He cups my love handles and leans forward, putting our faces an inch apart. A dangerous gleam passes through his gaze. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about me.”
“That’s not?—”
He moves in closer until his lips brush mine, but it can’tbe a kiss because of how soft it is. He cups the back of my head, his fingers threading through my hair at the scalp.
“I said, don’t worry about it,” he whispers, and tilts his head, still brushing his mouth against mine and bringing a strange flutter to my stomach. “If you want, you can kiss it to make it feel better.”
My heart beats faster the longer he lingers.
“Kiss it?” I breathe. “Or kiss you?”
Jaxon’s lips curl into a rueful smile, as if he finally got what he’s been wanting, and his fingers slip inside the waistband of my sweats and ease them down my hips. My breath catches in my throat.
“Beg me for it,” he murmurs.
I bury my trembling hands in his hair and pull at the strands, making him groan. “Please, Jaxon.”
He growls and closes the small space between our mouths, crushing his lips against mine.
The light in the kitchen flips on. Jaxon eases my sweats back up and moves closer to block me from view as he glares over his shoulder at whoever just walked in.
“What are you two doing?” I tense at Dad’s deep voice, which borders on a growl.
Jaxon’s jaw muscle tics. “Fucking. What does it look like?” he deadpans.
My jaw drops, and I watch in horror as Dad storms into the kitchen and stops beside Jaxon. His face falls when he sees it’s me, and then he suspiciously looks between us. When he doesn’t see the missing clothes or Jaxon’s dick inside me, he shoots my brother a glare.
“What’s wrong with her face?” Dad asks, though he asks Jaxon and not me, like I’m not even here. Why isn’t he concerned about what Jaxon said? We aren’t fucking, but he literally just walked in the moment we kissed.
“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” Jaxon says, speaking my thoughts out loud.
Dad looks from me to Jaxon and gets a better look at his injuries. “Did you two get into a fight?”
“No,” I say.
“Yes.”
I glare at Jaxon but feel silly when I realize Dad meant get in a fight with someone else and not with each other.
Airhead. Rocks. Stupid.
Dad huffs. “Which is it?”
Jaxon settles his hands on my hips, and a scatter of goosebumps rises on my arms and legs. “Someone laid their hands on Dahlia, so I laid mine on him and his friend.”
Dad doesn’t look in the least bit surprised, just annoyed. I, however, am shocked and now have a thousand questions for Jaxon.
Dad’s frown deepens when he notices Jaxon’s hands gripping my sides. His eyebrow twitches and he cocks his head, the wheels spinning in his mind. I can only imagine what’s going through his head because I’m thinking the same things.
Is this a territorial display?
Is this him letting our dad know how he feels about me without saying it?
Is he trying to be obvious about what we were doing before Dad barged in here?
“Get cleaned up and go to bed.” Dad cuts his eyes to Jaxon. “Separately.”
Jaxon keeps a blank expression, but fire burns in his gaze. Our father ignores the challenge and grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, then gives us a warning look and heads back to his bedroom.
