1. Jolie #2
Jarvis moves fast for a man his size. He blocks the hallway with his body, his massive frame filling the space from wall to wall.
I pull up short, nearly colliding with his chest. Heat rolls off him in waves, carrying the scent of clean soap and something darker.
I have to tilt my head back to see his face.
The size difference is absurd. I'm five foot three.
He's six foot five. He could break me in half without trying.
And God help me, some part of me wants him to try.
"Move," I say. My voice shakes.
"No," he says.
Jett pushes off the doorframe. He moves closer, his boots loud against the tile.
He's behind me now. I can feel him there, a second wall of heat and muscle.
I'm trapped between them, the prep station to my left, the wall to my right, Jarvis in front, Jett behind. The kitchen feels ten degrees hotter.
"Jarvis," Jett says. His voice has changed. The amusement is gone. It's low and fascinated and rough. "Do you smell that?"
"Yes," Jarvis says. His eyes never leave mine. "I smell it."
"Please," I whisper. I hate that I'm whispering. I hate that I'm begging. But the shame is clawing up my throat. "Please, just let me go to the bathroom. I can explain."
"You don't need to explain," Jarvis says.
He lifts one hand. I flinch. He pauses, his dark eyes tracking the movement.
Then he moves slower. He reaches out and brushes his knuckles against my upper arm.
The touch is light, but it sends electricity through my skin.
"You're hurting," he says. It's not a question.
"I'm fine," I lie.
"You're not fine," Jett says from behind me. He's close enough that his breath stirs my hair. "You're binding yourself. I can see the lines through your shirt. You've been doing it for years, haven't you?"
My breath catches. No one has ever known. No one has ever looked close enough.
Jarvis's hand moves from my arm to my wrist. He doesn't grip me hard. He holds me like I'm made of glass, his thumb pressing against my pulse point. His other hand rises slowly, giving me time to pull away. I don't pull away. I'm frozen, caught in his gaze.
His fingers brush the damp spot on my blouse. The touch is barely there, a whisper of pressure against the aching swell of my breast. I gasp. It's a broken, desperate sound that I've never made in front of anyone.
Jarvis's pupils dilate and his nostrils flare as he looks at me like I'm not broken or disgusting, like my body is doing exactly what it was made to do.
"Jolie," he says. My name is a growl. "You're not hiding anything from me, little girl. Not in my place. Not ever."
Jett's hand lands on my hip from behind, his fingers curling around the curve of my waist with a familiarity that should terrify me. "She's shaking," he murmurs, and his voice vibrates through my spine. "But she's not scared anymore."
"I'm scared," I admit. The truth slips out before I can stop it. "I'm terrified."
"Of us?" Jarvis asks.
"Of what you're making me feel," I say. "I don't know you. I don't trust you. But my body..." I trail off, unable to finish the sentence.
"Your body knows," Jett says. His lips brush my ear, just barely, and I feel the contact everywhere. "It's been waiting. Preparing. And we see it, Jolie. We see exactly what you are."
Jarvis's thumb traces the edge of the damp fabric, his touch burning through the cotton. "Thirty days," he says. "You think you came here to sell a building. But you didn't. You came here because your body knew it was time to stop hiding."
"Please," I whisper again, but I don't know what I'm asking for. For him to stop. For him to keep going. For someone to finally see me and not look away.
Jarvis releases my wrist. His hand cups my jaw instead, tilting my face up until I have no choice but to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, burning, hungry. "Go to the restroom," he says.
I should run. I should shove past him, get in my car, and drive until this town is nothing but a memory. But my body betrays me. My heart pounds. My skin burns. And deep in my chest, beneath the shame and fear, something dangerous begins to uncurl.
It feels like relief.
I close the bathroom door behind me and lean against it, breathing hard.
My hands are shaking. I stare at myself in the cracked mirror above the sink and barely recognize the woman looking back.
My honey-blonde hair is tangled from the drive.
My hazel eyes are wide and dark. My cheeks are flushed.
I look like someone who has been touched for the first time.
I look like someone who has been claimed.
I peel off my blouse and stare at the bindings.
The cotton is soaked, heavy with the evidence of my shame.
My hands shake as I reach for the extra cotton strips in my bag.
I wrap myself again, tighter this time, pulling the fabric until I can barely breathe.
The pressure is unbearable, but at least it's familiar. At least it's controlled.
I stare at my reflection. My breasts are swollen and tender beneath the new bindings, the skin already reddening. Milk beads at my nipples, soaking through before I can stop it. I'm a mess. I'm a disaster.
But when I close my eyes, I don't see disgust on Jarvis's face. I see hunger and possession, a man who looked at my broken and leaking body and saw something worth keeping.
I grab a paper towel and clean myself up as best I can.
I splash cold water on my face. I try to remember my plan.
Sell the restaurant. Give the money to my grandparents—they deserve it more than I do.
Go back to the city. Find my dream job. Build a life that doesn't include this town or these men or this shameful secret.
But when I open the bathroom door, I hear them.
Their voices are low, coming from the kitchen. I shouldn't listen. I should announce myself. But something keeps me frozen in the hallway, my back pressed against the wall.
"She's been hurting herself. Binding herself." Jarvis's voice is quiet but fierce.
"How long, do you think?" Jett asks.
"I don't know." Jarvis's voice drops lower. "But she looked at me like she thought I was going to be disgusted."
"She's been hiding it for years," Jett says, and there's an edge to his tone I've never heard before. Something raw and hungry. "I can see it in the way she moves, the way she flinched when you touched her."
"She can't keep doing that to herself," Jarvis says.
"She won't," Jett replies quietly. "Not anymore."
A pause. Then Jarvis speaks again, his voice so dark and possessive that it makes my knees weak. "This changes everything."