Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
He strokes his thumb along the back of my hand. “I had that classy moment in the shower because I didn’t understand my reaction to Jag. Didn’t know if it made me broken or human. I mean, how can I want a man to touch me after I spent my life hating a man’s touch?”
So much to unpack there. I can barely breathe. “Wolf…”
“Don’t say anything yet.” He releases my hand, breaking the contact as he pushes to sit before me. “I need you to know that it’s not simple. Nothing about him or me or what happened is simple.”
I nod. The lump in my throat is too big for words anyway.
“He built a room for me in the tattoo shop.” He goes on to explain how he found Jag with a fever, called in Frankie, and washed him, all of which led to an unexpectedly intimate moment. “I touched him. Then I kissed him. Then I gave us both a crazy, intense release. Through it all, I refused to let him touch me. How fucked up is that?”
The confession hangs there, human and hurting.
My first reaction isn’t compassion. It’s jealousy. Dark, toxic, and irrational, it burns behind my ribs. I picture Wolf’s beautiful nude body entangled with Jag’s, the man who’s tormented me for years, and it guts me.
But underneath that twisting misery is a quieter, more profound emotion.
Understanding.
If I strip away the jealousy, what’s left is pain. Wolf’s pain, not mine. A boy who never learned the difference between a cruel touch and an affectionate one. A man who’s trying to figure out if desire can ever mean safety.
He watches me as if waiting for judgment, for recoil, and that’s what undoes me completely.
I edge closer, slow enough that he can stop me if he wants.
His breathing stumbles, and his eyes flick down, wary. He expects me to weaponize tenderness.
“You don’t owe me shame for what happened.” I reach out, fingers trembling, and let my hand rest against his chest. “You don’t owe me excuses or explanations. Just the truth. That’s enough.”
His muscles twitch under my palm, but he doesn’t pull away.
The jealousy still simmers, but it’s diluted now, melted into a feral protectiveness that demands I keep him safe from everything that tries to twist love into pain.
I don’t know what we are, but I know what I want.
I want to be the first touch that doesn’t hurt.
Wanting Wolf isn’t enough. Not after everything he’s lived through.
If I put my hands on him without understanding every land mine planted beneath his skin, I could hurt him in irreparable ways. I’m not afraid of his scars or the ghosts in his head. I’m afraid of becoming one of them.
And there’s something else, something he doesn’t see yet.
He needs space to understand himself. Not what Denver beat into him. Not what fear taught him. Not what Jag sparked and confused.
Him.
He needs a healthy perspective about what he wants, who he wants, and why. His orientation isn’t a trauma scar, and it isn’t a debt he owes to anyone.
He needs to know his desire is his own.
He deserves that.
And so do I.
“There’s nothing wrong with your sexuality.” I meet his eyes. “If you’re attracted to men, explore those desires. If you like women, pursue both. Figure out what fits. But if Jag is what you crave…”
“Is it true what they say? Once you stray to gay, you can’t stay away?”
“No. First off, I don’t think you’ve ever been straight. And second, that’s an offensive generalization.”
“I don’t know what I am. I don’t want men or women or anything as boring as that. I want a dove.”
My chest flutters. “You want Jag.”
He opens his mouth, and I see the denial forming.
“You already admitted as much.” I sigh. “Just… Please don’t pursue this thing with him. Not because he’s a man, but because he’s Jag. He’s dangerous.”
“I want you.” He doesn’t say it defensively. He delivers it like a vow that can’t be undone. Resolved. Unshaken. Fearlessly honest.
My pulse swoons, tripping over itself.
I want him, too. So damn much. But the thought terrifies me. I don’t want to be the easy choice, the soft landing after pain. I don’t want to be the one he experiments on just to see if it feels different.
“Wolf…” My voice trembles. “You’ve been through too much. I don’t want to be a trigger. Or worse, a regret.”
“You won’t be either.” He drifts closer, his nearness pulling at me, the heat in his eyes smoldering.
“I need to know what you and Jag did. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.”
“How do you know that?”
“You don’t have the anatomy.” His gaze sweeps over my body. “No parts that trigger me.”
“That doesn’t tell me enough.”
“Yeah, didn’t figure it would.” His unflinching stare hooks mine for a silent beat. Then he speaks, voice quiet and stripped down. “At the shop, Jag dared me to prove my heterosexuality. He was weak with fever, too weak to be threatening, sprawled out on his cot, half-dead and stupidly vulnerable, looking at me like… I don’t know. The way he looked at me made me feel wanted. Desired. Not the way Denver made me feel. Not in a manipulative, despicable way. For a hot minute there, it didn’t feel wrong. Maybe that’s Jag’s game. He says all the right things and gets in your head.” He shrugs. “It worked.”