Chapter Nine
~ Rawley ~
After the last plate hit the drying rack, I made a point of setting the sponge in the exact center of the sink.
Not because I cared about neatness—Jojo had already blitzed every surface with his own brand of clean, his kind of order—but because I needed to do something with my hands before they found their way to him.
He was drying his wrists on a kitchen towel, oblivious, humming the tail end of an old country song under his breath. His eyes darted to mine when he caught me staring, and he smiled, slow and bright, like he was used to catching trouble and didn’t mind one bit.
“You want tea?” he asked, already reaching for the kettle, but I caught his wrist mid-motion.
“Later,” I said, and didn’t let go.
He stopped, senses going alert. Not fear—he wasn’t scared of me, not anymore—but a kind of charged anticipation that made the air snap between us.
I took the towel from his hand and tossed it over the chair. Then I crowded him, letting my body do the talking. He stepped back, hit the counter, and laughed, breathless.
“You’re really bad at waiting,” he said, tilting his chin up to dare me.
“Not planning on waiting at all,” I said, and scooped him up before he could get another word out.
He let out a startled whoop as I hauled him over my shoulder, feet kicking in protest that was all show. His palms pressed to my lower back, gripping fistfuls of shirt, but I could feel him smiling against my spine.
“You’re insane,” he said, but it was a compliment.
“Yeah,” I said, taking the stairs two at a time, “and you love it.”
He laughed again, the sound muffled by the fabric of my shirt. I hit the second-floor landing, then turned down the hall to the main bedroom, my grandfather’s former bedroom. It still smelled like cedar and linen, but now it was ours.
I kicked the door open and set him on his feet, making sure he slid all the way down my body on the way. He looked up at me, cheeks flushed, lips parted, and the charge in his gaze made me want to wreck him on the spot.
“You move your stuff in here tomorrow,” I told him, no question in my voice.
He grinned so wide it almost split his face. “Okay.”
I pulled his shirt over his head in one motion, leaving his hair standing on end. His chest rose and fell fast, skin bright in the dim yellow lamp light. I wanted to taste every inch of him, mark him up until everyone for twenty miles could tell who he belonged to.
He started to reach for my shirt, but I caught his hands and pinned them behind his back with one hand. The other went straight for his fly. He gasped when I flicked the button open, his body going soft all over except where it counted.
“Somebody’s impatient,” he said, but his voice shook on the last syllable.
“I want you so fucking bad,” I growled, kissing the words into his neck. He smelled like sweat, flour, and the sweet salt of omega, and I wanted to bathe in it.
He arched into me, pressing his chest to mine, bare skin meeting cotton.
I could feel the ridges of his ribs, the soft line of his stomach.
He was smaller than me, but built strong in all the places I liked—shoulders, thighs, the curve of his ass that filled my palms even before I finished stripping him.
I unbuckled his belt, then shoved his jeans and boxers down in one rough move. He stood there, naked and blushing, but didn’t hide. His cock was already hard, pale and pretty with the head flushed dark pink, and his balls drawn up tight under the shaft.
He looked me up and down, eyes gone wide and hungry. “Are you going to keep your clothes on?” he asked, voice small.
“Hell, no,” I said, and yanked my own shirt off. I let him see what he was getting—shoulders like concrete, slick chest, a scatter of old scars across my ribs. I undid my jeans, pushed them down, and let my cock spring free. He stared, not even trying to hide it.
He bit his lip, pupils blown. “Jesus,” he whispered.
I took a step closer, let him get a good look. I liked the way he stared—like he was hungry, like he couldn’t believe I was real. It lit up something primal in me, something mean and greedy and tender all at once.
I cupped his face, made him look up at me. “You good?”
He nodded, breath coming hard and fast.
I kissed him, slow at first, then rougher, wanting to taste everything. He melted against me, hands fisting in the small of my back. I walked him backward until the backs of his knees hit the bed, then pushed him down onto the covers.
He looked up, hair fanned out, blue eyes shining in the half-light. I crawled over him, pinning his wrists to the mattress, and bent to bite the mark I’d left on his neck the night before. He shuddered, a moan spilling out that made my cock jump.
I traced his chest with my tongue, stopping to suck each nipple until it peaked under my mouth. He writhed, back arching, hips lifting off the bed. I kept going, mapping his body with teeth and hands, until I reached the trail of hair below his navel.
I hovered there, breathing him in. “You want this?” I asked, voice low.
He didn’t hesitate. “Please,” he whispered, “I want all of you.”
I grinned, then went to work.
I buried my mouth in the hollow of his thigh, then worked my way up, leaving a trail of bites that would be bruises by morning. Jojo bucked and squirmed, every muscle on high alert, hips grinding up for more. I grabbed his knees, spread them apart, and took his cock all the way to the root.
He cried out, high and desperate, the sound so raw it made my heart stutter.
I sucked him slow, letting the tension build, my tongue tracing the slit, teasing him until he was shaking. I could feel his hands clutching the sheets, twisting them into ropes. I let him get close—so close I could taste it—then pulled off and watched him fall apart.
He gasped, eyes wild, sweat painting a sheen across his chest. “Please,” he begged, “don’t stop.”
I liked the way he asked for it, so I went back, but this time added a finger to the mix, wetting it before pressing it against his hole. He tensed, then melted, breathe catching. I worked him slow, circling and teasing, then pushed in just enough to feel the heat of him clamp down.
He sobbed, hips lifting to meet me.
“You like that?” I asked, voice guttural.
“Yes,” he whispered, and the way he said it made me want to break him in half.
I added another finger, working him open. He took it, greedy and eager, grinding back for more. I curled my fingers, searching for that spot, and when I found it he nearly screamed.
His cock jerked, leaking all over his stomach. I licked it up, savoring the taste, then went back to his hole, working him open with slow, relentless pressure. He writhed, hands scrambling for purchase on my shoulders.
“Turn over,” I ordered, my voice rough.
He rolled, presenting himself, ass up and quivering. I knelt behind him, spreading his cheeks with both hands. The sight made my cock twitch so hard it hurt.
I reached into the nightstand, fumbled for the lube and a condom I’d stashed there earlier. I rolled the condom on with one hand, the other still stroking his back. I squeezed a generous line of lube onto my fingers, then slicked him up, pressing in deep until he was loose enough to take me.
“Please, Rawley,” he begged, voice breaking. “I need you inside me.”
I lined up, cock in hand, and pushed the head against his entrance. I gripped his hips tight, holding him still.
“This is going to hurt a little,” I warned. “But I’ll make it good for you. Promise.”
He nodded, face buried in the sheets.
I pressed in, slow at first, just the tip. He gasped, body going rigid. I held there, letting him adjust, then pushed deeper, inch by inch, until I was halfway in. He shuddered, fingers clawing the mattress.
“Breathe, baby,” I said, leaning over to kiss the back of his neck. “Just relax for me.”
He took a shaky breath, then let it out, and I felt him unclench. I pushed in the rest of the way, balls slapping his ass, and almost lost it right there. He was tight, hot, and perfect—better than anything I’d ever had.
I started to move, slow at first, then picking up the pace. He met every thrust, moaning like he was dying for it. I reached around and stroked his cock, matching my rhythm to the way his body jerked with every push.
He was so close, I could feel it.
I bent over him, mouth at his ear. “You’re taking me so good,” I whispered. “So fucking good.”
He sobbed, head buried in his arms, hips rolling back to meet mine.
I drove in harder, the slap of skin on skin echoing off the bedroom walls. My hand slid up his back, grabbing his hair and pulling him upright. I bit his shoulder, marking him again, and he only begged for more.
“Rawley—” he gasped, “—harder.”
I gave it to him, fucking him deep and rough, the way he needed. His ass clenched around me, milking my cock with every thrust.
I felt the edge coming, but I wanted him to go first. I reached down, stroking him faster. “Come for me,” I growled, voice barely human.
He shattered, body spasming as he shot all over my hand, the sheets, his own stomach. The way he clenched around my cock nearly undid me.
I kept going, chasing my own release, slamming into him harder and harder. The room spun, colors going white-hot behind my eyes. I roared his name, then came so hard it felt like my whole body emptied out.
We collapsed, tangled together, sweat and cum and the reek of sex heavy in the air. I held him there, arms wrapped around his waist, not letting go for anything.
I pressed my face to his neck, kissed the bruises I’d left. “You did perfect,” I murmured, not caring how it sounded.
He turned his head, eyes half-closed but shining. “So did you.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just held him, letting our breaths sync up, letting the world shrink to just the two of us in the dark.
I knew exactly where I belonged.
It should have been enough. We should have collapsed and slept like the dead, spent and slick and barely human, but some need in me refused to quit. I wanted to see him come undone again, wanted to hear the noises he made when I wrecked him so good he forgot his own name.
I rolled us, Jojo on top, his hair damp with sweat, eyes glazed and shining. He straddled me, blinking in surprise at the hardness pressing into his thigh.
“Already?” he said, voice a broken laugh.
“You do that to me,” I said, hands running up the length of his body, thumbs tracing the fading handprints I’d left on his hips.
He shivered, blue eyes locking on mine. There was no fear in him, just trust—and maybe a little awe, which I ate up like a starving man.
I reached up, grabbed his ass, and ground him down against me. He moaned, high and sharp, then bit his lower lip to muffle it.
“Don’t hold back,” I told him. “I want to hear you.”
He nodded, then lined me up again. No condom this time, just slick and friction, and I barely remembered to slow down long enough to lube up before pulling him down onto my cock.
The stretch was easier this time, his body hungry for it, opening up to take me deep. He rode me hard, fingers braced against my chest, his whole body writhing and desperate. The way he moved, the way he looked at me, it stripped every last thought from my brain except the need to keep him.
I grabbed his hands, pinned them behind his back, and fucked up into him, the slap of our bodies loud in the stormy dark.
He gasped, head thrown back, neck arching so I could see the purple bite marks blooming there. I leaned up, caught his nipple in my mouth, and bit down. He jerked, then cried out, the sound so sweet and raw I felt it all the way to my bones.
“You’re mine,” I growled, nipping at his throat. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” he gasped, voice breaking. “All yours, Rawley.”
I lost it, the possessive streak in me flaring so hot I saw white. I pounded into him, deeper, harder, until the bed frame groaned and the world shrank to just the two of us, sweat and skin and the way his body squeezed down on me with every thrust.
He came again, even harder than before, his cum painting my stomach as his whole body seized around my cock. The sight, the sound, the feel of him milking me sent me over the edge. I came with a roar, holding him tight enough I worried I’d bruise the bone.
We crashed, tangled, chests heaving and hearts beating so loud I wondered if the storm outside could hear us. Jojo collapsed onto my chest, face buried in my neck. He was crying, but not with pain.
“Hey,” I said, gentling my voice. “You okay?”
He nodded, sobbed a little, then started laughing. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m more than okay.”
I held him there, hand stroking his back, listening to the rain on the window and the twin thrum of our blood cooling off.
It hit me, clear and sharp: This was my family now. Not the Steeles of Texas, not the ghosts or the old man’s legacy. Just me, and the omega in my arms, and the promise that no one would ever hurt him again.
If anyone tried, they’d answer to me.
I pulled the blankets up, cocooned us both, and kissed his temple. He looked at me, blue eyes shining, and I knew he saw it too.
“You’re not going anywhere,” I told him.
“Never,” he said, and I believed him.
We fell asleep in a knot of sweat and spit and dried tears, the storm finally breaking and leaving only silence behind. I’d claimed him. He’d claimed me back.
Tomorrow, we’d face the world together.