Page 91 of Legacy

I hate that I don’t push that vision aside. That I let it run wild as I imagine it’s him peeling my legs apart. Him pushing deep to soothe where I ache. I shouldn’t be imagining it’s his scruff scratching the smooth skin of my neck and chest as he kisses the path lower. That it’s his tongue sliding over my pebbled nipples. Smooth and warm. Slow, sensual circles caressing me.

Gentle and rough.

A balance of hesitation and desire.

My toes curl as I change the angle of the toy, and I bite back the moan. It’s nothing compared to Jesse taking me, but I let myself believe it is for just this moment.

Just like I let myself believe this means more than it does.

Pleasure pools in my core as my nerves ignite, but just as I start to see those sparks—feel the relief of my release—a knock comes at the door, making me jump.

I shut off the toy and shove it into my nightstand as I rush to my feet. My head spins as I fix myself and hurry to the door, pretending nothing was just happening.

“Reagan?” Jesse’s voice comes from the other side, and heat floods my cheeks.

I smooth my fingers over my hair like it will do anything to hide I was just masturbating to thoughts of him.

What kind of person does that after everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours?

Grabbing for my sleep shorts, I slip them on and head for the door.

When I swing it open, he’s standing with one forearm resting on the doorframe. His hair is messy, like it seems to be when he’s stressed, and exhaustion is so heavy in his eyes it turns a shade of blue that reminds me of a stormy sea.

He’s still wearing his T-shirt and jeans, which means he must have put Bea to bed and come right back downstairs. The way he wears the simplest things should be illegal. The fabric molds to his shoulders and hugs his strong thighs. His clothes fit every curve of his perfect skin. Skin I know isn’t tattooed, apart from the Twisted Kings skull that covers his back.

I want to ask him why only that?

Why stop there when it seems everyone else in the club is covered in ink?

I want to know everything about this man.

“Hey.” It comes out breathy, and I’m immediately embarrassed.

Jesse’s gaze sweeps my cheeks, then up to my hair, and I wonder if he senses why I’m flushed. Why I can’t look him in the eyes or stop fidgeting. If so, he doesn’t say so as he lifts off the doorframe, standing even taller.

“Can I come in?”

I step aside, waving an arm out. Worried that if I try to say anything, it will give me away. But as he beelines to the bed, I think maybe I should have kept this to the living room because no good can come from us alone in here.

“Were you sleeping?” He glances at the crumpled sheets.

“Not yet.” I close the door and walk into the room. “I was reading a book.”

He hums, dragging his hand through his hair. “I had to get Bea to bed. Then Steel called. In case you were wondering why I didn’t come talk to you sooner—”

“It’s fine.” I cut him off, embarrassed he’s even feeling the need to explain himself. “I understand you’re busy. I’m fine.”

How many times can I say I’m fine before it’s clear I’m not?

Jesse leans back, watching me sink down onto the bed. “My room smells like you.”

“Sorry about that. I should have changed the sheets. I slept in your bed last night to keep an ear out for Bea like you asked.”

“I remember. I’m not complaining.” He smirks.

My heart drinks in the shine in his gaze. In the first hint of amusement that I’ve seen from him all day. I’d like to hold it before it goes out. Keep it safe so that even when he’s had a hard day, there’s someone to remind him there are good things on the other side of the bad.

“I’m sorry I didn’t respond to your last text.” His smile falls, and when I open my mouth to say something, he continues. “Don’t say you understand, Reagan. Or that it’s okay. It’s not. I’m a fucking asshole.”

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