But then he moves lower and the spell his mouth is weaving breaks.
I stiffen. “I’m scared.”
Wraith doesn’t lift his lips from my skin. “No shit.”
“I’ll be okay,” I assure myself.
“I know. You’re with me.”
Arrogant much?
But his words ease the tension out of my muscles. I breathe out on a sigh and scrape my hands up his spine, over the ridges of his back. In spite of the scarring, or maybe because of it, he’s a work of art. All taut flesh stretched over hard muscle. He is raw power and aggression. There’s a ferocity in his eyes as he studies me while his fingers work the front hook of my lacy new bra. A silent challenge. One I have no intention of backing down from. I catch the inside of my cheek and hold his gaze, my breathing erratic as I struggle not to come undone in his arms from nerves.
I understand the mechanics of sex, obviously, but there’s a world of difference between knowing what goes where and putting it together and actually doing it. What if I’m bad? Or worse, boring? It’s a fact that Wraith is a man-whore. He has tons of experience, and I know I’m going to be lacking in this department. My hope is that I won’t be so terrible at it that he’ll at least want to come back for seconds.
But when Wraith unlatches my bra and peers down at me as if he’s etching me into every part of his brain, it’s easy to let go of doubt. Just let it fall away. His gaze misses nothing, and under his slow assessment, I swear to God, I’ve never felt more beautiful.
More alive.
“We should’ve done th
is eight years ago.”
I shake my head, remembering myself as a fractured teenager. “Back then, I was too broken.”
“Nah. I would have held you together.”
Yes, he would have. I would have never survived the years apart if it hadn’t been for the nine months we spent sitting under our tree.
Wraith’s mouth is hot and demanding. He swirls his tongue around my nipples, sucking and pulling at my breasts until I’m panting his name, losing what fragile hold I have on my control. But he doesn’t linger long before continuing a path down my torso. When he reaches his destination between my legs, he glides a finger along the waistband of my panties, his lips curling into a devious grin.
“Cute.”
“I gave Bertha the night off.”
He chokes out a laugh. “You named your underwear?”
“When they’re as sturdy as her, they’ve earned the respect of a name.”
Wraith kisses my inner thigh, and I hiss in a breath. “God, I missed you while you were gone.”
His casual admission sets my soul on fire. “Well, I’m staying, so you’re stuck with me.”
“Like I would let you leave.”
He nips my thigh. I yelp at the pain, even as a thrill sends a wave of warmth to my sex. He presses a hand on my stomach to settle me back against the pillows. I close my eyes and hold my breath as Wraith slides my panties down my legs. I fist my hands and wait for his rejection. True, he’s already seen me in a bra and panties, and was up close and personal with my vagina, but still. Insecurity is an ugly thing and doesn’t magically go away. In fact, I want to crawl under the blanket and hide.
Dive in a shadow.
Hop in a car and drive to another state.
Anything to escape Wraith’s reluctant acceptance of my flawed body.
Yes, he’s just as flawed as me, more even, but when it’s you, it feels different. Too close to the bones. My scars are a curse I’ve worn all my life. An ugliness I’ve hidden from the world. He doesn’t wear his like a shame, but rather they are an honor of what he’s survived. And I can feel myself do what I never thought I would.
