Page 92 of The Jester and His Outlaw: Part One

“Explain.” I don’t back away. I can’t. There is no explanation why, but he is not a murderer. There is no danger waiting for me. He’s not unhinged. Hell, he would hurt himself before he would hurt anyone else.

“My father was beating me.” He doesn’t look at me and that’s fine. I don’t want him to see any sort of emotion flicker through my eyes that would make him think I am judging him in any way.

“He was going real hard one day, and he had just broken my arm. There was a gun stashed under a cabinet in our living room.” He spoke like he was in a trance, like he’d told this story a million times, when in fact, he hasn’t. He probably has told no one other than Jensen, but I was sure he’d played it in his mind on repeat. Every tiny detail is etched in his memory and would be for forever.

“Go on, Riggs. I’m listening and I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. There is nothing you can tell me that would make me change my mind about you.”

“You can’t say that for sure.”

“I do. If I had a gun, I’d have done the same thing.”

“Do you want to hear this or not?” he snaps. I won’t be angry at him. That’s just his natural defense system. His view of himself is so low, and he probably believes that as soon as it’s all out, I’ll bounce. That couldn’t be farther from the truth. As soon as he said his father broke his arm, I knew right then it was self defense, and the asshole deserved whatever he got.

“Go on.”

“I shot him. Just like that. He wouldn’t stop, and I was about to pass out. I grabbed the gun and shot him.”

“Your mom?” He brings a fist to his mouth as if he could vomit any time, and he closes his eyes so tight the blood drains from his face. “Tell me, Jester. Please. I want to help you.”

“You can’t help me,” he says so lightly it’s less than a whisper.

“Let me try.”

“I shot her, too.” My mind goes blank for a second, confused. Then he continues on to tell me how it was an accident. What his neighbor did to help him. His guilt and shame and how he almost turned himself in on multiple occasions. The police deemed it a murder-suicide. No investigation, really. Riggs’ fingerprints were on the gun. They had to have been, but he said they washed it away like nothing ever happened. Interesting, but not insane. Shit like that happens in the world of money all the time. They cover crimes as if it’s the easiest thing to do, so that doesn’t surprise me.

Riggs doesn’t have that kind of money. Whatever the cause, I’m grateful his neighbor found him. Riggs had a broken arm, and it’s possible they simply deemed him incapable of doing it.

I wait for his tears to fall, but they never do. His trembling continues, and he holds his eyes shut through most of it, his voice breaking more than a few times.

“Fuck,” I mutter. “That’s a lot to take in.”

His eyes spring open and he glances around until he lands on me. He must have been stuck in the memory and only just realized I was still here. When he looks at me, he’s surprised, concerned, and a whole other wash of emotions I can’t begin to unpack right now. “I told you, I’m not going anywhere.”

An unexpected breath of relief flows out of him, and his lips collide with mine.

CHAPTER43

His hands areall over me. In my hair, in my clothes, in me. I can barely breathe because my heart rate is through the roof, racing what seems like an endless lap of pleasure. His touch is fucking magnetic. Before he leaves one part of my body, another is calling out for him. Somehow, he knows what I need next and delivers flawlessly.

Wasting no time and leaving no stone unturned, Riggs is carrying me to the bedroom and laying me down gently on the mattress like I might break. My hair fans out over his arm and he watches it, studies it, rapt. It’s like he can’t believe I’m still here, that we are doing this right now. Strands fall to the pillow, pouring down over the white linen like inky, black silk. His eyes glue to every movement it makes and when they land on my face, stark fascination simmers in his icy blues.

He gives me a smirk, but it’s sad and something like regret sparks. He tilts his head to the side, tracing my face with his gaze like he did with his fingers not long ago.

Silent as ever, he bends down and presses his lips to mine once more. I comb my fingers over the short hair at his nape, running them up the back of his head. His soft tresses flow through my fingers like butter and I grip them hard to hold him in place, letting him know he isn’t going anywhere except down the bed to take my pants off.

“I want to see this,” he pinches the fabric of my shirt, “on the floor.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” I lift up, tugging at the hem and helping him get it off. He guides it over my arms and his fingers trail so faintly, light and sweet, that it tickles. Putting one knee on the bed, he kisses from my forehead to my chest and up over the swell of my breasts as he cups them.

“So fucking sexy,” he groans, licking me. He dips his finger into the cup of my bra and slides it down. As soon as I’m free, he takes my nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue over the sensitive peak and sending sparks of pleasure rippling through my body. I arch into him. His mouth moves so sensually. Is everything he does just hot? Is that how this is going to be? I’m going to relish everything he does and never get enough?

His touch is rough when he cups my other breast and squeezes. I gasp, loving it and also not expecting it after such sweet touches. He stops immediately. “Are you okay?”

“I’m more than okay.”

“Good, sit up then, I want this all the way off,” he orders as he thumbs the strap of my bra. I oblige and go to unclasp it, but he beats me to it.Show off.

“Take yours off.” His brow twitches in my direction.

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