Page 37 of Painkiller (Sin Records #3)

C alloused tenderness rolls over my spine, up and down, over and over. The steady thrum of a heart beats against my ear. A deep warmth, the feeling of being wanted and cherished, blossoms in my chest, making my nose burn with emotion. I wish it were real.

“Fuck, where did you come from?” a rough voice rumbles.

My brows furrow with a need to ask what he means, but I can’t speak or move.

“I should’ve turned in the opposite direction when we kept bumping into each other, but I couldn’t.

It was physically impossible, like some force kept pulling me toward you.

” His cheek presses against my head as a heavy regret lifts his chest and whispers against my hair.

“It’s too soon. Too much, too fast, but I’m falling, Halfpint.

” His lips press into my hair, and it feels like an apology, making my heart beat double-time.

“I’m falling hard, and the last thing you need in your life is someone with mommy and daddy issues, running from his past and his problems, and an addict on top of it.

It’s dangerous, baby, because you’re my new addiction.

The thing I will do anything to have. Even if it means you burn, too. ”

Even though it’s just a dream, I want to soothe the hauntedness I hear. The regret I don’t understand.

And I wish I knew why I was dreaming this at all.

***

My face presses into a pillow that is far too fluffy to be mine.

Vanilla, oak, and fabric softener assault my senses, making my lips tip in a smile as a delicious soreness in all the places reminds me of the glorious fun we had last night.

I revel in the memories, replaying every touch, every tease, and climax.

Jagger didn’t fill the space with wasted words. I expected a dirty talker, but he showed how filthy he was with actions instead. He played my body like it was an instrument built for him. Plucked and pulled every string to bring the most exquisite pain and agonizing pleasure.

Between the multiple orgasms at the club and then the endless edging here, I was left boneless and exhausted. I couldn’t have gone another round if I wanted to.

But now that I’m awake, rested, and refreshed, desire trickles between my thighs once again. Deep-seated need twists my belly and makes my clit throb.

I turn my head, facing the cause of my insatiable need, finding him sleeping soundly next to me with an arm thrown over his face. He looks content, almost serene, and so different from the last time I woke in his bed when his face was twisted in horrified agony.

My attention is drawn down his bare torso, reveling at his glorious abs, following the line over that delicious V that dips beneath the sheet. Saliva fills my mouth as I let my eyes drift over his hardened length, hidden by the silky sheet.

The thought of him in my mouth makes the throbbing between my legs intensify.

Images of him hitting the back of my throat, gagging around him as he explodes in my mouth, emboldens me.

Most of my hookups over the last few years seldom resulted in sleepovers.

My arrangements were far simpler. We did our thing, then went our separate ways.

But I do remember my last boyfriend enjoyed waking up with his cock in my mouth.

Carefully, I slide the sheet off his lower body, uncovering his impressive cock. I drop my mouth and run my tongue over the thick underside. It jerks against my touch, encouraging me to continue, so I move higher, swiping over the tip, then taking it in my mouth.

I waste no time taking him to the back of my throat, smiling when I feel him twitch in my mouth. He moans softly, his fingers threading in my hair. I keep going, taking the gesture as a sign of approval, when I’m jerked away with so much force, it shocks me. Maybe even scares me a bit.

The fear increases when I see his formidable form standing next to the bed. His posture is tense and poised, ready to attack. Green eyes swirl with pure fury. The demons I never saw last night are now on full display. “What the fuck were you doing?”

For the first time in my life, I shrink in on myself. Heat races up my chest to my cheeks. My nose and eyes burn with the threat of tears. Anxiety, embarrassment, and fear all fight for space in my head as I fight back the humiliation before it can fall down my cheeks.

“I-I’m sorry. I just thought it would be fun—”

“Fun to fucking assault me,” he booms, the tendons in his neck straining.

My eyes grow, and my eyebrows fly to my forehead. “What? No? I just thought—”

“So you think it’s okay to fucking touch someone when they’re unconscious?”

“Jagger, no! What are you talking about?”

“You know, what’s fucking hilarious is if I’d done that to you, the world would fucking scream rape, but because I’m a guy, it’s just okay.”

“Are you serious? I wouldn’t have said that or even thought it. People do that kind of shit all the time when they’re with someone. It’s not like I drugged you or snuck into your room.”

“You may as well have. Consent works both goddamn ways. I might be rough and push you beyond what you’re comfortable with, but it’s all consensual. When the fuck did you get my consent?”

His jaw ticks, and he turns away from me, walking into the bathroom without another word.

Stunned confusion keeps me frozen in place as a tear falls. The bathroom door slams, causing a picture on the wall to fall and me to jump. It’s the shock I need to get moving.

Climbing off the bed, I swipe his shirt I was wearing last night off the floor, pulling it over my head.

I grab my leggings, tugging them on, not worrying about my panties, then search for my shoes.

Once I find them, I march with my head up from his bedroom, determined to make my escape as quickly as possible.

I can’t stay here. Not after that. Between the utter humiliation I feel and the way those green eyes looked at me like he hated me—the absolute disgust and fury he directed right at me—there’s no way I can be here.

My name is called from the bedroom as I make my way down the hallway toward the front door, but I don’t stop or reply. It’s not like me to run from confrontation or problems. If anything, I dive headfirst into trouble. But I can’t do this. Not with him.

“Poppy, what are you doing?” I hear again, this time closer, so I speed up my steps.

I have the door opened a fraction when his hand reaches over me, shutting it. He doesn’t touch me, but I feel his body heat as he stands behind me. Even without looking, I can sense his posture is tense but slumped with defeat and regret. “Don’t go.”

“Yeah, I think it’s best if I do.” I hate how my voice cracks with emotion, but I’m still raw from the verbal lashing I just took. And I hate that I took it too.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, dropping his forehead until it’s resting against mine. “I know you weren’t trying to hurt me. I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”

The words burn my tongue. The need to know why he did squeezes my chest so tight it’s hard to breathe.

It doesn’t take a genius to know something happened to him, and a myriad of questions swirl in my mind.

Was he abused as a kid and never told anyone?

Was it someone who worked for his dad? He was surrounded by musicians and rock stars all the time, after all.

A family member? Is that why I see so much darkness in his eyes?

I want to ask, but it’s not my business.

So I choke the words down. “It’s fine. I made you uncomfortable, but I really should go. ”

He grips my shoulder, spinning me so we’re facing each other, but I keep my eyes focused beyond him. My already thundering heart rams against my chest painfully when he cups my cheeks. “Please.” The plea in his voice almost breaks me.

But somehow I remain steadfast. “No, Jagger. I should just go home.”

He lifts my face until I have no choice but to look at him. Remorse and regret shine in his pale gaze. “I can’t let you go, Halfpint. You owe me the weekend, remember?” He tries to smirk, but it’s weak.

It takes a strength I didn’t know I had, but I shake my head. “This was always a bad idea, and it’s not like it’s going anywhere. So let’s just cut our losses now, okay? I’ll see you around. I’ll be at your brother’s party on Sunday. We’ll see each other then.”

His jaw flexes, his fingers rake through his hair, something I’ve noticed he does when he’s stressed or upset. For a heartbeat, I see the darkness return.

I want to know him, his secrets and desires, and everything between. I have from the beginning. From the moment I saw him let his demons win as he slammed one fist after another into his opponent. The need to dig into his past, discover his truths, is so strong I can taste it.

I’ve never pushed because if he wanted to tell me, he would, but now I see clearly. No one will tear those secrets from him.

He never talks about himself. The subject matter always stays firmly on me and my life.

His walls are fortified, and his secrets are locked tightly away.

He wears shame like armor and wields anger like a weapon.

Emotional and mental battles are fought with his fists and hidden behind alcohol and drugs.

I always knew he was complicated, but the harder I look, the more I know that was an understatement.

This? Whatever we are? It’s too complicated and fragile to mix with sex. That was a mistake, and I’m not sure it’s worth complicating further for a weekend of satisfaction.

“I’ve got to go, Jagger.”

“What do I have to do to make you stay? Name it. I’ll do anything.”

“That’s a lot for a weekend of sex, don’t you think?” I tease, trying desperately to change the subject and make my escape.

“It’s not for sex, Poppy. It was never about sex. It’s for you. I want you here. Please.”

My lungs tighten because this is getting deep. No. It’s already deep. Now it’s getting bottomless. “Why?”