“We’re here,” Han informed her, reaching across to unfasten the seatbelt she’d so firmly clicked into place.
She glanced at Yaron, then opened her mouth to say, “I’m—”
“Don’t you dare apologize to him,” Han commanded, his voice cutting through the air between them like lightning in the blackest night.
There was a hierarchy to The Silent Triad, and everyone knew Dragons did not apologize. But that wasn’t the reason Han snapped.
He wanted her to fall apart for him without apology.
He wanted that…and so many other things he hadn’t wanted before. This woman…what was she doing to him?
Whatever it was, it became clear in the next moment that she wasn’t similarly affected. “Is that an order?” she asked, her eyes blazing with defiance.
Han nodded.
“Copy that,” she replied, her voice tight and bitter. Then she started to open her car door—only to stop when she saw the ruined front of her dress.
He needed her to obey. Needed her to comply. But guilt racked through him as he took off his jacket and placed it around her shoulders to cover up her torn dress.
He was still hard and pulsing, but “the vibe,” as Jasmine would have called it, had disappeared.
“Thank you,” she said. She didn’t put her arms through the jacket, just pulled at the lapels as if it was a blanket she needed to soothe her.
To call the ride up to the top floor uncomfortable would be a vast understatement. Jasmine headed straight for her room as soon as they got inside. She couldn’t get away from him fast enough.
“Jasmine…” he said.
Only to trail off when she turned back around to face him.
“Yes,” she prodded. It was only eleven p.m., early for him. But her gaze was weary as if he’d asked her to run a marathon at the end of a long day.
Whatever he was going to say faded into the ether. Abandoning him, just like his good sense had after one mere song of touching her out on that dance floor.
So in the end, he said nothing, and the quiet settled over them like ash from a bomb.
“I hope you got what you wanted out of tonight,” she said into all that quiet.
“Jasmine…” he said again, this time reaching for her. He always got it wrong when he tried to talk to her. Maybe if he took her to bed, he could force these feelings swirling around his chest into some semblance of sense.
But she backed away from him like he was poison. And instead of accompanying him to his room, she ran to hers.
18
JAZZ
For the sake of my sanity, I had to decide to feel proud of myself the next morning. I mean, sure, I’d let Han finger fuck me in the car with that creepy silent driver of his probably watching in the rearview. And sure, I’d only just narrowly caught myself before letting the guy who’d cut up all my t-shirts fuck me again, no questions asked.
And sure, my body felt weird and sensitive when I woke up the following day. My core throbbed with the ghost of his fingers inside of me, and there was a slickness between my thighs that I never felt before—one that became worse when I touched my breasts, which instantly pebbled with memories of him taking them in his mouth.
Also, there was the realization that I’d have to go ask him for my own rash guard and surf shorts after my morning shower. He was right about me not wanting to spend the money to replace everything he’d taken, and good rash guards with the right amount of UV were expensive to replace in Hawaii, where everything had to be shipped in from the mainland.
But on the upside, I had stopped myself last night. And I hopped into a very cold shower before I could go too far with investigating that slick feeling between my legs. Even better, it was like 8 am. He’d probably just fell asleep. So this gave me the perfect excuse to wake him up.
With that in mind, I pounded loudly on his door. And it was a little hard to keep the wicked glee out of my voice as I yelled, “Hey, wake up! I need something to wear for my swim class.”
However, my shout was met with a calm, “One moment” from behind the door. And to my disappointment, the voice didn’t sound sleepy at all.
A few seconds later, he opened the door with one of my rash guards, and a pair of my surfing shorts gathered in one hand…and just a pair of boxer briefs on his long, lean body.
His hair had gotten a lot longer on top since he moved to Hawaii. He wore it tied up in a sloppy knot that morning, and he even had some stubble action going on. I guess his facial hair was also super committed to making sure this guy looked stupid hot in the morning.
