Page 67 of Don't You Pucking Dare

"Please, Brody. I need a fucking second! Get out!"

He leaves the bathroom, and I’m thankful because I feel like death. When I look into the mirror, my eyes look like death. My chest starts to bounce at the sight. Since when did everything get so fucked up?

The water can't be hot enough to burn away tonight's memories. I scrub Brody's bites from my neck and then I wash out his marking that leaks out of me, watching it run down the drain. The images of my mom haunt me—I need to know if she's safe, if she's alive, if everything she warned me about was real.The steam turns my thoughts foggy, or maybe that's the trauma settling in.

Either way my fucking head is pounding like I’ve never experienced before. I can’t even think straight. I think the steam of the hot water isn’t helping because suddenly I feel like I’m being suffocated. It’s hard to breathe.

The bathroom door opens, then locks. My chest tightens with irritation as I force myself to calm down. After waking me with his dick, Brody can't even give me fifteen minutes alone?

But I can’t be mad right now. Not when I need medicine for this raging migraine. It’s about to make me pass out. I reach for my towel, but it's gone. The shower curtain slides back, letting cold air shock my skin.

But it's not Brody.

Jack leans against the sink, my towel dangling from his fingers. His eyes travel my body with deliberate slowness. "Duchess."

I don't cover myself. This man wore Brody's identity like a shield and helped me in the crossfire. Hours ago, he was willing to die in Brody's place. The moment he stepped into that chamber, something shifted—respect blooming where hatred used to live.

"Jack." I keep my voice low. Water pools at my feet as I step from the tub. No point in false modesty now. "Need something?"

His gaze locks with mine, intensity rolling off him in waves. The air feels charged between us. I still feel Brody inside me, but something darker stirs—a debt that needs paying, perhaps. Or just the need to feel something other than numb. As I watch him closely, I wonder… is he going to ask nicely? Or would he fuck me in my sleep like Brody did and give me no choice?

My head spins. Again, it’s either the hangover or the steam, but Jack offers the towel. I take it carefully, watching him like the predator he is. Jack's always been unpredictable, violent in ways different from Brody's calculated cruelty. We’re speaking only in body language. And if I’m being honest, I don’t care if he’s come to tell me I have a debt to pay. My body aches, my head is sore, and I don’t care if he fucks me right here, right now. I need to feel something other than this pain. I have a pit in my stomach that Rick Kemper did something with my mom, and he’s not alive to ask.

Once I dry my body, I drop the towel. "Excuse me."

He steps aside, giving me access to the mirror. I find toothpaste and put some on my finger since I don’t have a toothbrush. As I lean over the counter, I catch Jack's reflection. His eyes fix on where the towel no longer covers. He’s looking at my ass as heat pools low in my belly.

I hate that my body responds to him. Hate that part of me wants to thank him for his sacrifice in the only currency that seems to matter in this world. Hate that even with Brody's claim still fresh, I'm considering adding another monster to my collection.

"Brody is probably going to check on me soon," I mutter, taking the toothpaste and rubbing it on my tongue. I turn around to give him a better view of me. I keep my finger in my mouth, sucking on it as his eyes take me in. I glance at myself. I still look dead. "You haven’t said a single word. What is it, Jack?"

His eyes devour me, memorizing every inch. When he steps closer, his smile carries a dark promise. By the look in his eyes, he knows he has me. I think he might ask nicely. "My room is the first door on the left."

"As far away from me as possible," I counter.

His eyes search mine, knowing that the air between us has shifted between us—potential energy waiting to explode. We're playing with fire, and we both know it.

"You should go." I turn back to the mirror, giving him the view he wants. "Before we get caught."

He adjusts himself through his jeans, making sure I see. "I don't give a fuck about Brody."

"I know you don’t, but I do," I admit. It doesn’t matter how he wants to play this game, I need to play it carefully. "But until he asks me to be his girlfriend..." I let the implication hang. Let him think I'm just a whore playing games. Better than letting anyone see how broken I really am. "I can do whatever I want."

He leans close enough that I feel his breath on my neck. He whispers, "Tonight."

The bathroom door closes behind him, leaving me alone with choices that feel like weapons. Would Jack be gentler than Brody? More violent? Does it even matter anymore? Brody promised me safety, but he’s also the same monster who tied me down and tortured me, then he fucked me awake and has always said that he owns me. Jack is just a lustful fucker that wants a taste. If I give that to him, maybe he’ll back off. I don’t see any future with Jack, and on the other hand, Brody will keep me until he’s done with me.

Brody looks up from his phone when I enter the bedroom, his eyes catching on my naked skin. He's laid out clothes for me—another way to show he cares and more thoughtful than he let’s on.

"Everything alright?" he asks.

"Yeah." I slip into his clothes, let him kiss my hair when I slide under the covers.

"My time to shower," he murmurs, leaving me alone with thoughts of another man.

My father called me a whore. Maybe he was right. Maybe it's in my blood.

After his shower, Brody wraps his arms around me, being gentle when I least expect it. He plays with my hair until he falls asleep, an unexpected tenderness almost worse than violence.

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