14. Chapter 14
Chapter 14
T he steam swallowed everything. The glass fogged. The walls dripped. Water beat down like a storm against her spine, but all Hayley could feel was Jesse—his heat, his hunger, his body crashing into hers like he’d been waiting six weeks just to lose control.
And he had.
The second the door had clicked shut behind her, he had her.
There’d been no lead-up. No pause. Just her back hitting the shower wall and Jesse lifting her like he owned the right to. Like he needed her more than air. Her legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, her hands in his wet hair, mouth already on his before she could even say his name.
It wasn’t gentle.
God, it wasn’t gentle.
His kiss was brutal—possessive, consuming—like he was trying to erase the time apart, devour every second of it in the way he claimed her mouth. His hands were everywhere—palming her ass, gripping her thighs, dragging her down against the full, hard length of him, letting her feel exactly what she’d done to him by showing up.
“Jesse—”
He groaned into her mouth, a sound so raw, so wrecked, she swore she felt it in her spine. Her back arched, slick skin pressed to tile, every nerve in her body lighting up as he ground against her—slow once, then harder, again. His restraint was gone. Whatever thread he’d been holding onto? Snapped.
And she wanted that. Wanted all of it.
He was speaking in touches now. In the way his lips moved down her neck, in the way his teeth scraped the slope of her shoulder. Her fingers clawed at him, tugging, anchoring, needing him closer, deeper, now.
“Tell me this is real,” he growled, the words rough against her skin, his voice low and wrecked.
“This is real,” she breathed, barely able to form the words, her chest heaving. “God, Jesse—”
That was all it took.
He surged into her, pinning her between the wall and the hard, desperate thrust of his hips, burying himself with one brutal, perfect motion that tore a gasp from her throat.
She shattered.
Every part of her—mind, body, soul—gave out all at once.
“Fuck,” he groaned, head bowed, arms locked around her like she was the only thing tethering him to reality. Like he needed her to survive this. His rhythm was relentless, his breath coming in harsh, broken bursts against her neck. Each thrust drove her higher, until she could barely breathe, until she couldn’t think, until all she knew was him.
The water couldn’t cool them.
Nothing could.
Her nails raked down his back. His teeth caught her bottom lip. Her moan was swallowed by his kiss, and still he didn’t let up. Didn’t stop. Didn’t falter.
Because Jesse Navarro had never learned how to be soft with her.
Only this.
Only ruin.
Only the kind of claiming that left bruises and breathless gasps and skin too raw to forget.
“I missed you,” he choked out against her jaw. “God, Hayley. I fucking—”
His words dissolved into a groan, his rhythm faltering, his body tensing.
She was already there, already falling, everything inside her coiled so tight she couldn’t hold it. She came with a cry against his shoulder, legs trembling, body pulsing around him—and he followed, hips jerking, a deep, guttural moan tearing from his chest as he buried his face in her neck.
“Fuck, Hayley.” His voice was a snarl, hot and broken against her ear. “You think I forgot? You think I don’t dream about this?”
She couldn’t answer—not with words. Not with the way his teeth scraped across her throat, then sank into the soft curve where her neck met her shoulder, hard enough to sting, hard enough to make her gasp loud and sharp. She’d feel that later. It would burn when she touched it. And she’d remember.
His hand gripped her jaw, turning her to face him, forcing her to look straight into the fire.
His eyes weren’t just dark.
They were wild.
Unleashed.
All hunger and heat and something that went deeper than want. Something feral. Obsessive. His.
“Say it,” he breathed. “Say you’re mine.”
Her breath hitched, thighs tightening around his waist as he drove into her again, harder, deeper. Her body wasn’t hers anymore. It never had been. Not with Jesse. He ruined her. Branded her. Made her need in ways no one else ever had.
And in that moment, everything in her broke open.
“I’m yours,” she whispered. Raw. True.
His mouth crashed over hers—savage and perfect—and then he gave it to her. All of it. Him.
“I’m holding you to that,” he growled against her lips, each thrust sharper, meaner, deeper. “Forever.”
The world shattered.
There was nothing left but heat and pressure, skin on skin, the slap of water and slick tile and the ragged sound of their breath tangled together.
Jesse’s body pressed her higher, pinned her tighter, controlled her completely. His hands gripped her thighs, her hips, her ass—holding her in place, locking her to him as if he needed her anchored just to keep from flying apart.
Her spine arched against the glass, forehead knocking back, steam swirling around them like a spell. She could barely breathe. Could barely think.
But he wasn’t stopping.
He was relentless. His rhythm brutal. His body a weapon, crafted to destroy her in the best fucking way. He knew every nerve ending. Every gasp. Every tremble. He knew the exact angle to hit that made her whimper, the exact snap of his hips that made her vision go white.
And he used it.
Used her.
Her nails clawed at his back, scraping down the muscle, needing something to hold onto, anything that would ground her in a moment that felt like falling off a cliff.
Jesse adjusted his grip. Changed the angle.
And she shattered.
“Jesse—”
Her voice broke on his name, pure wreckage spilling from her lips.
He smirked, breath ragged. “That’s it. Come for me, Hayley. Come now.”
His voice was pure sin—gravel and sex and control—and she couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t even slow it.
The wave slammed into her, hard and fast and fucking unforgiving, tearing through her like fire, like light, like him.
She fell apart in his arms, breath gone, thoughts gone, her whole world narrowed to the sharp, perfect thrust of his hips and the hoarse, ruined groan he let out when he followed her.
Jesse’s body locked against hers, his face buried in her neck, a deep, primal sound rumbling in his chest as he came, hard, shaking with the force of it.
His arms were still holding her. Crushing her.
Keeping her safe even while he wrecked her.
And in the thick, humid aftermath, when their breath still hadn’t returned and their skin was still fused by heat and sweat and steam, Hayley felt the weight of it—
What it meant.
What it had always meant.
Jesse Navarro didn’t just fuck.
He claimed.
And she’d let him. Again. Always.
Because here, in his arms, she wasn’t Dead Run Riot.
She wasn’t the stage, the headlines, the pressure.
She was his.
And if she stayed too long in that truth, if she lingered in the softness of his breath on her skin and the quiet way he held her after like he was afraid she might vanish—
She might not leave at all.
The steam hadn’t faded.
It still curled through the air like breath, like memory, wrapping around them in soft waves. The water pounded down from above, echoing against tile, but Jesse’s body had stilled. The urgency was gone now. The firebank of it still glowed beneath her skin, but he was no longer devouring her.
He was holding her.
One arm still wrapped around her back, the other hand splayed wide across her ribs, anchoring her to him. His head bowed against her shoulder like he didn’t know how to let go.
Like he was afraid to blink and find her gone again.
She could feel it in the way his fingers moved—slow, reverent, hesitant. The need was still there, but it was gentler now, aching in a different way.
He didn’t say anything at first.
Just pressed a kiss to the slope of her neck, then one to her shoulder, his lips wet and warm and lingering.
Hayley let herself breathe again.
Let herself lean into it.
Six weeks without him had felt like a fracture that never healed. And now, standing here wrapped in his arms, she could feel every crack.
Jesse exhaled against her skin and reached for the soap. She felt his muscles shift behind her, the scrape of the bar against his palms, the slow building lather.
“Turn around,” he said.
His voice was soft, rough with something she couldn’t name.
She turned, her back to him, forehead resting gently against the cool tile as the water poured down her spine. She heard him shift closer. Felt the warmth of him at her back. Then—
His hands.
Soapy. Strong. Tender.
He started at her shoulders, thumbs circling slowly over tight muscles, working through the tension with practiced care. Not in a rush. Not trying to make it something else. Just… loving her.
She closed her eyes, letting it wash over her.
His hands moved down her arms, her sides, her waist. Slow. Deliberate. Memorizing.
And then—her stomach.
He paused.
Only for a second. But she felt it.
His touch there was softer. Barely pressure. Just the barest sweep of his thumbs over the curve of her abdomen, where she hadn’t told him what she suspected. Not yet.
“You lost weight.” His voice was low. Controlled. But there was an edge in it. Worry.
She swallowed. “I guess.”
Jesse turned her to face him.
The look in his eyes undid her. Golden. Intense. Searching.
“You okay?” he asked, quiet.
She hesitated. The steam curled between them. “I don’t know.”
His brow furrowed. “What does that mean?”
“I’ve just been feeling… off,” she said, glancing down. “Nauseous. Tired. Maybe jet lag.”
Something shifted behind his eyes.
Recognition, maybe. But he didn’t press.
Instead, he reached for the shampoo, pouring it into his hand. “Come here,” he said.
A command. A comfort.
She tilted her chin, teasing. “You always say that.”
“You like it when I say it.”
He caught her smile, brushing her wet hair back before gently tilting her head. His fingers threaded through her curls, massaging her scalp in slow, hypnotic circles. It wasn’t just soothing. It was worship.
Her lashes fluttered. “God. I missed this.”
“I know,” he said. “Me too.”
The shampoo rinsed away in warm rivulets. He followed with conditioner, working it through the ends of her hair like he was afraid to tangle it. Like touching her hair wrong might scare her away.
“You’re never leaving my side again,” Jesse said quietly. A vow, rough and honest.
Hayley opened her eyes, blinking up at him. “That’s not exactly how touring works.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
She laughed under her breath, her chest tight with something she couldn’t name. His thumb brushed over her cheekbone, then her jaw, then lower, tracing the curve of her throat like he was trying to memorize every inch.
He looked at her like she was something rare. Something breakable. Something that didn’t belong in his world, but somehow landed in his arms anyway.
And right there, in the haze of steam and silence, Hayley realized something she hadn’t been able to say out loud yet.