Page 151 of Controlled Burn
He’d show her what it meant to be wanted. To be owned. To be remembered.
If she wouldn’t give him that, someone else would.
And Kennedy Blake was already halfway there.
The preacher’s daughter. The innocent. The one trying too hard to be good in a place that didn’t give a shit about good.
He’d seen the way her hands trembled during memorial prayers. The way she crossed herself before every shift. The way her eyes followed him when she thought no one was looking. Nervous. Curious. Needy.
She thought she was subtle. She wasn’t.
And tonight, she was alone in the med bay. Restocking supplies. Bent at the waist. Blue gloves on, hair falling out of its bun, lips slightly parted in concentration. Soft. Quiet. Obedient.
He let the door swing closed behind him with a soft thud.
“Need help, sweetheart?” he asked, voice slick and low.
She jumped. Flushed.
“Oh—Jake. I’m just reorganizing.”
He moved in slowly, closing the space between them with the precision of a predator.
She straightened, tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, trying to smile. He stepped closer. Close enough to feel the heat of her body. Close enough to smell the faint trace of soap, latex, and nervous sweat.
“You always this eager to please?”
She blinked. Looked away. “I just want to do it right.”
He leaned in, breath brushing her ear.
“Your daddy’d lose his mind if he knew you were here with men like me, wouldn’t he?”
She froze. Her shoulders stiffened. Her fingers twisted in the hem of her t-shirt.
Jake grinned—sharp and amused. She was already shaking.
He slid a hand beneath her shirt. Her breath caught as his fingers traced the bare skin above her waistband, then dipped lower.
“Jake—”
Her voice cracked.
“Tell me to leave,” he said.
She blinked. Her mouth opened.
But she didn’t speak.
Instead—she stepped back.
And didn’t run.
He closed the space.
“Thought so.”
He didn’t stop.
