His Trouble Maker
Chapter 112
Chapter 112
Chapter 112
K2 47%1
JESSICA
“I’m okay baby, really.”
Grayson sighs, burying his head further into my neck, making me laugh. I don’t think I’ve seen him cry like that earlier. My fingers brush his hair, admiring him like this. I don’t know what happened or how many days I’ve been sleeping, but I remember some fragments of what had happened before.
Ishift a little, body fucking heavy, muscles stiff like they’ve
“Jess…” voice low, rough, like it scrapes his throat raw to say it.
I feel his chest hitch, ribs brushing mine. God. I really fucked him up, didn’t I? This big, stubborn, half–feral man looking at me like I’m about to vanish if he blinks.
Fuck. He looks so… vulnerable. My hand slides down, knuckles bumping his jaw, thumb brushing the cut under his eye. When did he get that? And why is it not healing?”
Slowly, he lifts his head–fuck, it still knocks the air out of me.Hair stuck to his forehead, eyes shot red, jaw tight like it hurts him to breathe.
“Hey,” I rasp, tongue dry, voice scratchy like gravel. “W–What happened?”
Grayson looks wrecked. Worse than I remember. Like he hasn’t slept in days.
His gaze drags over my face, jaw, throat–hungry, haunted, desperate, all at once.
I shift on the mattress, heel sliding against the sheet, knee bumping his hip. The bed creaks under the weight of us both, wood complaining loud enough to drown out my heartbeat for half a second.
“Did… did I do this?” The words scrape out raw, softer than I meant, almost afraid of the answer.
His jaw tightens harder, a muscle ticking. “No, baby,” he mutters, voice rough, barely a breath. “You didn’t.”
My nails graze lower, skimming the sharp line of his throat. I feel his pulse hammer under my fingertip – quick, uneven, like he’s barely holding it together.
happened?” I ask again, words spilling out shaky. “How
against the bruised skin under
hand comes up, rough palm catching
closer, thigh brushing his leg, sheet bunching under my knee. The room smells like sweat, old blood, the ash and pine of Grayson’s wolf
close.
quieter.
shaking. “… I fucking missed you,” he mutters, voice
“Grayson…”
know how fucking scared I was?” His voice
nothing comes out–words choking
knot in my throat.
breath hot against my cheek, “Days.
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Chapter 112
rough and desperate. The heat of him burns through my skin, seeps down to
wolf stir, restless under my ribs–caught between wanting to nuzzle closer and bare her teeth at the weakness in
cut at his cheek again. This close, I see it clearer–the split skin, dark bruising blooming under his eye.
shuddering under my palm. “No,” he rasps.
out, half–broken. “Grayson, what the fuck
“Nothing.”
“What about Riot?”
shoulders bunching like he’s holding back from putting his fist through the wall again. “Don’t,” he mutters,
“Why?”
ruined, wolf burning behind his eyes. “Because if I hear it
as bone. “Stop yourself from
breathes, voice so low it vibrates through my ribs.
he’s doing–throwing blood and rage at me so I’ll stop asking. “That’s not what I asked,” I rasp,
eyes flicker–wolf snarling just behind them, jaw ticking so hard it must hurt. His breath catches, chest
like gravel dragged over stone. “Don’t make me
I push, nails biting through the thin cotton stretched over his ribs. “Say what he did
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