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Where whatever happens between us didn’t have deadlines or the consequences of two troubled minds.
It’s a place where forever felt like it could just…exist.
Being as it’s now almost three in the morning, staying at his penthouse was the safer option, but I really miss the comfort of his home.
The emptiness of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The glimmer of the city is still active and sinful as it shines through Jett’s primary bedroom.
His empty primary bedroom.
After ensuring I was comfortable in bed, Jett waited until I was half asleep to make an exit. When I finally felt the bed dip beside me, I kept quiet, but even sleeping without him feels impossible.
Growing restless, I slide from beneath the covers, letting the shirt I borrowed drape past my ass, dusting the tops of my knees.
When I enter the living room, a flicker of orange lights illuminates from the balcony.
Quietly, I slide the heavy glass door, stepping out into the cold.
“I didn’t know you smoked.” I hesitate, a little nervous to break him from the cloud of smoke he’s buried under.
He’s faced toward the city, his black button-down from tonight, untucked and open. The wind whooshes, allowing his muscular body to shine from beneath the material.
Still in dark-washed jeans, a mysterious aura floats around him. It’s no secret that Jett had a rough evening, but his problems were put on hold for me.
When he turns, torture is in place of his handsome features.
“It’s just a cigar. I don’t smoke them often.”
“Are you going to come to bed?” I ask, hushed, shivering from the cold and his stare.
I want to press him more about his night, but I don’t know if now is the time. What I know for sure is that regardless of what happened, I’m where I want to be, and no matter what he’s going through, just like he is for me, I’ll be here to support him.
“I’m not all that tired. Get your rest,” he grumbles.
With his head turned in the direction of the skyline, my gut twists in ways I didn’t know could be twisted as I wait for him to face me.
When he doesn’t, I tremble before taking a small step toward him. At his chest, I place my hand on his muscle. He instantly tenses, his breath sharpening through his teeth.
“Do you want to talk about tonight?”
“Not right now.” His voice is gritty with emotion, like he can’t decide if he’s angry or upset.
“I’m here, Jett. Just like you are for me.”
“I know, but I’m not in the mood to talk.”
“Do you want me to go?”
“No,” he nearly interrupts me, gripping my wrist to keep us together.
“Can I help you in another way…” My suggestion isn’t seductive; I just want to make him feel better, no matter what it takes, but that doesn’t stop heat from pooling in my chest to the center of my stomach.
Whipping his head to me, my arm flies off his chest, his large body hovering over mine.
“I would want nothing more, baby, but right now, I can’t.”
“But you want to?”
“More than anything,” he whimpers.
