Second Debt
Page 38
My heart flew into my mouth. I spun around.
Big mistake.
Jethro stood behind me. Scuffs stained his tan jodhpurs and mud splattered his polished high boots. He’d rolled up the cuffs of his billowy sleeve shirt and removed the velvet waistcoat revealing the shadows of his stomach beneath the translucent fabric. His five o’clock shadow was rough and ragged while the bones of his face spoke of stark desire and even starker emotion.
My entire body stiffened. My lungs refused to operate, suffocating me inch by inch.
His eyes met mine and everything we’d been avoiding crackled with uncontrolled potency. The unseen force was tangible, powerful—almost visible with ribbons of lust that pebbled my nipples and sent a clench of furious desire through my core.
His breathing escalated as we stood locked in place, bound together by the swirling cloud of need. We didn’t speak—we couldn’t speak.
His tongue licked his bottom lip.
Our eyes refused to unlock. The more we stared, the deeper our connection became.
I couldn’t look away.
His smell of musk and leather shoved me from my dangerous precipice, and I slid down and down into scandal.
I’m not falling for him.
I’ve already fallen.
Jethro sucked in a breath, his fingers opening and closing by his sides.
I couldn’t go on like this. Feeling this way. Hating and loving this way.
I couldn’t lie anymore.
My heartbeat drummed in my ears, behind my eyes, in my every fingertip. My tattoo blazed, the diamond collar tightened, and I knew out of everything that had happened, after everything the Hawks had done, this was the moment where I lost.
Right here.
Right now.
This was why I couldn’t run.
This desire.
This fate.
I fell in love.
I turned my back on everyone but myself.
I gave up any notion of ever leaving.
I moaned low in my chest.
Such a simple, subtle whisper.
But it was the starting gun to the explosion that was imminent between us.
The air went up in flames, gusts of heat erupted as passion singed my very soul.
Jethro moved.
He propelled himself into me, his large hands capturing my cheeks and holding me prisoner as he walked me backward until I stumbled against the scaffolding.
His touch was a bonfire. His hold was freedom and a cage all at once.
His forehead crashed against mine, his nose kissing my nose, his breath replacing my breath.
In that simple fusion of flavour and souls, we gave up. We gave in. We answered the same pounding conclusion—the same unmentionable dilemma.
We can’t do this anymore.
His head tilted and I trembled in his hold as his fingers dug painfully into my cheekbones. I panted for his kiss. I moaned for it. Almost cried for it.
But he paused for an eternity, breathing hard and fast as if he couldn’t believe the preciousness of what was occurring.
This was a gift. A charm. A wish come true.
I’d become enraptured by my capturer. My tormentor. My would-be murderer. I only had eyes for him. My heart only beat for him.
Where does that leave me?
What does this mean?
Jethro groaned, his touch trembling as if he’d heard my silent questions.
I should’ve had more self-control. I should’ve found a way to stop this.
But I shoved away my fears and willingly slid the final slope into madness.
I arched my chin, grazing my lips against his.
He froze.
Then, he melted.
His fingers slinked from my cheeks to the back of my skull. I cried out as his tongue tore into my mouth and his hands fisted in my hair. With fingers full of my black strands, he tugged my head back, forcing me to open wider, kiss deeper—give him everything.
I’d like to say I retained some resemblance of myself. I’d like to admit that, while I’d fallen, I still knew who I was.
But that would’ve been a lie.
There was no me without him.
No Nila without Jethro.
No Threads without Kite.
I knew that now.
And it butchered me in ways no threats or torture ever could.
Tears leaked from my eyes as our lips danced and tongues tangoed.
Our murmurs and moans intertwined until the serenade of our desire overshadowed the music from outside and our racing heartbeats. Every sweep of his taste left a glowing fire around my heart, my skin, my soul.
He demanded everything but gave more in return.
In my arms, I held the real Jethro. The one I’d seen but never believed was true. He was strong and brilliant and kind.
And he cared for me. So much.
Never untangling our lips, Jethro bent a little and gathered the material of my dress. Shoving it upward, he groaned as I wriggled and helped, forcing the fabric to bunch around my waist.
He froze as he found the lace garter and wickedly sharp dirk. His eyebrow raised; very slowly, he slid the blade from against my flesh and held it in his fingertips.
I tensed, daring him to berate me for such precautions.
His mouth opened to speak then his eyes darkened with approval. “Use this wisely—if you need to.” Throwing the blade to jab upright in the dirt, he murmured, “But I’ll never give you a reason to use it on me.”
We fell together again. Our lips melded into one slippery seal. I conquered his body—running my fingers over every inch of him. His nipples peaked as I stroked them beneath his shirt and his back bowed as I reached down and cupped his hot erection.
Sweat slicked our skin as our finesse perished, turning into fumbling urgency.
Big mistake.
Jethro stood behind me. Scuffs stained his tan jodhpurs and mud splattered his polished high boots. He’d rolled up the cuffs of his billowy sleeve shirt and removed the velvet waistcoat revealing the shadows of his stomach beneath the translucent fabric. His five o’clock shadow was rough and ragged while the bones of his face spoke of stark desire and even starker emotion.
My entire body stiffened. My lungs refused to operate, suffocating me inch by inch.
His eyes met mine and everything we’d been avoiding crackled with uncontrolled potency. The unseen force was tangible, powerful—almost visible with ribbons of lust that pebbled my nipples and sent a clench of furious desire through my core.
His breathing escalated as we stood locked in place, bound together by the swirling cloud of need. We didn’t speak—we couldn’t speak.
His tongue licked his bottom lip.
Our eyes refused to unlock. The more we stared, the deeper our connection became.
I couldn’t look away.
His smell of musk and leather shoved me from my dangerous precipice, and I slid down and down into scandal.
I’m not falling for him.
I’ve already fallen.
Jethro sucked in a breath, his fingers opening and closing by his sides.
I couldn’t go on like this. Feeling this way. Hating and loving this way.
I couldn’t lie anymore.
My heartbeat drummed in my ears, behind my eyes, in my every fingertip. My tattoo blazed, the diamond collar tightened, and I knew out of everything that had happened, after everything the Hawks had done, this was the moment where I lost.
Right here.
Right now.
This was why I couldn’t run.
This desire.
This fate.
I fell in love.
I turned my back on everyone but myself.
I gave up any notion of ever leaving.
I moaned low in my chest.
Such a simple, subtle whisper.
But it was the starting gun to the explosion that was imminent between us.
The air went up in flames, gusts of heat erupted as passion singed my very soul.
Jethro moved.
He propelled himself into me, his large hands capturing my cheeks and holding me prisoner as he walked me backward until I stumbled against the scaffolding.
His touch was a bonfire. His hold was freedom and a cage all at once.
His forehead crashed against mine, his nose kissing my nose, his breath replacing my breath.
In that simple fusion of flavour and souls, we gave up. We gave in. We answered the same pounding conclusion—the same unmentionable dilemma.
We can’t do this anymore.
His head tilted and I trembled in his hold as his fingers dug painfully into my cheekbones. I panted for his kiss. I moaned for it. Almost cried for it.
But he paused for an eternity, breathing hard and fast as if he couldn’t believe the preciousness of what was occurring.
This was a gift. A charm. A wish come true.
I’d become enraptured by my capturer. My tormentor. My would-be murderer. I only had eyes for him. My heart only beat for him.
Where does that leave me?
What does this mean?
Jethro groaned, his touch trembling as if he’d heard my silent questions.
I should’ve had more self-control. I should’ve found a way to stop this.
But I shoved away my fears and willingly slid the final slope into madness.
I arched my chin, grazing my lips against his.
He froze.
Then, he melted.
His fingers slinked from my cheeks to the back of my skull. I cried out as his tongue tore into my mouth and his hands fisted in my hair. With fingers full of my black strands, he tugged my head back, forcing me to open wider, kiss deeper—give him everything.
I’d like to say I retained some resemblance of myself. I’d like to admit that, while I’d fallen, I still knew who I was.
But that would’ve been a lie.
There was no me without him.
No Nila without Jethro.
No Threads without Kite.
I knew that now.
And it butchered me in ways no threats or torture ever could.
Tears leaked from my eyes as our lips danced and tongues tangoed.
Our murmurs and moans intertwined until the serenade of our desire overshadowed the music from outside and our racing heartbeats. Every sweep of his taste left a glowing fire around my heart, my skin, my soul.
He demanded everything but gave more in return.
In my arms, I held the real Jethro. The one I’d seen but never believed was true. He was strong and brilliant and kind.
And he cared for me. So much.
Never untangling our lips, Jethro bent a little and gathered the material of my dress. Shoving it upward, he groaned as I wriggled and helped, forcing the fabric to bunch around my waist.
He froze as he found the lace garter and wickedly sharp dirk. His eyebrow raised; very slowly, he slid the blade from against my flesh and held it in his fingertips.
I tensed, daring him to berate me for such precautions.
His mouth opened to speak then his eyes darkened with approval. “Use this wisely—if you need to.” Throwing the blade to jab upright in the dirt, he murmured, “But I’ll never give you a reason to use it on me.”
We fell together again. Our lips melded into one slippery seal. I conquered his body—running my fingers over every inch of him. His nipples peaked as I stroked them beneath his shirt and his back bowed as I reached down and cupped his hot erection.
Sweat slicked our skin as our finesse perished, turning into fumbling urgency.
