Jagged Edge

“Hey.” I curl a hand behind his head and pull him down to me. “Okay?”

With his dark hair ruffled into random spikes, unfocused eyes and chafed lips, he’s a fucking picture—from a goddamn wet dream. “Yeah. It—” He shifts against me, and gasps. “Shit, it feels good.”

That’s when it strikes me that this isn’t par for the course for him, that he normally doesn’t get hard, doesn’t get any pleasure.

I swear this is about to change. I’m gonna make sure he comes so hard he won’t be able to walk straight for days.

Taking advantage of his shocked state, I get back to working on his zipper. This time I manage to tug it down and pull at his pants. He lifts up to let me finish undressing him, the shock giving way to something softer, hotter, in his gaze—and then he curses and gets off me to remove his boots.

A smile tugs on my lips. My chest fills to bursting at this more vulnerable, human side of him. A fierce protectiveness washes through me.

He’s mine, and I’ll take care of him, no matter the cost. That nightmare… it will never come to pass.

When he turns back to me, I tackle him, pulling him underneath me. I press him down into the cushions, and he flails, landing a painful knee into my ribs. I’ll live. What concerns me more is the wild blankness in his eyes.

I frown as I wrestle him back down. “Shh. It’s just me. Jase, it’s just me.”

Slowly, his panic recedes, his limbs stilling. When I bend over him, his body relaxes into the sofa cushions. “Raine.”

That choked whisper caressing my name. Trusting. Relieved.

Fury shakes me, and a cold wash of shame. I scared him. He thought I was gonna hurt him. Christ, I swear I’ll erase whoever and whatever put that fear into him.

Careful, making a mental note not to surprise him like that again, I stroke his bruised jaw, his cheekbone, his mouth. A stuttered inhale, a soft exhale, and I rub my thumb over the softness of his lips.

“No pain,” I promise him. “You run this show.”

He watches me, so still he might as well be a statue, his cheeks coloring. He gives a tiny nod, and when he says nothing, I kiss his mouth.

Just like that, at his taste, the feel of his hands sliding up my arms, my anger evaporates and desire slams back into me, taking my fucking breath away. He pulls me down, and our dicks slide together, hard and slick. I rock my hips, rubbing us together, moaning my pleasure.

Oh yeah.

“Condom,” he whispers, his eyes heavy-lidded. “In the back pocket of my pants.”

I don’t wanna lift off him, don’t wanna move, period, but I reach down to the floor and manage to snag his pants. I stick my hand into every pocket I encounter, blindly, until I find the crinkly foil.

Lifting it, I tear it open with my teeth, focusing as best I can so I won’t destroy the condom, a feat with my dick pressed against Jason’s and my whole body tensing and ready to go.

Shit, I need to buy condoms. A whole box of them. Maybe they sell them in bulk.

“Fuck me,” Jason says, and his voice is raw, unsteady. “Need you to fuck me, Raine.”

I try to gauge his expression, but the emotions flashing through his eyes keep changing. Need, fear, determination, arousal, uncertainty.

But also that fucking trust.

Nodding, I sit back to put on the condom, and when he reaches for it, I shake my head. This isn’t his job, dammit.

I settle back down between his legs. Propping an elbow by his head, I lean over him. “You ready for me?” I ask, softly. “Or shall I go find lube?”

He shakes his head. “I’m ready. Do it.”

Fuck, the image of him lubing himself up every morning has my mouth going dry. There’s an image I could jerk off to every night.

“Jase.” His eyes have gone a bit wide and unfocused again, and I don’t like it. “You with me?”

“Yeah.” He frowns. He’s not that hard anymore where I feel him pressed to me. “Yeah, I am.”