17. Chapter 17
Chapter 17
T he late morning sun burned a little too bright over Coronado, reflecting off the Pacific in hard, glittering shards. Jesse squinted as he and Hayley walked the shoreline, the tide curling around their ankles, the breeze whipping through her hair.
She pressed a hand to her stomach again. Not dramatic. Just… distracted. Tired. Pale. She hadn’t kept down more than a few bites of toast that morning.
“Still feeling sick?” Jesse asked, watching her.
Hayley gave him that look—half defiant, half pretending. “I’m fine.”
He cocked a brow. “Always lying.”
Her mouth twitched. “Don’t make me shove you into the ocean.”
“I’m a professional diver. Do your worst.”
He didn’t reach for her hand, even though he wanted to. She wasn’t the kind of girl you tried to box in—and Jesse had learned to give her space, even when every instinct screamed to keep her close.
They crossed the street into the shaded plaza near the beachside Whole Foods, its glass doors opening with a hiss of air conditioning. It smelled like citrus and money in here. Too clean. Too curated. A far cry from the grimy bars and dive kitchens they used to crash in after midnight shows.
Jesse grabbed a basket.
Hayley trailed behind him, arms crossed, watching as he filled the cart with muscle memory—bananas, ginger, rice crackers, mint tea, a pack of electrolyte drinks. Every damn thing she’d touched or glanced at, he grabbed. He wasn’t subtle. He didn’t care.
She raised a brow as he inspected a loaf of sourdough like it was some kind of mission brief. “What are you even doing?”
“You’re eating something. I’m not letting you run on fumes.”
“I’m not dying.”
“No. But you’re important to me.”
Her lips parted, and Jesse caught it—that flicker of something. Emotion. Uncertainty. He knew this was new territory. Not just for her, but for both of them.
Because this wasn’t how they worked. Not before.
They were the chaos couple. Late nights. Drunken arguments. Messy sex and slammed doors. That had been them—burning so bright they torched everything in their wake.
But this?
This was different.
He moved slow through the aisles, watching her out of the corner of his eye. The way she hugged herself. The way she never asked for anything. The way she was still trying to act like she didn’t need him.
They stopped in front of the soups. Jesse raised a can. “Which flavor offends you the least?”
Hayley wrinkled her nose. “All of them.”
He smirked. “Tomato basil it is.”
She gave a reluctant laugh, shaking her head. “I’m not used to being coddled.”
He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Keep talking and I’ll coddle the fuck out of you when we get home.”
That hit. He saw it in the flush that crept into her cheeks, the way her breath caught.
And then—
“Navarro.”
Smooth. Cool. Like always.
Jesse didn’t even need to turn. He already knew the voice.
Isaac strolled into the aisle like he belonged there, hands tucked in his pockets, sunglasses dangling loose from the collar of his black tee. Effortless. Relaxed.
“Dude, what’s up?” Isaac said, slapping him on the back and grinning at her. “And good to see you again.”
Hayley smiled—tight, hesitant. “Hey.”
Isaac clocked the silence. The tension. Jesse knew he did.
But Isaac? He didn’t press. Didn’t push.
Just shifted his weight, casual as hell, and said, “We’re heading to McP’s tonight. Chill thing—just the band, some music, nothing crazy. Come.”
“The band?” Hayley asked.
Jesse could feel her glance up at him, fingers curling into the hem of his shirt.
“Yeah—Jesse, me, Dom.” Isaac crossed his arms. “Jesse is on guitar.”
And now Hayley was very curious. She was thinking about it… and what exactly that meant.
“It’s not a crowd,” he said, tone easy. Then he met Jesse’s eyes, steady. “You could use it.”
Jesse didn’t answer right away.
Isaac didn’t wait. He took a step back, already moving. “I’ll text you.”
Then, with a glance at Hayley: “Don’t make me show up at your door.”
She huffed a laugh. Jesse didn’t.
Isaac just gave him one last look—cool, even, knowing—and walked off without another word.
Classic.
Leave it open. Let it hang.
Jesse hated how well the fucker knew him.
And hated that he was probably right.
When he was gone, Jesse let out a breath. The air felt heavier now.
Hayley reached for the grocery bag. “You okay?”
He met her gaze. “You want to go?”
Her fingers curled tighter. “Do you?”
“I go where you go.”
She blinked.
It was a different answer than she expected. It was the truth.
And Jesse? He wasn’t used to saying shit like that.
Not before.
Not when it was all whiskey and missed calls and promises neither of them could keep.
But now?
Now it felt real. And that terrified the hell out of him.
* * * * *
Jesse adjusted the weight of the grocery bags in his arms as they walked back to his place, the soft crunch of sand and sidewalk beneath their feet. Hayley was beside him, her fingers grazing the paper bag he carried, her other hand brushing the hem of his t-shirt as if she couldn’t help but reach for him. It was subtle. Almost absent-minded. But Jesse felt it like a brand.
She was quiet at first, and he could feel the gears turning in her head. She was waiting, biding her time.
Then—
“So,” she started casually, tilting her head up at him. “You are in a band?”
Jesse huffed a small laugh. “Isaac’s an idiot.”
“No, no, no—don’t try to skate past this, Navarro.” She poked him in the side, making him twitch. “You play guitar. In a band.”
“It’s not a band.”
“What do you call a group of people who play instruments together?”
Jesse sighed. “A coping mechanism.”
Hayley rolled her eyes. “So dramatic.”
They turned onto a quieter street, one of those peaceful little lanes lined with palm trees and old Spanish-style houses with bougainvillea spilling over the walls. It was the kind of neighborhood where time slowed down. A little pocket of paradise.
Hayley nudged him. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
Jesse shrugged, shifting the bags in his grip. “Didn’t seem important.”
“Not important?” She shot him an incredulous look. “Jesse, I’m a musician. This is literally my entire life. And you—you never even mentioned it.”
He exhaled, shaking his head. “Because it’s not like that. It’s just fucking around. We jam sometimes, blow off steam… in Dom’s basement. It’s not like we’re out there headlining shows.”
“That’s not the point,” she pressed. “The point is—I don’t even know this about you.” She stopped walking for a second, making him pause too. “How do I not know you play guitar?”
Jesse stared at her, a mixture of amusement and something heavier curling in his chest. He wasn’t sure how to explain it.
Because the truth was—she knew the old him. The wild Jesse. The reckless one. The one who played hard, partied harder, and burned out faster than he could repair.
She didn’t know the man he’d spent the last three years trying to become.
“Babe,” he started, adjusting the grocery bags in his arms, “I didn’t think it mattered.”
Hayley folded her arms, narrowing her eyes. “It matters.”
He sighed, smirking slightly. “It’s not a big deal.”
“It is a big deal to me,” she said, softer this time. “Because I thought I knew everything about you.”
Jesse let out a slow breath, running his tongue over his teeth. “You knew a version of me.”
Her expression faltered for half a second, just long enough for him to catch it. Then she squared her shoulders, stepping closer, reaching out to hook a finger in the hem of his shirt.
“I want to know all of you,” she said. “The now you. The one I missed.”
Jesse swallowed, heat creeping up his spine. Because fuck. The way she looked at him—like she wasn’t going anywhere, like she was still holding on—made something dangerous swell in his chest.
Without thinking, he dropped one of the bags into his other arm and reached for her, his fingers slipping through hers, linking them together.
Hayley’s lips curved slightly, like she was surprised but pleased.
Jesse squeezed her hand, then smirked. “You just want me to play for you.”
She grinned. “Well, duh.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “Jesus.”
They started walking again, her hand still in his, swinging between them.
“Okay, okay,” she continued. “Follow-up question—what kind of music do you guys play?”
Jesse hesitated.
Because if he told her the truth—if he told her they played everything from punk to blues to old-school rock—he knew she’d make him pick up a guitar in front of her. And he wasn’t ready for that kind of humiliation.
“Mostly… dumb shit.”
She gasped, mock-offended. “Dumb shit? Do I look like someone who tolerates dumb shit?”
Jesse laughed. “You tolerate me.”
“Barely.”
He grinned, tugging her a little closer as they walked. “You’d like some of it.”
“Oh, I bet I’d like all of it.” She nudged him again. “You know I’m gonna make you play for me, right?”
Jesse exhaled, but his stomach tightened.
He didn’t mind the idea as much as he thought he would.
“Does your band have a name?” She asked.
“Sure does.” He grinned, baiting her.
They turned onto his street, the warm breeze rolling in off the ocean, the sound of waves crashing in the distance. The afternoon sun had started to sink, casting golden light over everything.
“And?” She demanded, stopping.
He stopped and turned to her. “The Hayley Fox fan club.”
And then he kept walking, faster than before, listening to her groaning behind him.
“I swear to God,” she said as she caught up. “And what will I have to do to see this in action?”
For a second, Jesse let himself believe this could be normal. That he could come home to this—to her. That this wasn’t temporary.
“Play your cards right,” he said eventually, squeezing her hand. “And you’ll hear one song.”
Hayley’s eyes lit up, victorious.
But Jesse already knew—she wasn’t going to let him stop at one.
* * * * *
The place was quiet when they got in—familiar, still, the way it always was after a deployment. Jesse watched Hayley drop onto the bed like gravity had claimed her, her body giving in the second she crossed the threshold. She hadn’t even made it under the covers. One arm flung over her eyes, her shoes strewn aside by the door.
She was out in minutes.
He left her there.
Unpacked the groceries slow. Systematic. Food in the fridge. Dirty dishes in the washer. Kitchen counters wiped down. The little mundane things that grounded him when the noise in his head got too loud.
Then he ran.
Six miles. Sand and asphalt. No headphones. Just his breath, his boots, the Pacific crashing somewhere in the distance. He pushed harder than he needed to. Let the burn in his legs chase away the memory of week five, of that kid’s eyes.
When he got back, the house was still quiet.
He showered, quick and hot, steam billowing up as he scrubbed the jungle from his skin. Pulled on boxers and sweatpants. Then moved into the kitchen and made dinner. Something simple—grilled chicken, rice, the ginger tea Hayley barely tolerated but still drank because he put it in front of her.
She hadn’t moved.
Now, as the sun dipped low outside, casting long shadows through the blinds, Jesse stepped into the bedroom again.
The light slanted across her body in soft streaks—gold on skin, hair like fire spilling over his pillow. Her tank had twisted, baring the curve of her waist, the swell of her hip. One knee bent just slightly.
He paused in the doorway.
His heart did that thing it always did around her. Tightened. Clenched.
He stepped in quiet, like muscle memory. Knew which board creaked, which hinge needed oil. He padded barefoot across the hardwood, crouched beside the bed, and just… looked.
Jesus.
She was so fucking beautiful.
Not in that glamorized, stage-lights way. Not even in the way she used to be, with her smoky eye makeup and too-loud laugh and a tequila bottle in her hand.
This was different.
This was quiet. Raw. Real.
This was Hayley in his bed, curled into his sheets, completely unguarded.
He brushed the back of his fingers along her bare arm, slow and reverent, watching goosebumps rise in the wake of his touch.
She stirred, breath hitching. Her lashes fluttered, but she didn’t open her eyes yet.
Instead, she shifted back into him with a sleepy sigh, tucking herself into the shape of his body like she’d always belonged there. Her fingers slid across his abs, over the ridges of muscle still damp from the shower.
“Mmm.” Her voice was wrecked with sleep, low and soft. “You’re warm.”
Jesse smiled, leaning in, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Been busy. Played house.”
She let out a lazy hum, her fingers tracing faint lines over his ribs like she was drawing constellations. “You do the dishes too?”
“Don’t tempt me,” he said, dragging his knuckles gently down her spine, feeling her melt into the sheets. “Might start charging rent.”
She made a quiet sound—somewhere between a laugh and a groan—and burrowed deeper into him.
“Jesse?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t let me sleep too long.”
He didn’t answer. Just kissed her shoulder again, breathing her in, grounding himself in her warmth.
Like hell he’d wake her.
She was safe.
She was here.
And for the first time in six fucking weeks, so was he.
Then—
She froze.
Not visibly. Not dramatically. Just… went still. The kind of still you only noticed if you were already hyper-attuned to her—which Jesse was.
He felt it before he saw it. The hesitation in her fingers, the sudden silence in her breath, the soft shift in the air as her touch paused over his ribs.
Then—her voice. Quiet. Careful.
“I don’t recognize this one.”
Jesse’s stomach went tight.
Fuck.
Of course she noticed. Hayley had always noticed. The smallest things. A new scar. The way his shoulders held tension after a mission. The nights he didn’t sleep but pretended he did.
He stayed still, jaw locked, pulse thrumming under his skin.
She propped herself up on one elbow, lifting just enough to look at him. Her green eyes searched his face—soft, curious. Open in that dangerous way that made him feel like she could see straight through him.
“Jesse?”
His throat went dry. He blinked once, trying to find the words. He didn’t. He couldn’t.
She dragged her fingers across the ink again. Slow. Deliberate. Not trying to make it hurt—but knowing it did.
A date. Coordinates. A line of script in an old Tagalog dialect she wouldn’t recognize.
A marker.
Of that day. Of the fucking camp. Of the kid with the stuffed animal covered in blood. Of the medic who told Jesse to walk away. Of the look in the boy’s eyes that would haunt him until his last breath.
They’d flown out of Ambon the next day. Their extraction point. Safe zone. Final debrief before heading back to San Diego. The city had been hot, sticky, busy with scooters and open-air markets. The team was allowed a single night off-grid before the Navy flew them home.
That’s where he got the tattoo.
A hole-in-the-wall shop, one of those back alley places run by a guy who didn’t ask questions. Isaac and Dom had gone to grab beer and grilled skewers from a vendor. Colson was on the phone back home. Zach had passed out in the barracks, dead to the world.
Jesse hadn’t planned it. He’d just walked.
Walked and walked until the weight in his chest turned into footsteps and then a door swinging open.
And when he’d left the shop two hours later, he hadn’t felt lighter.
But at least the pain made sense.
Now, lying here in the low glow of early evening, Hayley’s hand hovered over that truth inked into his skin—and he couldn’t bring himself to say it.
Her voice broke through again. Quieter this time. “Jesse.”
He exhaled slowly through his nose.
“It’s nothing.”
A lie. A fucking lie. But safer than the truth.
Her hand stilled completely. And he felt it—that shift. Like a door starting to close between them.
The warmth in the room dimmed just a fraction. That tiny, flickering crack between what they were and what they’d been trying to rebuild.
This was what always happened.
He disappeared. Came back carrying more shit than he left with. And when she reached for him, he pulled away without meaning to. Not with his hands, not with his body—but with silence. With everything he didn’t say.
She didn’t push. Didn’t press.
But she didn’t have to.
Because Jesse saw it in her eyes.
That flicker of doubt.
And god, he fucking hated that.
She was thinking about all the other times. The times he hadn’t shown up. The waiting. The drinking. The silence. How she used to fall asleep staring at the ceiling, wondering if he was alive or just too fucked up to call.
His jaw tightened, his hand tightening against the curve of her waist.
Why was this so hard?
Why couldn’t he just say the goddamn words?
But he didn’t know how.
What he did know—what he’d always known—was how to make her feel.
That, at least, he could still do.
He rolled her gently beneath him, his hands firm, steady. Not rough. Just there. Grounding. His body pressed into hers, heat-to-heat, chest-to-chest.
She gasped, breath catching, her fingers sliding up into his hair.
“Jesse—”
He silenced her with a kiss. Slow. Deep. Consuming. The kind that anchored. The kind that meant something.
A kiss that said everything he couldn’t.
I missed you. I never stopped. I don’t know how to do this, but fuck, I’m trying.
Her arms tightened around him. And for one brief second, he let himself believe that maybe it was enough.
Even if the words never came.
Even if the ink on his skin said the rest.
His hands roamed, tracing every inch of her like he was trying to carve himself into her skin, into her bones, into the very air she breathed.
Because maybe words failed him.
But this—
This, he could do.
Jesse slid lower, his lips trailing fire down her throat, over her collarbone, his hands gripping her waist, holding her in place. He could still see it in her eyes—the hesitation, the unspoken questions—but he wasn’t ready to give her answers. Not yet.
So instead, he focused on what he did know.
How to make her feel good.
How to make her forget.
His mouth traced the edge of her tank top, dragging lower, lower, his tongue flicking over the soft swell of her breast. Hayley gasped, her body arching up into him, fingers threading through his damp curls, tugging.
His hands smoothed down her sides, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin just below her ribs. His mouth followed, kissing, teasing, his stubble scraping her in the best way. He slid beneath the hem of her tank, tugging it up and over her head, exposing her completely.
Fuck.
Jesse sat back on his heels for a second, taking her in—flushed cheeks, lips parted, bare skin glowing in the afternoon light. She was so damn beautiful it made his chest ache.
And then there was her stomach. The barely-there swell. His baby.
His hands skimmed over it, reverent, possessive, tracing soft circles over her skin.
“You have no idea how fucking hot this is,” he said, his voice rough with need.
Hayley let out a shaky breath, her fingers digging into his arms.
“Jesse…”
He grinned against her stomach, kissing the curve of it, his stubble scraping just enough to make her shiver.
“My baby,” he said, dragging his tongue lower. “My girl. Carrying my kid.”
She let out a soft whimper, her body tensing beneath him.
“Fuck,” Jesse rasped, kissing his way down, fingers hooking in the waistband of her shorts. “You’re so perfect like this. Do you know how many times I thought about this while I was gone?”
Hayley swallowed hard, her hands tightening in the sheets. “Tell me.”
Jesse smirked, tugging her shorts down, his fingers skimming over the tops of her thighs, teasing.
“I swear to God… I actually thought about how fucking good you’d look pregnant.” He kissed the inside of her thigh, slow, deliberate. “How sexy you’d be, all soft and swollen with my baby.” Another kiss. Higher. “How I’d keep you in my bed, keep you feeling good every second of the day.”
Hayley gasped as his mouth got closer to her clit, his breath hot against her skin.
Jesse’s hands gripped her thighs, spreading them just enough to let him settle between.
“Jesse, you always go down on me when you’re trying to make me forget,” she said, tangling her hands in his hair.
“Not my fault I’m addicted to the way your pussy tastes,” he said, his lips ghosting over where she was already aching for him. “Babe, this is your life now. Every damn day. My tongue on your clit.”
Then, without another word, he lowered his head and made good on his promise.
Jesse was relentless. He held her down with his hands on her hips, his grip firm but reverent, his mouth moving with purpose. His tongue flicked, teased, circled her clit, dragging her higher and higher with every slow, torturous stroke of her pussy.
Hayley’s back arched, her fingers tangling in his damp curls, pulling him closer. “Jesse—”
But he wasn’t having it. He lifted his head just enough, lips glistening, eyes dark and hooded with heat.
“I want to hear you, baby.” His voice was a rasp, a command wrapped in silk. “Sing for me.”
Her breath hitched, her pulse racing.
“Jesse, I—”
“Use that voice,” he said, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of her thigh, nipping just enough to make her gasp. “Let me hear you.”
Then he went back in, tongue pressing on her clit, working her with the same precision he put into everything. Slow, then fast. Gentle, then punishing. Teasing, then taking. He pumped two fingers into her, curling and finding that spot that drove her insane.
Hayley’s moans broke free, her body trembling beneath his mouth.
Jesse groaned against her pussy, the sound vibrating through her. “That’s it, baby,” he praised, his grip tightening. “Give me more.”
She was gasping now, breathless, every sound a melody of pleasure. And then—she did it.
She sang.
Not words, not lyrics, just the raw, unfiltered sound of her voice, pouring out of her like a song, a moan that rose and fell with every flick of his tongue, every precise, relentless stroke.
Jesse fucking growled. “That’s my girl.”
His hands gripped her thighs, his mouth devouring her pussy, desperate to pull every last sound from her throat.
“Jesse,” she sobbed, her body tensing, thighs shaking, her stomach going tight.
“Come for me, baby.” His voice was thick, hungry. “Let me hear it.”
She came apart.
A cry ripped from her throat, high and perfect, her entire body bowing off the bed. Jesse held her down, his tongue and his fingers working her through it, his groan vibrating against her as she pulsed beneath him.
He didn’t stop until she was spent, until her hands slid from his hair, her chest rising and falling in erratic waves.
Jesse kissed his way up her body, slow, thorough, dragging his mouth over her stomach, her ribs, between the valley of her breasts, before finally capturing her lips in a deep, bruising kiss.
“You,” he breathed against her lips, his fingers still tracing the tremors in her thighs. “And your pussy are so fucking perfect.”
Hayley let out a weak, breathless laugh, her fingers brushing over his jaw, nails scraping against the golden stubble.
“You’re insane,” she whispered, voice still wrecked.
Jesse grinned, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of her nose. “You love it.”
And when she didn’t deny it, he smirked, his hand already slipping lower again.
“Think you’ve got another one in you, rockstar?”
His mouth claimed hers again, his grip tightening, his fingers pressing into the soft curves of her body, mapping her, memorizing her. Every inch of her was heat and need, her breath ragged against his lips, her hands pulling him closer, like she was just as desperate as he was to drown in this.
To forget.
To feel.
And when she finally melted beneath him, when her body arched into his, her breath hitching, her lips parting on a soft moan—Jesse knew she understood.
She was the only thing that had ever felt real.
And he wasn’t ready to let her go.
Jesse didn’t think—he just moved.
He kicked off his sweatpants and boxers and settled between her legs, pressing her into the mattress, the weight of him pinning her down. She gasped, but he swallowed it, groaning low as he pushed his hard cock into her pussy, one rough, perfect thrust that knocked the air out of both their lungs.
She was still wet, still pulsing from the last time.
Still his.
Messy and beautiful, her auburn hair spread across his pillow, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths, her skin flushed with heat.
She moaned as he drove his cock into her again, harder now, his hips slamming into hers, his grip punishing on her waist as he rocked her up the bed.
Her fingers clutched at his back, her nails digging in. She was losing it—messy, flushed, eyes glassy with heat and something deeper, something aching.
“Jesse—” Her voice cracked. It shook.
He grabbed her face in one hand, kissed her again—rough, deep, devouring—his mouth bruising hers, his other hand still anchored to her hip like he was afraid she’d vanish between breaths.
Then he pulled back, just enough to see her. Really see her.
Her lips were swollen, her breath uneven, her pupils blown wide. The green in her eyes was glassy with heat and grief and something he didn’t deserve.
Love.
Fuck.
“Say it,” Jesse growled, his breath hot against her lips. “Say you’re mine.”
She blinked up at him, that split second of hesitation hitting him like a goddamn knife.
But then—
“I’m yours,” she whispered.
And that was it.
His control shattered.
A low, broken noise tore from his chest as his fingers tangled in her hair, his body driving harder against hers, raw and unfiltered. He kissed her like he was starved, like he’d been holding back six weeks of agony, six weeks of silence, of missing her so bad it hurt to breathe.
“Only ever mine,” he rasped against her throat, dragging his mouth down her neck, biting, claiming. “No one else touches you. No one else even fucking looks at you.”
Before she could speak, before she could blink, he flipped her—fast, fluid—pulling her on top of him, her thighs spreading across his hips like she belonged there.
Because she did.
His hands locked around her waist, guiding her down with steady force, fitting them together in one rough thrust that had both of them gasping.
Hayley’s hands flew to his shoulders, nails digging in.
“Jesse—”
“Ride me,” he ordered, voice low and deadly. “Take what you need, baby. You missed this. I know you did. Show me.”
She shivered, heat blooming across her chest, her eyes wide, lips parted, and then—she moved.
Slow at first. Testing. Rocking. Teasing.
Jesse groaned, head falling back as her body rolled against his, all fire and velvet and fucking heaven. His hands gripped her tighter, anchoring her to him, like if she got too far, he might lose his mind.
“Just like that,” he growled, dragging one hand up her spine to the back of her neck. “Goddamn, you ride me like you were made for it. You wanna scream for me, rockstar?”
She moaned, her breath catching, her pace faltering as she leaned down and crushed her mouth to his—hungry, messy, desperate.
Jesse let her have control for a second. Just long enough for her to break herself open on him.
And then he took it back.
He snapped his hips up, driving into her in hard, perfect thrusts that had her falling apart in his hands.
“Fuck, Jesse—” Her voice cracked, her nails raking down his chest, her head thrown back.
“You feel that?” he snarled against her throat. “You feel how tight you are? How you melt for me?”
Her body trembled, her moans turning breathless, frantic. She was close—he could feel it in the way her thighs tensed, in the way her breath hitched with every grind of her hips.
He grabbed her ass, held her steady, and slammed into her, again and again, chasing that high like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
“Let go for me,” he whispered, voice broken. “Come on, Hayley. Give it to me.”
And she did.
Her whole body arched, back bowing, a scream tearing from her throat as she shattered around him, her walls clenching, pulsing, dragging him under with her.
Jesse followed with a strangled curse, his release hitting him so hard he saw white, his body jerking beneath hers as he spilled into her, heart hammering out of his chest.
For a long moment, there was nothing. Just her, breathing hard, her body trembling on top of his, their skin slick with sweat, their hearts pounding like war drums.
He wrapped his arms around her and didn’t let go.
Pressed his lips to her shoulder, then her temple, then that spot just beneath her jaw where her pulse still raced.
She sighed, melted into his chest, her fingers tracing slow circles on his ribs.
And Jesse closed his eyes.
Held her tighter.
Because if there was one thing in this fucked-up life he was sure of, it was this.