He steps up to me, runs his hands over my arms. By instinct, I start going down to my knees, but he grabs my elbows, keeps me standing.
“Not today,” he whispers, “not this.”
I don’t understand. “You?
??re hard.”
“I’ll live. Let me do this.”
Do what?
He takes my hand again, tugging me under the shower. Turning on the spray, he keeps it away from me until it warms up, then he does that thing again where he’s washing me, touching me.
It’s distracting me from the sight and feel of his strong body, his thighs brushing mine, his big hands moving over my chest, my neck, fingers running through my hair, washing the grime away.
Washing away the fear and pain and bitterness, and I sigh under the warm spray, drowning in the sensations. He’s thorough, I’ll give him that, washing the shampoo out of my hair, cleaning up my face, smoothing liquid soap over my chest, careful with the black and blue bruises. His fingers linger over my pierced nipple, and a spark of lust shoots straight to my dick when he tugs on it.
That sweet ache in my balls returns, and it reminds me that I have to pay for this. Rather sooner than later, too. Debts get you into trouble.
I don’t try to kneel again, not least of all because of the lingering dizziness. I bring my hand to his face, slide it to the back of his head, and pull him in for a kiss.
He resists for all of two seconds, brows going up, then slams his mouth over mine and shoves me into the wall, pressing his muscular body against mine.
My ribs burn, my jaw aches. It hurts, but it also feels good. The way his tongue licks inside my mouth, finding every sensitive spot, it’s driving me crazy. Never knew there was a direct hotline from my mouth to my dick.
Dimly I remember that this is about paying him back, that it’s about his pleasure, but it’s difficult to think when he’s fucking my mouth with his tongue, his hard-on is sliding against my stomach, and small shocks of need dance down my spine, gathering at the base of my cock, making it hang heavy between my legs. This is getting me hard, it’s—
He unfastens his mouth from mine and draws back, panting. “No, dammit. Not like this.”
“Like what?”
God, I want… I need something. Not sure what it is, but it involves Raine and his body, his mouth and his hands and his dick...
He turns off the water and steps out of the shower to grab a towel. “Like we have to have sex. Tonight isn’t about that.”
Then what is it about? I draw a blank as he drapes the towel over me and starts drying me off.
“Look,” I try and cut off as he wipes the towel over my face. Start again. “Thank you. For… all this.” I glance around at the bright, clean bathroom, the fluffy towel in his hands. “For taking me in from the cold, for letting me use your shower. It’s really fucking kind of—”
“Jase.” Just that, this nickname he insists on giving me, and it shuts me up. He leans in until our noses almost touch, and I go cross-eyed, trying to focus on him. Goddammit, such gorgeous eyes. “What I meant was… this isn’t about me. It’s about you.”
I blink. Wait for his words to make sense.
What is he talking about?
“About you,” he says again. “Tonight you have the evening off. We’ll eat, and watch TV, and talk.”
I swallow hard. Cuz it all sounds good, too good, a repeat of that night when I fell asleep on him on the sofa, a night I often find myself daydreaming about—but the talking part?
Yeah, that. Why do I think he’s about to ask from me so much more than I’m able to give?
Chapter Twenty-Three
Raine
Tonight has a déjà vu feel to it, though last time Jason didn’t look so worn and defeated. And I still have to apologize.
“Come on.” I have to steady him as he steps out of the shower. Damn, even bruised and exhausted, he’s the hottest guy I’ve ever met, with that fine-boned face and thick dark hair, the soft mouth and that set of wide shoulders, almost too wide now for his slender frame.