Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Jesse

I fell into the arms of the man I’d wished dead more times than I could count.

Rafferty.

I hadn’t known he’d be here, and I despised the relief that filled my chest. Fear—of hypothermia, of being found—had pushed me through the slush and ice, and now I could barely stand.

“Hey, I’ve got you,” he said, breathing heavily and smelling of vodka. “Someone coming after you right now?”

I shook my head. “Everyone’s dead. Rangers. My father’s people.”

“Your father’s people went after you?” he asked as he supported my weight and walked us through a small living area.

“Ye—”

I went in and out of it for a second, and when I came to, I was sitting on a toilet with the lid down as he tugged off the sopping wet shirt spackled to my body. It’d been white, but not anymore.

I was disturbed to find concern in the depths of Rafferty’s big, gray-green eyes as he rubbed my hands between his. He was nothing like the vision of the cold bastard in sharp dress blues I’d kept like a burning coal in my chest these many months.

“We’ve gotta get these jeans off you. You look like you’ve been half drowned and beat to hell.”

“Buchanan,” I slurred as I took in the tiny bathroom. Old school wood paneling, large, unadorned window, brass fixtures. Shallow porcelain tub surrounded by subway tiles. “The dam.”

“The Buchanan Dam Bridge?” he asked. “You went into the water?”

I nodded shakily. “Both cars. Hiked. Stayed off the road.” I shut one eye, trying to concentrate.

He cursed under his breath. “That dam is almost three miles away.”

“Rangers . . . Their families.”

“We’ll call it in. I just need to get these clothes off you. Now .”

He ditched his bloodied overshirt and pushed back his sleeves before dragging me to standing, hooking a strong arm around my waist. Again, the smell of alcohol filled my nostrils as he reached past the shower curtain and turned on the tap.

“Vodka,” I said, resting my forehead on his shoulder as he began to aggressively rub the skin on my torso and back. “You don’t look drunk. Are you drunk?”

“Yep.”

He didn’t explain any further, so I just focused on my breathing.

“You were slurring and fading in and out for a minute there,” he said, peering into my eyes. “How’s your vision? Does your head hurt? Are you seeing double?”

“Face hurts,” I said, touching my eyebrow. Fuck . “Vision’s good. Slurring ’cause so f-fucking cold.”

“Anything broken?” His hands drifted carefully over my ribs.

I shook my head, then looked down at the new bruises blooming through my tattoos like some fucked-up briar of wild roses. “Nope. I j-just feel like one of those Dam-Dammit Dolls.”

“I bet.” He chuckled as his hands moved up and down my arms, my neck. “Nice to hear you say a full sentence. Here, toe out of your shoes.”

I did what he told me, then made the mistake of looking in the mirror. “That’s...horrifying.”

My eyes looked unnaturally bright against the mask of blood on my face.

“It’s just a bad gash on your eyebrow. I’ll get to it, but we need to get your temperature back up first.”

“Okay,” I said as he knelt to remove my jeans.

After undoing them, he fought against the soaked material. Frustrated, he grabbed my waistband with both hands and yanked, hard. That got both my jeans and my underwear to mid-thigh, nearly pulling me on top of him. Pretty sure my shriveled nuts brushed his cheek, but he just kept tugging until he got everything down to my ankles. I grabbed his broad shoulders as he worked the stubborn material free and removed my socks with everything else.

I stood there, naked and shivering so hard it felt like my teeth were going to rattle out of my head. He repeated the same sort of aggressive rubbing up and down my legs, breathing so hard I could feel his hot breath on my chilled bits.

I chuckled. Maybe it was the hypothermia, but I imagined him warming my shriveled cock with his mouth. Feasting on it as it grew against his tongue.

Going without sex for a year has clearly fucked with my priorities.

The shower started to billow steam behind us, and he gently helped me into the tiny tub, leaving the curtain half open. I cursed as my frozen toes hit the gathering water.

“I’m sorry, but this is probably gonna hurt,” he said as he adjusted the temperature and positioned the sprayer over me.

Gasping, I choked on my own spit as the hot water rained down on me like a million tiny needles. I swayed, then grabbed his arm to steady myself, cursing through the painful thaw as he continued to aggressively rub the goddamn skin off my very bones .

Finally, I began to pink up and the water stopped hurting. I pushed Rafferty off me and he stepped back, his shirt half soaked.

“Better?”

“Fuck yeah.”

“Probably gonna have some bruises from your seat belt,” he said, assessing me. “But you may just be the luckiest guy I know.”

“Oh, I feel lucky,” I snarked.

He was right, though. I was gonna be sore in the morning, but the bone-jarring cold had been the source of most of my pain. The relief was damn near orgasmic. While hypothermia had probably been an overly dramatic assessment, the real luck had been that his cabin wasn’t that far from the accident.

Rafferty reached in and carefully wiped the blood from my face and neck. “Bleeding’s mostly stopped,” he said, examining the cut.

“Thank fuck,” I said, feeling more human than I had in a long, long time.

He didn’t respond, so I raised my eyes to his. His expression had sharpened, and I recognized the bastard who’d calmly dismantled my entire life on that stand. I could make out the shape of his questions before he even opened his mouth.

“You wanna tell me how you ended up at my place?”

I lifted a shoulder. “The safe house was right by the dam.”

“Good to know, but that’s not the question I asked, Jesse.”

Vying for time, I closed my eyes and angled my head under the water to run my fingers through my hair, scrubbing away the remaining dirt and blood. When I re-opened my eyes, he was still there, and still unimpressed.

Why is that so fucking hot?

Eh, screw it.

“Had my cousin zip-tie an AirTag to your truck. He has a spreadsheet of all of your regular stops. When I crawled out of the lake, I knew this place was my safest bet.”

My cousin Kyler—who was practically my twin and my best friend—had been the only family to visit me in jail. Because of that he was the only one I hadn’t flipped on.

“And what were you planning on doing with that spreadsheet?”

A slow smirk hitched up one side of my mouth. Truth was, I’d spent a year imagining all the ways in which I’d kill Rafferty. I still might.

“I see.” He spread his hands wide. “Go ahead, then. Give it your best shot.”

My cock twitched at his bravado. Down, boy.

“I’m injured and unarmed, Detective.”

His eyes tracked down my decorated body and he sent me a lazy grin. “Yes, because that’s why you’d lose.”

“Fuck you,” I said, but there was no heat to it.

That reminded me: In addition to providing updates as to Rafferty’s whereabouts, Kyler had also discovered that Rafferty had filed for a divorce from his husband .

“Tell me this, Jesse. How’re your ribs feeling?”

I barked out a laugh and rubbed an inked hand over my belly, a purposeful move that his eyes watched with keen interest. I was taunting him because his question annoyed the fuck out of me.

He’d broken three of my ribs that fateful day in court, one of which punctured my lung and left me to the tender mercies of the prison healthcare system.

“I fucking hate you,” I muttered, letting my hand drift to my cock, curious if his eyes would follow the movement.

They did, and he wasn’t subtle about it.

“No, you don’t,” he said, with his smug eyebrows.

“Yes, I do. You’re the reason I got busted.”

I stretched the foreskin over my cock, pleased when his mouth twitched.

“No, I’m not,” he said, watching my dick harden. “You begged your father to not use Jimmy Shoes in the first place. You’re mad at him, not me.”

I stared at him, my mouth open in protest. I mean...yes. I was mad at my father. Furious, in fact. Not only had he ignored my very good advice, but he also hadn’t even taken my call when I was arrested.

Rafferty gestured at me. “You seem to be recovering quickly from your ordeal.”

“Nothing that a brisk rub down and a hot shower couldn’t fix, apparently.” When he didn’t respond, I gave myself another stroke. “You got anything to wash up with in this place?”

Wordlessly he opened the linen closet, fished out a brand-new box of Irish Spring, and tore open the thin cardboard—all without removing his gaze from my body.

“This choice of soap feels a little on the nose,” I said, extending my free hand beyond the shower curtain.

His mouth twitched as he slid the bar out of the box and set it on my palm, then he lifted his chin in the direction of my cock and hand. “Planning my demise seems to be a major turn on for you.”

I held the soap to my nose, inhaling as I let my eyes drift over his thick brown hair and broad shoulders. “Not gonna lie, it kind of is.”

“Then you and my ex-husband have a lot in common.”

I laughed despite myself and let go of my cock. I didn’t know what I’d intended to accomplish with that little display, but Rafferty was a law-and-order man through and through.

“Be right back,” he said, his smile widening. “Don’t get into too much trouble.”

“Wait,” I said as he slipped out of the bathroom. “Where are you going?”

He chuckled to himself but didn’t answer. Dick .

I gingerly soaped up my bits and rinsed off, all the while listening as he rummaged around in the small cabin. By the time Rafferty stepped back into the bathroom, I’d already finished my shower, grabbed a surprisingly fresh towel from the closet, and was drying off.

It was worth noting that Rafferty had lost his shirt and shoes, but he’d found a spool of bright green thread, a Dopp kit, and a fucking handle of vodka .

“Dude, what kind of party you got going on here?” I asked, eyeballing his powerful, furry chest as I wrapped the towel around my waist.

He set the Dopp kit on the windowsill, then held up the vodka and the spool of thread, which had a needle sticking out of it. “No party. I just need to take care of that lac on your head.”

“Care to explain why you have to do that shirtless?”

“Hung the wet shirt to dry and figured I should stitch you up before putting on another one.”

“How drunk are you?” I asked as he handed me the vodka.

“Not so much drunk anymore,” he said, sticking his tongue out as he threaded the needle. “Too much adrenaline.”

“That’s not as reassuring as you’d think,” I retorted. “Why don’t we save the backwoods surgery for when you’re fully sober?”

“Nope. I can see a sliver of your skull, and it’s making me queasy,” he said as he gestured to the vodka. “Take a few good swigs of that.”

I checked the mirror again and...yep. That white line through my brow was my skull. Great.

“Fine,” I said, drinking directly from the bottle. “Just don’t stab me in the fucking eye.”

“Roger that,” he said, then grabbed my hip, his hand half on the towel and half on my bare skin as he pivoted me. “Let’s get you into the light.”

“Hey,” I squawked. “Careful with the goods.”

He pursed his lips as he thumbed the knot on my towel. “Apologies. Just wanna make sure I don’t mess up your pretty face.”

Before I could respond, he placed a hand over my eye and splashed a bit of the vodka in the gash. Motherfucker .

After taking a swig for himself, he pushed the bottle into my hands. “Hold this.”

He set about decorating my brow with four crude stitches. After tying off the thread he snipped it with a pair of nail trimmers he found in the medicine cabinet, then pulled away to look at his work .

“It’s kinda Christmassy,” he said with a crooked smile.

I checked the mirror again and Rafferty was right. The green threaded into my brow was quite the festive touch. I huffed out a laugh. “You’re the kind of asshole who does things better when they’re drunk, aren’t you?”

“Drunk, no.” He scratched at his neatly kept beard. “Lubricated? Maybe.”

“That so?”

“Mm.”

I took another drink, my lizard brain working overtime. Rafferty wasn’t at all what I remembered. He looked older, somehow. Like maybe life had been hard. It made me want to push him. Poke at his soft bits.

Maybe I’m not quite done fucking with him after all.

I reached out and ran my fingers through his thick chest hair.

Jesus, that feels like puppies and rainbows.

He stood there, watching me feel him up with the barest hint of a grin on his face.

Why isn’t he stopping me?

“Even in bed?” I asked, risking life and limb to brush my thumb over one of his fat nipples. I bit my lip as I looked up at him in the small space. “The alcohol doesn’t make your dick go limp?”

He captured my hand in his, and I wondered briefly if he was about to break my fingers. Instead, he dragged my hand slowly down his chest and belly...all the way over the bulge in his sweats.

“What do you think?” he asked, his carefully neutral look obliterated by the glint in his eyes.

That’s my bluff called.

I gulped. “Um...” I squeezed gently and nearly choked on my tongue. Detective Rafferty was packing serious heat. “Damn.”

For all of my antics, it occurred to me that Rafferty was the one calling the shots. Probably had been this entire time.

He held my gaze as he slipped the towel from my waist, and only when the towel lay at my feet did he shift his focus to my cock .

“Seriously?”

His eyes went onyx with desire. “As long as you’re into it.”

“Oh, I’m into it.” I ran my hand through my wet hair, shaking out the limp waves. “It’s a little fucked up, but I don’t mind.”

“Good.”

He sat heavily on the closed toilet, then pulled me between his legs. Leaning forward, he nosed my cock and inhaled deeply.

“You pick up anything in prison?”

“Dude, I was a monk in prison and fucked up anyone who thought they could change that.”

“Good boy ,” he said on a deep rumble that absolutely shouldn’t have turned me on. “Did you wash your ass?”

“You could eat a four-course meal off my ass.”

“Excellent.”

He then took my cock into his hot mouth, and I nearly lost my goddamned balance.

Fuck, fuck, fuck .

Heady with the what the absolute fuck of it all, I took another swig of vodka as he sucked on me. Setting the heavy bottle on the tank behind him, I then used both hands to run my fingers through his thick hair. He slurped and moaned while twisting his tongue around my length.

Fuuuuck .

After a few more deep sucks, he pulled off me and rose from the toilet. He manhandled me, turning me to face the window.

“Grab the sill,” he ordered.

God help me, I did.

He pushed his sweats and underwear to the floor with a soft whoosh . I looked back as he stepped out of the clothing. His heavy, wickedly curved cock was ruddy with need.

“Fucking hell, dude.”

“You’ve had a rough evening.” He stroked his dick and sent me an evil look. “I can go back to sucking your dick if you’d prefer.”

I grunted like a brat and pushed my ass out for this man. Grinning, he stepped in behind me, the heat of his body against mine sending a bolt of lust straight to my cock.

Holy Christmas.

I tightened my grip on the sill.

“Let’s see if you did a decent job of cleaning up,” he rumbled in my ear.