Chapter 6 Jesse #2
He pressed the tiny foils into a ball and tossed it into the garbage can by the toilet, ignoring my antics.
I pushed my bottom lip out in a ridiculous pout, hand on my hip as he returned to my side.
His expression sharpened, and…fuck. The bastard who’d calmly dismantled my entire life stepped forward.
I could make out the shape of his questions before he even opened his mouth.
“You wanna tell me how you ended up at my place?”
I lifted a shoulder, entirely unconcerned. “The safe house was right by the dam.”
“Good to know.” He raised a brow. “But that’s not the question I asked.”
Vying for time, I closed my eyes and angled my head under the water to run my fingers through my hair, scrubbing away the remaining dirt and blood. When I opened my eyes, he was still there, still unimpressed.
Why was that so fucking hot?
Fuck it, I’ve got immunity.
“Had my cousin zip-tie an AirTag to your truck. He has a spreadsheet of all your regular stops. When I crawled out of the lake, I knew this place was my safest bet.”
“And what were you planning on doing with that spreadsheet?”
A slow smirk hitched up one side of my mouth. Truth was, I’d spent a year imagining all the ways in which I’d kill Rafferty and/or let him fuck me into the mattress. I still might.
“I see.” He spread his hands wide. “Go ahead then. Give it your best shot.”
My cock, which had lost its shyness, twitched at his bravado. Down, boy.
“I’m injured and unarmed, Detective.”
His eyes tracked down my decorated body, and he sent me a lazy grin. “Yes, because that’s why you’d lose.”
“Fuck you,” I said, but there was no heat to it.
That reminded me: in addition to providing updates as to Rafferty’s whereabouts, Kyler had also discovered that Rafferty had filed for a divorce from his husband.
Having followed me for months—without my knowledge, I was ashamed to admit—he had to know my sexual tastes were…diverse.
“Tell me this, Jesse,” he said, smirking. “How’re your ribs feeling?”
I barked out a laugh and rubbed an inked hand over my belly, a purposeful move that his eyes watched with keen interest. I was taunting him because his question annoyed the fuck out of me.
“God, I hate you,” I muttered, mostly frustrated with how much he saw and how much that turned me on.
Fuck it. Let him see how turned on I was. Let him try and deny how much I affected him.
I let my hand drift to my cock, testing my boundaries, curious if his eyes would follow the movement.
They did, and he wasn’t subtle about it.
“Not all of you hates me,” he said, with his smug eyebrows.
I stretched the foreskin over my cock, pleased when his mouth twitched. Doing this with him watching was way better than doing it alone in my cell.
“Of course I hate you,” I said, my voice breathy. “You’re the reason I got busted.”
“No, I’m not,” he said, his eyes drifting up the length of my dick as it hardened. “You begged your father to not use Jimmy Shoes in the first place. You’re mad at him, not me.”
I stared at him, my mouth open in protest. I mean…yes. I was mad at my father. Furious, in fact. Not only did he ignore my very good advice, but he also didn’t even take my call when I got arrested.
Rafferty winked.
Motherfucker winked at me.
“You seem to be recovering quickly from your ordeal,” he said, amusement playing on his plush lips.
“Nothing that a brisk rub down and a hot shower couldn’t fix.”
When he didn’t respond, I gave myself another stroke. “You got any soap in this place?”
Wordlessly, he opened the linen closet, fished out a brand-new box of Irish Spring, and tore open the thin cardboard—all without removing his gaze from my body.
“This feels a little on the nose,” I said, extending my free hand beyond the shower curtain.
His mouth twitched as he slid the bar out of the box and set it on my palm, then he lifted his chin in the direction of my cock and hand. “Planning my demise seems to be a major turn on for you.”
I held the soap to my nose, inhaling as I let my eyes drift over his thick brown hair and broad shoulders. “Not gonna lie, it kind of is.”
“Then you and my ex-husband have a lot in common.”
I laughed despite myself and let go of my cock. I didn’t know what I’d intended to accomplish with that little display, but Rafferty was a law-and-order man through and through.
“Be right back,” he said, his smile widening. “Don’t get into too much trouble.”
“Wait,” I said as he slipped out of the bathroom. “Where are you going now?”
He chuckled to himself but didn’t answer. Dick.
I gingerly soaped up my bits and rinsed the blood off my face, listening intently as he rummaged around in the small cabin.
By the time I finished showering, I decided to stop fucking with Rafferty and just get through the night.
I grabbed a surprisingly fresh towel from the closet and was drying off when he stepped back into the bathroom.
It was worth noting that Rafferty had lost his shirt and shoes, but he’d found a sandwich, a spool of bright green thread, a Dopp kit, and a fucking handle of vodka.
“Dude, what kind of party you got going on here?” I asked, eyeballing his powerful, furry chest as I accepted the white-bread sandwich. In all of my jerking off, I hadn’t imagined that much chest hair.
God, I wanted to run my fingers through it.
He set the Dopp kit on the windowsill, then held up the vodka and the spool of thread, which had a needle sticking out of it. “No party. I just need to take care of that lac on your head.”
“Care to explain why you have to do that shirtless?” I ask, polishing off the simple ham and cheese.
“That was the only long-sleeve shirt I brought with me, so I hung it to dry on one of the kitchen chairs. Figured I should stitch you up before finding something else to wear.”
He handed me the vodka, which reminded me of the question I’d asked earlier.
“How drunk are you?”
“Not so much drunk anymore,” he answered, sticking his tongue out as he threaded the needle. “Too much adrenaline.”
“That’s not as reassuring as you’d think,” I retorted, trying to hide how nervous the whole needle and thread situation made me. “Why don’t we save the backwoods surgery for when you’re fully sober?”
“Nope. I can see a sliver of your skull, and it’s making me queasy,” he said as he gestured to the vodka. “Take a few good swigs of that.”
I checked the mirror again and…ah, fuck. That white line through my brow was my skull. Great.
“Fine.” I drank directly from the bottle, enjoying the burn. “Just don’t stab me in the fucking eye.”
“Roger that.” He grabbed my hip, his hand half on the towel and half on my bare skin as he pivoted me. “Let’s get you into the light.”
“Hey,” I squawked. “Careful with the goods.”
He pursed his lips as he absentmindedly thumbed the knot on my towel. Blinking, he pulled his hand back, staring at it as he flexed it, shaking his head as if arguing with himself.
I can work with that.
His eyes drifted up to mine. “Apologies for the manhandling. Just wanna make sure I don’t mess up your pretty face.”
You can manhandle me anytime, Detective.
Before I could say that, though, he placed a hand over my eye and splashed a bit of the vodka in the gash.
Mother…fucker.
“Sorry,” he said, his hand returning to my waist. “Thought it might be better if you didn’t see it coming.”
“Not better,” I complained as his thumb found and slowly circled my hip bone.
Having never hung out before at the intersection of Jesus fucking ouch and uhn, harder, Daddy, I couldn’t tell if he was touching me like that on purpose or not. I’d love to say it didn’t affect me, but the goose bumps on my arms and chest called me a liar.
I had to bite back another whine when he removed his hand. But then he used that hand to take another swig of vodka, and my eyes greedily took in the veins on his forearms.
Again, pathetic.
Rafferty wiped his mouth with his forearm, then pushed the bottle into my hands. “Hold this.”
Without a warning or even a fucking countdown, Rafferty set about decorating my brow with four crude stitches.
Ouch, you goddamn motherfucker.
Ungh. Fuck me, Daddy.
As much as I tried to focus on the pain, the harsh line of his jaw and the slope of his nose fried my nerves and tightened my nipples, leaving them aching and diamond-hard.
Not sure what that said about me.
Nothing good.
Before you judge me, I’ll remind you that I just got out of jail. I was pretty sure horny as fuck was gonna be my default state for a hot minute.
After tying off the thread, Rafferty snipped it with a pair of nail trimmers he found in the medicine cabinet, then pulled away to look at his work.
“It’s kinda Christmassy,” he said with a crooked smile.
I checked the mirror again and, ha, Rafferty was right. The green threaded into my brow was quite the festive touch, and his stitchwork was better than I’d anticipated.
“You’re the kind of asshole who does things better when they’re drunk, aren’t you?”
“Drunk, no.” He scratched at his neatly kept beard, his eyes drifting over my nipples. “Lubricated? Maybe.”
Get the fuck outta here with “lubricated.”
“That so?”
“Mm.”
I took another drink, my lizard brain working overtime. This…whatever it was…between us made me want to push him. Poke at his soft bits. Amp up the flirting.
Yeah. Continue flirting with the guy who put you in jail, Jess. Can’t imagine how you got busted, you nitwit.
Whatever. I’m the nitwit who’s about to get us laid.
Then stop talking to yourself and take off his pants.
With a swig for courage, I reached out and buried my fingers in his thick chest hair.
Jesus, that feels like puppies and rainbows.
He sucked in a quick breath, watching me feel him up with the barest hint of a grin.
Why isn’t he stopping me?
“Even in bed?” I asked, risking life and limb by brushing my thumb over one of his fat nipples. Another sharp inhale. I bit my lip as I looked up at him in the small space. “The alcohol doesn’t make your dick go limp?”
He captured my hand in his, and I wondered briefly if he was about to break my fingers. Instead, he dragged my hand slowly down his chest and belly through all of that glorious fur…all the way over the bulge in his sweats.
That’s my bluff called.
“What do you think?” he asked, his carefully neutral look obliterated by the glint in his eyes.
I gulped. “Um…” I squeezed gently and nearly choked on my tongue. I had not been nearly generous enough in my imaginings of his cock. Detective Rafferty was packing serious heat. “Damn.”
For all of my antics, it occurred to me that Rafferty was the one calling the shots. Probably had been this entire time.
He held my gaze as he slipped the towel from my waist. For a second, his eyes flicked over the bruises and healing scrapes, as if to determine whether I’d break under his hands.
I can take whatever you dish out, Detective.
Only when the towel lay at my feet did he shift his focus to my erection.
“Seriously?” I asked, trying to catch up.
I mean, I wasn’t going to look a gift cock in the mouth, but I had to wonder if I was actually dead at the bottom of the lake and this was some sort of make-a-wish situation before I was carted off to hell.
His eyes went onyx with desire. “As long as you’re into it.”
If you only knew.
“Oh, I’m into it.” I ran my hand through my wet hair, shaking out the limp curls. “It’s a little fucked up, but I don’t mind.”
“Good.”
He sat heavily on the closed toilet, then pulled me between his legs. Leaning forward, he nosed my cock and inhaled deeply.
“You pick up anything in prison?”
I snorted. “I was a monk in prison and fucked up anyone who thought they could change that.”
“Good boy,” he said on a deep rumble that set off a thousand more goose bumps. “Did you wash your ass?”
What, am I new here?
“You could eat a four-course meal off my ass.”
“Excellent.”
He took my cock into his hot mouth, and it lit my hair on fire. I nearly lost my goddamned balance.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Heady with the what the absolute fuck of it all, I took another swig of vodka as he sucked on me.
Setting the heavy bottle on the tank behind him, I then used both hands to run my fingers through his thick hair, and it was even better than I’d imagined.
He slurped and moaned while twisting his tongue around my length.
Fuuuuck.
After a few more deep sucks, he pulled off and rose from the toilet, then manhandled me—carefully, with gentle hands—facing me against the window.
“Grab the sill,” he ordered.
God help me, I did.
He pushed his sweats and underwear to the floor with a soft whoosh. I looked back as he stepped out of the clothing. His heavy, wickedly curved cock was ruddy with need.
“Fucking hell, dude.”
“You’ve had a rough evening.” He stroked his dick and sent me an arch look. “I can go back to sucking your dick if you’d prefer.”
I grunted like a brat and pushed my ass out for this man. Grinning, he stepped in behind me, the heat of his body against mine sending a bolt of lust straight to my cock.
Holy Christmas.
I tightened my grip on the sill.
“Let’s see if you did a decent job of cleaning up,” he rumbled in my ear.