Second Debt

by Pepper Winters

  Jethro snickered. “You’re using up the entire Hall’s supply of hot water. Are you planning on saving some for the rest of the inhabitants of my home?”

  I couldn’t. I can’t. The horror. The shame!

  “What the hell are you doing in here!?” Embarrassment painted my cheeks. I wished I could curl into a ball and die. With trembling arms, I tried my best to hide my decency. Slapping one arm across my chest, I positioned a hand between my legs, exceedingly careful not to touch my throbbing pussy.

  So close!

  I was so close to coming.

  So close, in fact, I wanted to scream.

  One more stroke and I would’ve found peace. Now I was even worse—vibrating with tightly strung desire, fogging my every thought.

  The showerhead continued to hiss and spurt by my feet, slipping me further into disgraced hell.

  This can’t be happening. Please don’t let this be happening.

  Jethro leaned against the doorjamb, his arms crossed, and a smile on his lips. “Don’t stop on my account.” He waved at my flushed skin. “By all means, finish. I can wait.”

  My daydream interlinked with reality and all I could think about was pulling Jethro fully clothed into the shower and impaling myself on his cock. I wanted him so damn bad. I wanted to be ridden, taken filthy and wrong.

  My head throbbed as mental images of slippery bodies granting pleasure invaded my normally rational mind.

  Jethro laughed quietly. “You look in pain, Ms. Weaver.” He lowered his head so he watched me beneath hooded eyes. “Do you need help?”

  I almost moaned at the thought of him filling me, fucking me. “I—” Yes, I need help. Get in here and take me. Fix me so I can get over my horrible infatuation with you.

  I shook my head.

  Dammit, Nila. Get a grip!

  Jethro’s jaw tightened; joviality disappeared, replaced with thick, thick lust.

  My nipples turned from pebbles to diamonds, so hard I swear they would slice anything that touched them. I couldn’t move as he continued to drink me in. With every second that ticked past, the air changed until the steam around us shimmered with barely veiled hunger.

  Jethro’s gaze drifted down my front. “Fuck,” he breathed.

  I almost puddled to the floor. I didn’t trust myself to say anything—not one word. I’d betray everything I’d promised myself over the past few days. I would crash to my knees and beg him to put me out of my misery.

  I would never be able to live with myself again.

  We stayed silent, devouring each other but making no move to deal with what we wanted. My eyes fell to his trousers and his straining erection. It was so proud, so big.

  Wait. He’s wearing jodhpurs.

  I blinked, trying to make sense in my sex-hazed brain. “Are—are you going somewhere?”

  My voice snapped him out of whatever fantasy he’d been having. My scalp tickled as his golden eyes radiated intensity. “Yes. You’re coming, too.”

  My eyes snapped closed.

  Coming.

  Yes, I’d love to.

  He laughed softly. “Perhaps the wrong choice of words.” In a rustle of clothing, he pushed off from the doorjamb. “Or the right ones, depending on how the next few minutes go.”

  A full body clench tore a small pant from my lips.

  My eyes flew wide as he grabbed a fluffy towel and stalked toward me.

  I pressed myself harder against the tiles. Shaking my head, I squeaked, “Stay there. Don’t—don’t come any closer.”

  His face darkened; a flash of temper etched his features. “It’s not like I haven’t seen what you’re hiding, Ms. Weaver. Or are you forgetting that I’ve stuck my tongue in your cunt and driven my cock deep inside? I’ve tasted you. Ridden you. Made you moan.”

  Shit.

  My core spasmed, greedily latching onto his words—seeking the final push for the orgasm living in my blood. It would be so simple to let go. To tell him what I truly wanted and to hell with the rest of it.

  They’re rotting up there while you fuck the oldest son.

  Common-sense threw freezing water onto my overheated libido. With all the power I possessed, I ordered myself to ignore the tantalizing release and step back into the real world.

  Seemed Jethro had come to the same conclusion as the aching awareness between us solidified into obligation. “Get dressed. We’re late.”

  Swallowing hard and cursing my heavy body, I asked, “Late for what?”

  With an unsteady hand, he held out the towel. He had the willpower of a saint or perhaps he was just as crazy as I feared because he didn’t move to touch me.

  Damn him.

  His eyes narrowed as his fingers tightened around the towel. “Polo.”

  “Polo?” Images of men on horses whacking a ball around a field gave me something else to focus on.

  “But…it’s Monday.”

  Jethro cocked his head, chuckling under his breath. “You think the day of the week influences the crowd who play with us?” He shook his head. “If you hadn’t have told me it was Monday, I wouldn’t have known. Work days and weekends mean nothing when everyone obeys our schedule.”

  He’s so damn arrogant.

  Why do I find that so hot?

  His eyes fell to my wet body. “Drop your hands.”

  “No.”

  “Obey me.”

  “Why?”

  Because you’ll end my anguish and give me what I need?

  “Do it, Ms. Weaver. I won’t ask again.”

  My tummy twisted. “Just because you’ve seen me doesn’t mean you have the right to see me again.”

  He pursed his lips. “I can see and touch and do whatever the hell I want to you whenever I want.”

  Temper slowly overrode my lust. I stood taller, glowering at him.

  Fine.

  He was back to being an arsehole. I could be a bitch.

  Dropping my hands, I stood proud and defiant. I ignored the hissing showerhead and dared him to say something cruel. “Go on, look.” I spread my arms, twirling in place. “Seeing as you control my fate, I might as well walk around naked so you can always drink your fill.”

  He growled, “Knock it off.”

  Snatching the towel from him and throwing it to the floor, I snarled, “No.”

  “What the fuck got into you?”

  “What got into me? How about seeing proof of what my future holds.”

  God, I didn’t mean to bring that up again. But if I wasn’t thinking of sex with my mortal enemy, I was plotting ways to switch coffins from Weavers to Hawks.

  “You knew that’s what would happen.”

  “Knowing and seeing are entirely different things.”

  Jethro pinched the bridge of his nose, digging the tips of his fingers into his eyes as if seeking release from the rapidly building pressure in the room. “You’re driving me mad.”

  “At least you finally admit it.”

  His head whipped up.

  I froze. Shit, I’d gone too far. Again.

  “What did you just say?”

  The spurting showerhead faded; the rapid thump-thump of my heartbeat faded. All I focused on was Jethro’s golden eyes—but more than that—I focused on his soul. The ragged, tattered soul that looked so completely lost.

  Something inside him scared me to death but also called for help. I backed away—or rather, I tried to morph into the tiled wall behind me.

  He glared, then…stepped into the shower.

  Water instantly splattered his grey t-shirt and black jodhpurs as he stood over the wriggling water demon. His eyelashes sparkled with droplets as he coldly looked me up and down.

  His hand came up. His lips twisted. A flash of violence danced across his features.

  I did two things at once.

  I cowered and suffered a vertigo wave.

  Sickness slammed into me as I raised my arm above my head in defence. “Don’t hit me!” The room spun and I stumbled against the tiles, despera
tely trying to grasp something to keep me upright.

  My vision shot black and I flinched as harsh fingers captured my elbows, giving me an anchor just like Vaughn used to do so many times when we were children. The moment I had a sanctuary, the vertigo left me, depositing me firmly in Jethro’s hold.

  His eyes blazed with fury. “You couldn’t hurt me any more than you just did, Ms. Weaver.”

  Why?

  It’s because you jumped to conclusions.

  When I first arrived at Hawksridge, I would’ve been completely justified to cower and protect myself, but only because I didn’t know who Jethro was. Now, I saw what he hid and violence was just a tool to him. A tool he didn’t like to use. A tool he’d been made to wield all his life. But beneath his ferocity was pain. Deep, deep pain that spoke of a man far too immersed in this farce.

  He won’t hit me.

  Not now. Not after what we’d shared—even after I’d tried to push him away, we were still intrinsically linked. He’d proven that when he’d remained on my side in the solar.

  Shit, this is too messed up.

  Blinking away the residual sickness, I tried to change the subject. “Stop using my last name.”

  He didn’t reply, his face unreadable.

  Something shadowed his gaze. Was it regret or annoyance? I couldn’t tell. My heart lurched regardless. Sighing, I faced the true issue, hoping to grant him peace. “I’m sorry if I hurt you. I didn’t mean to.”

  He let me go. “You thought I was going to hit you. Your fear…your loathing—you can’t hide the truth. One flinch and you proved what you thought of me. I’m a fucking idiot to believe there was anything more between us.”

  Terror erupted in my stomach. Pushing him away was one thing. But having him push me away was entirely another.

  Wait...fear and loathing?

  He spoke as if he felt what I did. There was no way he could correctly feel my horror at what’d happened.

  Glaring, I said, “What was I supposed to think? You raised your hand and expect me not to protect myself? You’ve told me time and time again to fear you.” I should stop, but I couldn’t contain the fire inside. “You should be happy you got your wish.”

  Jethro’s jaw clenched. He stood so still, so regal, completely oblivious to the spurting showerhead by his feet. “I’m not happy with any of this, least of all you trying to provoke me.”

  “I’m not trying to provoke you.”

  He snorted. “Now who’s the liar, Ms. Weaver? First you lie about the reasons why you slept with me, and now this.” His lips twisted. “I’m beginning to think you are as lost as—”

  His eyes flared, cutting himself off.

  The words dangled between us. I throbbed to speak them. To see his reaction.

  …as lost as me…

  I was defiant and righteous, but I wasn’t cruel. Holding my tongue, I let the moment pass.

  Jethro visibly shuddered, holding up his finger. My eyes fell to his perfectly formed digit and my core clenched thinking of him pushing it inside me and granting me a release.

  He sighed. “I came here, not to watch you pleasure yourself or to summon you to get ready, but because I wanted to show you something.”

  My attention flickered between his raised finger and his glowing eyes. “Show me what?”

  He sighed. “It’s your initials that I bear. Your mark. Your brand. I may be born a Hawk, but I’ve been captured by a Weaver.”

  My heart exploded.

  Jethro leaned closer, pressing his mouth against my damp ear. “You sewed a cage. You somehow managed to fabricate a web that I only seem to fall deeper into. And this mark is proof of that.”

  My chest rose and fell. Was this a proclamation of his feelings for me? It was too strange, too forward for Jethro.

  Slowly, I wrapped my fingers around his raised one, running my thumb over the tattoo. “Proof of what?”

  Jethro closed his eyes briefly before murmuring, “Proof that no matter what happened on the moor, and no matter the grief you feel at my family’s treatment of you, we are in this together.”

  Breaking my hold on him, he bent and gathered the showerhead from the floor. His hair tickled my lower belly, his mouth so close to my core. Standing straight, Jethro placed the showerhead back in its cradle and together we stood under a stream of droplets, drenching both of us and thawing out my frozen muscles.

  Without a word, he reached for the tap and turned the water off.

  Silence.

  We didn’t move, dripping wet in a billow of steam. I was naked while Jethro’s powerful form beckoned me closer. His clothes clung to his body in ways that were utterly illegal. His cock was rock hard, his stomach etching his t-shirt with ridges and valleys of muscle.

  I swallowed as my need to come bombarded me.

  My eyes drifted down his front to the hard length in his jodhpurs. “You can’t keep playing games, Jethro.”

  He ran a hand through his damp hair. “Where is the game or joke in any of this?”

  “There isn’t any.”

  “No, there isn’t.” Grabbing my hand, he pressed his fingertip against my own newly inked one. “This isn’t a game—not anymore. The debts bind us together as long as we’re alive. You’re mine and I told you before not to throw away that gift before knowing what it means.”

  My heartbeat lived in my blood, stealing strength from my knees, making me wobbly. “I don’t want to belong to you.”

  He shook his head, a few renegade droplets sliding down the locks of salt and pepper hair. His forearms were wide and powerful as he moved to cup my cheek. “It’s too late for that.”

  “It’s never too late for the truth.”

  Bowing his head, he pressed his forehead against mine. “You’re right. It’s never too late for the truth.”

  The way he said it sent my soul scattering for the nearest exit. What is he hiding from me? “If you say I belong to you, then, by rights, your secrets belong to me. They’d be safe with me.”

  He sucked in a breath, his eyes trained on my lips. “I know what you’re asking.”

  “What am I asking?”

  He smiled sadly. “You want to know why I am the way I am. You want to know where I disappear to when I need space and you want to know how to use my weakness for you against my family.”

  Yes. I also want to understand why I feel this way. Why, when faced with the graves of my ancestors, do I so quickly forget and seek what I cannot find?

  His fingers tightened against my cheek, holding me steadfast. His head tilted, bringing his lips within a feather-frond distance from mine.

  My mouth tingled, sparking for contact. The anticipation raised my blood until I needed a cold shower instead of hot.

  “Pity for you, I plan on keeping my secrets.” His minty breath washed over me, grabbing me by the soul and tearing me into smithereens.

  “Why? What’s so terrible that you have to hide who you truly are?”

  He swallowed, closing the final distance between us and pressing me against the wall. “Quiet.”

  I gasped as his lips suddenly sealed over mine.

  The moment we touched, everything ignited.

  The rage I’d nursed waned. My loathing and bitterness abandoned me. Even the images of epitaphs and graves couldn’t stop me from betraying my family.

  I wanted to drop my walls and bare everything. I wanted to forget about the past month, and pretend he was a simple boy with a simple offer. I wanted to believe he would save me and not ultimately kill me.

  He groaned as I threw myself into the kiss, moulding my body along his.

  I was already in hell. I couldn’t fall any further. Might as well give up, give in, and just admit defeat.

  Every dark facet of who I was, every spark and knowledge that made me human, wanted to be seen and understood. I wanted him to see me as his—not because I was a pawn in a game I didn’t understand—but because I was a woman who he couldn’t live without.

  His delicious
form pinned me harder against the tiles. His tongue broke the seal of my lips, diving in as if he had perfect right to be there.

  And he does.

  Over everyone, my body had chosen him.

  Just your body?

  I couldn’t admit my soul might’ve chosen him, too.

  Despite everything, I couldn’t win against the truth.

  As our tongues danced, my mind skittered from the present to a memory I never knew was there.

  “Nila, this is Jethro.”

  I blinked through my bangs at the tall skinny boy who looked so dapper in a three-piece suit. I found his attire perfect for the beautiful teagarden I sat in with my nanny. She’d told me to dress up in my favourite ensemble—a white four-tiered dress with pink bows and ribbons—and she would take me for my seventh birthday to lunch.

  The only stipulation was no one must know. Not even my twin.

  My nanny nudged me. “Say hello, Nila.”

  I looked again at the boy before me. He had black hair, which was combed to the side. Everything about him spoke of stuck-up and resentful but beneath that lurked the same thing I felt.

  Obligation.

  A small butterfly entered my tummy to think he might feel the same stifling knowledge that we were already destined for a role—regardless if we wanted it or not.

  “Do you have a strict daddy, too?” I asked.

  “Nila!” My nanny spanked my behind. “Be polite and don’t pry.”

  Jethro narrowed his eyes at my caregiver. He balled his hands and his cheeks turned red from watching her discipline me. I thought he’d run off, his feet shuffled to the teagarden’s exit, but then he locked eyes with me. “I have a dad who expects me to be something I’m not.”

  My childish heart fluttered. “Me, too. I like clothes, but I don’t want to be a weaver. I want to be the first girl to prove unicorns exist.”

  He smirked. “They don’t exist.”

  “Yes, they do.”

  He shook his head, something cold and hard snapped over his features. “I don’t have time for stupid kids.” Spinning on his heel, he left me gawking after him. I didn’t stop looking until a man with greying hair and black jacket stole his son’s hand and disappeared into the sunshine.