Jesse (Damage Control 2)

“They were good people. They took in lots of kids. I caused too much trouble.”

“You are trouble.” She puts the bottle down on the coffee table and places a hand on my cheek. Soft. Smooth. Warm. “I can’t imagine anyone giving you up, though. I wouldn’t want to.”

“You’re drunk, kitten.” I smile, turn to kiss her palm, and see her eyes darken.

She lets her hand drop on my shoulder. “If I am, you have to trust me. Drunk people always tell the truth.”

Hell, I feel like I’m cracking open for this girl.

“Why…?” I shake my head. “Why are you saying these things? Why do you keep asking me questions and… and being nice to me?”

She kneads my shoulder, and my eyes all but roll up in my head with pleasure. “Because you’re interesting.”

“I’m not interesting, Embers. I’m just fucked up.” And that’s the sad truth.

“And kind. And funny.” She leans into me, her warm breath caressing my neck, and lightning bolt desire shoots down my balls and into my dick. “And I like you a lot.”

I tighten my arm around her, sliding my fingers over the curve of her hip, and lick my dry lips. The need to kiss her is staggering, huge. Impossible to resist.

She draws back. “Come to bed, JJ. We both fit there, and Kayla won’t wake you up when she comes in at some ungodly hour.”

My brows shoot up to my hairline. She’s drunk.

I shouldn’t.

But she doesn’t even slur her words, and when she gets up, she seems perfectly steady. It occurs to me I was the one holding the bottle. She only had two to three sips this whole time, so maybe…

“You sure, kitten?”

“Yes, come. I have a spare toothbrush you can use.”

Toothbrush. Last thing on my mind.

She grins and pulls on my hand, small, sharp tugs. “It’s late. Let’s catch some sleep.”

Only problem is, I don’t know how the fuck I’m supposed to go to sleep with her lying by my side.

***

Her bedroom is small, done in shades of cool purple and red, from the drapes at the window to the bed cover and carpet. Books line the two shelves on the wall, and a closer inspection reveals books about art, jewelry, artisanal beads and strings, and fittingly, traveling. Escaping.

I’m thumbing through an account of a journey to Borneo—is that in Africa? Not sure—when a pendant hanging from a nail on the wall catches my eye.

A copper wire, and threaded on it is a small stone carving of a lion, no bigger than the tip of my thumb. The stone is black and shiny, an

d cool to the touch.

I don’t hear her until she’s right behind me and touches me on the small of my back, making me jump three feet off the floor.

“Jesus! Warn a man first. Fucking hell.” I clap a hand dramatically to my heart, and she snickers.

“Your turn in the bathroom. I left the new toothbrush there.”

I’d answer, but my tongue is currently busy being stuck to the roof of my mouth. Holy motherfucking shit. She’s changed into tiny red shorts and a loose white blouse that is so soft it molds to her tits and hips, and I’ve gone from soft to hard in a heartbeat.

I stifle a moan as I reach down to adjust myself inside my jeans, and fuck if her gaze doesn’t follow the movement, widening a little.

Yeah, see what you do to me, kitten.