Second Debt

I had too much on my shoulders. Worrying about what Vaughn was doing. Fearing what my father would do. Stressing about my feelings for Nila.

I’m done. Literally about to fucking snap.

Jaz ignored me, diverting my thoughts back to her original statement. “You’ll have to. If you’ve let her in enough to sleep with her—”

My head shot up. “I didn’t sleep with her.”

Jaz raised an eyebrow, pursing her lips. “Oh, really? You forget I can see through your lies.”

My forehead furrowed. “I fucked her, but I didn’t sleep with her.”

Even as I said it, my subconscious screamed the truth.

If I had fucked her, I wouldn’t have let her affect me. It would’ve been purely physical and nothing more. She wouldn’t have this hold over me—this damn fucking power.

“You’re lying, Kite.” Jasmine sighed, running a hand through her glossy hair. “And until you fess up and see that you’re the one ruining the only thing that might work for you, I can’t help you.”

My blood ran cold. “What do you expect me to do? She’s a Weaver!”

She didn’t flinch at my outburst—completely used to me. “Doesn’t matter. If you have to use her to cure yourself and realise you can be who you are, even after a lifetime of being told you can’t, then do it.”

Goosebumps broke out over my skin. “What are you saying?”

She stiffened, looking a lot older than her twenty-eight years. “I’m saying you need to find another way. If you don’t, you won’t survive, and I refuse to live in this family without you.” Reaching forward, she took my hand, linking our fingers together. “In another few months all of this will be yours, Jethro. Don’t let her destroy you—not when you’re so close.”

I squeezed her hand, wishing it were that easy. “I can’t let her in.”

Jaz smiled. “You don’t have to. Make her fall in love with you. Do whatever it takes for her to ignore the reality of her circumstances and fall head over heels for you. Then deal with her brother and make peace with who you are.

“Only then will you find your salvation.”

MONDAY MORNING.

I stood in the shower, letting warm water cascade over me.

The past few days had disappeared with no event and the weekend was a distant memory. Not that I had any reason to hate Mondays anymore. I had no deadlines, no runway shows to organise, or orders to fill. My new life was a constant holiday, interspersed with fabric sorting and designing that was a passion rather than a chore. Yet I couldn’t stop my body from waking up and hurling me into work mode at dawn. I’d never been able to sleep past sunrise—a curse that Vaughn didn’t share. He was a night owl where I was the morning starling.

Leaning my head back, I opened my mouth and welcomed water to trail over my lips and across my tongue. It felt good. Almost as warm as Jethro’s tongue when he kissed me.

Ever since tattooing each other, everything turned me on. My bra rubbed against my nipples. My knickers whispered across my clit. I ached with the need to release but had no idea how to give myself an orgasm. I needed to come, but there was no way I would sleep with Jethro again.

I couldn’t. It was too dangerous.

My finger, with its glowing , had scabbed and healed enough for me to bear the itch as my skin acquainted itself with the foreign ink.

What does he think of his tattoo?

After sneaking down the corridor and watching him disappear, I’d battled every night with the need to return to the unknown floor to investigate the unknown room and interrogate the unknown woman.

He’d gone into her room but didn’t come out.

I hadn’t waited long—I couldn’t. After all, cameras watched my every move. But I needed to find answers, and I had a horrible feeling that everything I needed to know was in that boudoir on the second floor.

Just thinking of Jethro sent a spasm of desire through my core.

Dammit, what’s happening to me?

A daydream of Jethro slamming to his knees before me and wrenching my legs wide stole my mind. It was so vivid, so real—a trickle of need ran down my inner thigh. I gasped as I imagined his tongue lapping at my clit, his long fingers disappearing inside me—the same finger that I’d tattooed with my name.

Would I come harder knowing he touched me with a finger branded by me? Or would I hold on as tight as I could and make him work for it?

Oh, God.

I needed to get rid of this satanic desire. I needed to be free.

My eyes opened, latching onto the detachable showerhead.

I could do it myself…

My heartbeat whizzed with need. I couldn’t fight the churning demand any longer.

Reaching upward, I unhooked the showerhead and turned the water temperature down so as not to burn myself.

Feeling awkward and ridiculous and a hundred times guilty for what I was about to do, I braced my back on the tiled wall and spread my legs a little.

My teeth clamped on my bottom lip as the water pressure tickled my clit.

Oh. My. God.

My eyes rolled back as I grew bolder and pressed the stream of heavenly water harder against my pussy.

Water cascaded down my legs while my torso shivered from sudden cold. My nipples stiffened as I wickedly angled the jet down and down until water shot inside me. Every jet and bubble aroused sensitive flesh, sending my muscles clenching in joy.

I moaned.

Loudly.

My legs trembled as my neck flopped forward and I gave myself over to the exquisite pleasure conjured by an innocuous showerhead.