Chapter 24 #2
“Good. Gives me something to work on between jobs.” He grins—full and unfiltered—the kind of expression that says he’s more than ready to rise to the occasion. “Learning everything about you.”
Between jobs.
I roll my eyes, turning to glance around the shop. “I know it’s a mess. I hit my stride and next thing I know, open stain cans are multiplying, hardware covers every surface, and I have no idea where I left my coffee.”
Hex lets out a low chuckle. “Will would have a goddamn field day back here.”
“Will,” I repeat, intrigued by who he surrounds himself with. “So… your people. You’re not doing all this alone, right?”
He leans against the nearest worktable, arms crossing over that just-right shirt of his. “Nah. Will and JT are my family. Will is not blood, but it doesn’t matter. Our bond is closer than that. We’ve been through so much together.”
I study him with curiosity as he moves about my space taking in the many different pieces in various states of repair.
“In my twenties, I fought underground,” he says, dragging a calloused finger over a walnut nightstand. “Cage matches. No rules. No gloves. No spotlight. Just survival. I made more money getting punched in the face than I ever could doing something respectable.”
“That tracks,” I murmur, making him huff a soft laugh.
“But it went beyond money. It fed control. Fearlessness. After being jerked around by the guy running it all—Ned—I took everything I learned and decided to turn it into something good.
“We always talked about owning a bar, the three of us, so… I bought one.” His tone shifts, softening with pride as he finishes his self-guided tour, meeting right back at me. “Built it into what it is now. Ruin's End.”
He runs a rough hand through his hair and looks in the direction of his bar.
“The regulars are more than just patrons. They’re a community.
People come to us when shit hits the fan.
If someone’s being harassed, threatened, needs protection…
they know I’ll handle it. Some pay in favors.
Some pay in loyalty. Some just keep the lights on with their bar tabs. ”
He shrugs, brushing it off with the ease of someone who doesn’t realize he’s done something remarkable.
“Right, so you’re basically the neighborhood justice league with a liquor license,” I say with a tease as I look up into his eyes.
His lips curve. “Depends on the night.”
I smile, leaning back against the armoire, watching him as he stands in the middle of my chaotic, dusty shop like he has always belonged here.
It’s insane. All of it. But it doesn’t feel wrong.
It feels… safe.
And maybe for the first time in a very long time, I’m starting to believe that’s allowed. Like I deserve to explore it.
He leans down into me, lips brushing mine again, slow, tender—
But I touch his arm and push him a hair’s breadth away. “Wait—” I breathe into the air between us. “What if she’s watching again? Recording us? What if—”
He cups my face gently, thumbs stroking my cheeks.
“Hey. JT’s already shut Bat Shit down. She couldn't stream a cat video right now, let alone access your cameras or phone. And besides,” he adds, voice lowering into something dark with confidence, “this time of day, she's probably busy following Andrew to the gym.
Her schedule's not exactly hard to map.”
I cringe internally at how well he knows her movements, but I'm grateful and ridiculously impressed. “You know that’s disturbingly thorough, right?”
He smirks, eyes locked on me. “When it comes to protecting what’s mine, I leave nothing to chance.”
That declaration sends heat rushing through me, settling deep and warm between my thighs. My heart speeds up as I reach out, my fingers resting against his chest. “I believe you.”
He exhales a long breath, relaxing at my admission. Then, slowly, his hand slides up to where I’m touching him and he covers my touch. I feel his heart beating beneath my palm.
I want this man so fucking bad.
He dips his head, brushing his mouth over mine. Not rushed, not forceful; a slow kiss that deepens as my body tilts into his. His other hand finds my hip, thumb sliding under the waistband of my leggings, palm dragging across the bare skin beneath.
A shiver races through my body.
Hex moves with a kind of composed assurance, reading me in ways I haven’t learned to read myself. His fingers dip lower, between my legs, slipping easily between my folds. A groan rumbles in his chest when he feels how wet I am.
“Fuck,” he mutters against my lips. “You're soaked.”
I clutch at his shirt, hips instinctively pressing forward into his touch. “Hex.”
Then he’s backing me up, steering me toward the nearest table with a hunger in his eyes that nearly buckles my knees.
Just as he shifts me toward it, I blurt out, “Wait! Not that one. It's got a broken leg.”
Hex stills, then withdraws his fingers with maddening slowness, dragging the moment out just to watch me come undone. I let out a breathy laugh, and he grins.
“Good to know.” His voice is low, wicked. “Wouldn’t want to give you more work.”
Before I can say anything else, he grabs me under my thighs and lifts me straight off the ground like I weigh nothing. I gasp as I wrap my legs instinctively around his waist. Our bodies flush, he kisses me deeper now.
“What about this one?” he mumbles over my lips, eyeing a desk near the wall.
“No,” I giggle, breathless. “That one’s from the thirties, and I haven’t sanded it yet. That’s a splinter in the ass just waiting to happen.”
He sets me back on my feet gently, though his hands linger on my body. “Maybe this isn’t the best place for all I want to do to you.”
I nod, still catching my breath. “I know. I’m sorry, this just... isn’t ideal for fooling around. We might end up needing tetanus shots.”
He doesn’t move away. Doesn’t step back. Just watches me, focused and still, committing every flicker of humor in my face to memory. Then he tilts his head and grumbles, “Take them off.”
I blink. “What?”
“Your leggings,” he says, dark eyebrows drawing together. “Take them off.”
Heat floods my face. “You’re serious?”
“If you don’t, I’ll do it for you.” His voice is calm. Confident. A challenge wrapped in velvet. “And I won’t leave them intact.”
We’re being serious.
I hesitate—just for a breath—and he’s already on his knees.
His hands grip the waistband of my leggings, and in one swift motion, he yanks them down past my hips. The fabric drags along my thighs like he’s peeling away resistance itself.
The breath leaves my body for good.
This man, a storm in human form whose gaze alone commands silence kneels. For me.
The sight knocks something loose in my chest. It’s more than arousal. It’s reverence. Worship. Power. Mine. Laid bare at the altar of my skin.
My legs go weak. My thighs clench. Heat blooms, deep and dizzying.
He doesn’t rush. Just looks up at me, eyes dragging over every inch like he’s savoring the shape of my uncertainty. Both knowing he’s two seconds away from unraveling me.
And maybe I’ve already come undone. Because something about seeing him like this—shoulders broad, knees biting into the floor, gaze locked on me like a promise—ignites a fire I didn’t know I carried. Unstoppable. Untouchable. Dangerous.
My hands tremble. He lifts my shirt. His mouth finds the flesh of my stomach. Everything fades.
“Hex—”
“You had your chance.”
He brushes warm kisses down one thigh. Then back up the other. Then his tongue traces the damp spot in my underwear, a wordless vow made of heat and pressure.
A moan slips out.
Hex hooks his thumbs into my panties and pulls them down in one smooth, practiced motion. Before I can say his name again, his tongue is on me—slow, thick strokes—then his mouth seals around my clit.
I cry out, fingers clutching the edge of the desk behind me. His fingers slide inside. One. Then two. Curling just right. Pleasure builds fast, hot, and impossible to outrun.
He shifts. Lifts one of my legs over his shoulder, opening me.
His mouth returns. Sucking. Licking. Biting just enough to make me whimper. I’m seconds away from falling apart when he pauses, lips brushing my skin. The rasp of stubble makes my breath hitch.
“You ready to fly?” he asks.
I nod, thinking it’s just a metaphor.
Then—still on his knees—he lifts me. In one ridiculous, glorious motion, he gathers both my legs and hooks them over his shoulders like a reverse piggyback.
I yelp, laughing, squirming as I scramble to adjust my balance. “Hex. Oh my God—”
Crossing the room with the ease of a man stronger than most. My legs tighten around his neck, thighs quaking from the weight of sensation already threatening to detonate.
He presses me to the wall, hands firm beneath my ass, mouth diving back between my legs like he never left.
The angle.
The pressure.
I reach up, bracing my palms higher against the wall—higher than I’ve ever stretched—body trembling with need.
He flicks his tongue just right on my clit and I shatter. My orgasm crashes through me, violent and raw. I bite back a sob, legs locking tighter, fingers dragging down the wall.
When he finally lowers me to the ground, my knees buckle. I glance at my fingertips, stained from the walnut I used earlier. My eyes dart up at the wall and see the mark I left.
“Looks like that one earned itself commemoration,” I murmur, breathless.
Hex follows my gaze, eyes lingering on the streaks before meeting mine with a smug smile.
“Good,” he says, voice rough. “Now every time you walk past it, you’ll remember exactly who got you that high.”