Chapter 8 Jesse
JESSE
I followed Rafferty into his grandparents’ room—now his room, if the clothes on the floor were any indication—which had the same simple wood paneling as everywhere else. Unfortunately, it was also cold as fuck.
I shudder-shivered. “Is there a window open?”
“Sorry it’s so chilly in here,” he said, placing his hand on my lower back. “We never got around to fixing the ductwork.”
I leaned into his body heat. “I don’t mind as long as you’re volunteering to keep me warm.”
“Always a fucking menace,” he said, shaking his head with a stupidly fond look.
“Whatever,” I said, grinning at him. “You like that I’m a menace.”
His mouth twitched with an aborted grin, and he gave me a squeeze before stepping to the closet. “I might be able to prevent you from freezing to death at least.”
He attempted to open the bi-fold doors with a flourish, but they got stuck halfway. Admiring the broad muscles in his back, I assumed he’d force it open. Instead, he wiggled them back onto their tracks and carefully slid them the rest of the way open.
It reminded me of something my father used to say. If you wanna be gentle like that, son, you better learn how to fight.
The biggest surprise in all of this wasn’t that Rafferty fucked me to within an inch of my life. It’s that, at his core, the man was as gentle as he was powerful.
Which was problematic on so many levels.
Grinning at the plethora of sharp cardigans, snazzy short-sleeve button-ups, and slacks with elastic waistbands, I asked the question I’d been curious about for a solid year.
“What was that move you pulled on me in the courthouse?” I asked, stopping at a pair of neatly hung flannel plaid pajama bottoms.
Rafferty removed them from the hanger and presented them to me over his forearm. Like a butler, only hotter.
“Aikido with a hint of Mortal Kombat.”
“Finish him,” I cracked, shaking my head as he knelt in front of me. “God, it pisses me off how charming you are.”
“That’s how my grandma raised me,” he said, popping his brows.
I’d prefer to be naked for the duration, but I really was chilly in this refrigerator of a room, and he’d seen enough of my shrinkage.
“You know…the vehicle I was in flew off a bridge tonight,” I said, stepping into each leg hole. “I had to shimmy out a window to escape into a freezing lake and walked three miles in the snow. And I was still able to take it up the ass.”
“Yes, you were very brave,” he said, sarcasm thick as he ran his nose along my spent cock.
Rafferty pulled the bottoms up to my waist like I was a little kid. I didn’t complain because, after a year of prison, it felt nice to be cared for.
“You want a tee or the matching top?”
“Neither. I don’t like wearing shirts to sleep.”
He stood, biting his lower lip as he admired my chest, and I glared up at him. “My point, before you distracted me, is that I was definitely not offering my ass on a platter after court that day. You nailed me with one punch, and I couldn’t take a deep breath for three months.”
“I apologize for the level of violence,” he said, palming my rib cage, playing his thumb over the ridges. “You were too quick to be reasoned with, and there were too many people in the courtroom.”
I raised a brow. “You caved in my ribcage because I was too fast?”
He shook his head, his expression genuinely apologetic. “I broke your ribs with your own forward momentum because it was the most efficient way to secure the room.”
Honestly, I got it. Rafferty was a protector to his core, and if I represented a threat to innocent civilians, he was going to neutralize me with as little impact to them as possible.
“You collapsed one of my lungs,” I groused, even as I tracked the bulge in his sweatpants.
“I know. I’m sorry.” He held up his hands. “Tell you what: as soon as I can go again, I’ll give you a nice, slow apology fuck.”
I held my elbow as I tapped my chin with a finger. “I find that acceptable. Though…”—I looked at the bed longingly—“I could use a little sleep.”
“I could use a lot of sleep,” he admitted.
“You willing to sleep with a criminal in your bed?”
“What makes you think I’m sharing my bed with you?” he asked, grinning.
Jackass.
“You would make me sleep on the couch? Near the kitchen with all the knives?”
He shook his head. “I hid the knives.”
I believed him.
“Still…” I pulled on his waistband to peek at the goods. “You’ll probably wanna keep a close watch on me,” I said, winking up at him with a devilish grin.
“You make a good point.”
I dropped my smile and decided to remind him who I was. “I promise not to kill you in your sleep. If I do get around to taking you out, you’ll be awake and looking right at me.”
“That’s the sexiest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” he said, bringing me in for a hug. “Let’s get into bed.”
Not sure why the hug was necessary. Unless it was a precursor to, say, being handcuffed to the bed.
Whatever, you liked the hug.
Rafferty kissed my forehead, which startled a laugh out of me, and we stepped to opposite sides of the double bed.
“Kind of a tight squeeze,” I said, shivering as I slipped under the covers.
“You’ve got goose bumps all up and down your arms,” he complained, sliding in next to me. “You should wear a shirt.”
I turned to my side and looked at him over my shoulder. “You’re not wearing a shirt.”
“I run hot.”
“Perfect,” I said, facing my side of the bed. “You can spoon me.”
When he hesitated, I looked back over my shoulder, knowing exactly how to get him to hold me. “Dude, I’m freezing here.”
“You could just—” He cut himself off. “Never mind.”
He rolled onto his side and pulled my back to his front, tucking me in against him until my ass rested on his thighs.
“See? Nothing but a big softy,” I said, wiggling against him until I was satisfied with our arrangement.
“Okay, fine, but you can’t be both a criminal badass and the little spoon. You hafta pick one.”
“Easy,” I said through a yawn. “You can be my big spoon anytime, Detective.”
“Yeah, right.”
He slid his hand to my chest, and I puzzled at the level of comfort between me and the man who thought he’d put me away for life. Seconds later, I was out.