Page 147 of Burned & Bound

I touched him every place I could—running my hands up his sides, teasing his nipple piercings, kissing his neck. The way he reacted was encouraging.Little moans, gasps, pleas to repeat what I’d done. It was discovering him all over again. The pressure of his barbels with every thrust was euphoric in a way that I’d never get used to. And while I did my best to stay present—to focus on him—I was fucking soaring and crashing head first into everything he elicited in me.

“Don’t hold back, cowboy,” West said. His fist skated faster over my cock until I dropped back on the pillow, panting and right there on the edge. He grunted and groaned over me, his body tensing. I grabbed his forearm with a need to cling to him.

“Fuck.” The single word was drawn out as I exploded, painting my stomach in thick ropes of cum. West tumbled over the edge with me, pushing as deep inside me as possible when he came. His hand slipped from my dick and braced on the sheets as he breathed hard.

Those gray eyes met mine, and he grinned—real and utterly wrapped up in the moment. That smile on his face roped around my heart like barbed wire, digging in and sticking where it was.Exactly where West belonged.

CHAPTER 101

west

Ileft Jackson inbed after he didn’t wake up with my alarm. As much as I wanted to stay next to him, I had shit I had to do. I stuck to a strict routine with my medication and even with him here, I refused to deviate from it. I was determined to make this work.

I felt good—really good—after last night. While my therapist and I had worked a lot in unraveling all the complicated feelings and triggers I had revolving around the topic of sex, I hadn’t actuallyhadsex with anyone. Not only did I not want the complexities of a new person in my life, but I only wanted Jackson.

Taking Jackson out to dinner had never been about sleeping with him. It wasn’t even a thought I’d entertained. It was just where the night ended up.And having done so?I felt good about it all. There was no residual guilt or shame. There was no building panic inside. It was a tiny testament to my progress in therapy.

I was mid-bite of toast when Jackson came out of the room, leaning on his cane and wearing only a pair of boxer briefs—and looking ridiculously attractive. No one should look that fucking good rolling out of bed. In theearly morning sunlight, I took a moment to study him, my gaze sweeping over him. While his boxer briefs covered the scars on his hip and upper thigh, I could still see the rest. They tangled their way over the rest of his thigh, wrapping around his knee, and trailing down his shin. I swallowed hard.Fuck, he’d gone through it with recovery.Just seeing them made me all that much more proud of him for kicking his own ass and walking again.

That sleepy smile he gave me as he joined me was enough to pull me from my thoughts.

“Sorry,” I apologized after I swallowed. “I’ll make a real breakfast, I swear. I just have to take my medicine at six, but if I don’t eat with them, they make me fucking sick.”

I was rambling a little and I knew that. I wasn’t used to having to explain my routine to anyone who wasn’t my therapist or my doctor.

“You’re fine, baby.” He yawned as he limped over toward the kitchen table. “I don’t think I’ve seen six in a long fucking time. Not without nurses coming in to poke and prod me.”

“Sorry.” The guilt of needing to get up early hit deep, and I drew in a steadying breath.Fuck, I was doing it again.I cleared my throat. “I’m not sorry that I had to get up, but I am sorry if I woke you.”

There. My therapist would be proud.

“You’re fine, West,” Jackson repeated. “You can make it up to me if you want by feeding me something that isn’t my mother’s scrambled eggs with ketchup and burnt bacon on the side.”

“That’s a fucking monstrosity,” I whispered. No one belonged eating any of those things let alone every fucking morning. I began digging through my cabinets and pulling out pans. “What do you want? I’ll make you anything.”

Thirty minutes later, we sat at the table with omelets, toast, and fresh coffee—the real stuff because apparently, my homemade cappuccinos weren’t real coffee.He was a fucking heathen, and I loved him all the more forit.

Jackson ate with a slew of happy expletives, but I just picked at everything. My brain was all over the place as I tried to organize my thoughts. For as much as my therapist and I had practiced the exact conversation I needed to have with him, I still wasn’t prepared to have it with him in person.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jackson asked softly, leaning back in his chair. Those blue eyes watched me closely—reading me. Once it would’ve made me uncomfortable but not anymore. He wasn’t observing to scrutinize me. He was watching because he cared. That distinction made a difference.

“I should’ve made us have this conversation last night,” I muttered. I pushed my plate away with a sigh and sat back. My heart pounded anxiously in my chest, and I crossed my arms to keep from fidgeting.

“Take your time, West. Whenever you’re ready.”

“My stables, my rules?”

“I think this time it’s your apartment, your rules,” he teased. “Unless you’re hiding horses in here.”

“I wish.” I missed my horses so fucking much. The ones at the Harveys just weren’t the same as mine. “There’s… something we need to talk about.”

“I figured.”

“I’m not…” The words got stuck in my throat. Damn it. The guilt was intense. I should’ve had this conversation with him last night before anything happened between us. That would’ve been the right thing to do. “I’m not coming back to Double Arrow, Jackson.”

There. I’d said it.Jackson’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing. I could do this.

“This thing is… I’m not cured—there’s no cure for this,” I told him. “It’s a lifetime thing I have to maintain.”

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