His Trouble Maker

Chapter 112

Chapter 112

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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.

words spilling out shaky. “How long…

the bruised skin under them. Shoulders lift, ribs straining the

long,” he rasps, voice gone hoarse, like it hurts him to admit it. His hand comes up, rough palm catching my wrist, holding it like it’s

The room smells like sweat, old

close.

breathe, quieter. “Talk to

hot and shaking. “… I fucking missed you,” he mutters, voice

“Grayson…”

was?” His voice roughens, turns

nothing comes out–words

knot in my throat.

breath hot against my cheek, “Days. Nights. Fuck–I

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U/4U Mon, Sept

Chapter 112

rough and desperate. The heat of him burns

wanting to nuzzle closer and bare her teeth at the

the cut at his cheek again. This close, I see it clearer–the split skin, dark bruising

shuddering under my palm. “No,” he rasps.

who?” The words scrape out, half–broken. “Grayson, what the fuck

“Nothing.”

“What about Riot?”

rough, chest rising under my hand, shoulders bunching like he’s holding back from putting his fist through the wall again. “Don’t,” he mutters, voice gone raw, almost a snarl.

“Why?”

burning behind his eyes. “Because if I hear it again, Jess, I won’t be able to

as bone. “Stop yourself from

there and dragging him back by the throat,” he breathes, voice so low it vibrates through my ribs. “From finishing what

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

he mutters, voice barely there, like gravel dragged over stone. “Don’t make

biting through the thin cotton stretched over his ribs. “Say what he