Letting Go (Thatch #1)(46)

“And looking amazing,” he murmured as he reached for my hand and pulled me down so I was sitting on his lap.

“Amazing?” I asked against his lips. “Somehow I doubt that.”

Jagger leaned back and gave me a look. “You have no idea how amazing you look in my clothes.”

The gravel in his voice was enough to make a shiver go through my body, and I sat up to crush my mouth against his. His hand slowly ran up and down my legs, each time going a little higher, but nowhere near high enough. I wanted to ask him to touch me, but couldn’t find my voice even though the words were repeating in my head. Pushing away from him without ever breaking the kiss, I slid one leg over his lap so I was straddling him, and slowly rocked my hips against him.

His hands went to my hips to press me harder against him, and a low growl rumbled up his chest as I continued rocking against him. Jagger dropped his head and slowly ran his nose between my breasts before moving over to suck on one of my nipples through the shirt.

My phone chimed from where I’d left it on the other side of the couch, but I ignored it until it chimed again, and again, and again.

Jagger lifted his head and looked over for a second before reaching for it.

“It’s probably just my mom.” I leaned forward to kiss his jaw, and couldn’t stop the giggle that sounded in my throat when I said, “She asked me earlier if we had protection, and I never responded.”

Jagger’s body went rigid, and the hand that was still on my hip gripped tighter. “Grey,” he breathed.

I sat back quickly at his tone to look at him. I’d been expecting him to laugh or look embarrassed because of my mom, but instead he looked like someone had just beaten the shit out of him. He looked weak, exhausted, and pale.

“What is it?” I asked, my voice rising in panic. I tried grabbing my phone, but he held it away. “Jagger, give me the phone!”

“Grey,” he whispered. “I’m here, okay?”

“What happened? Is it my family?” I practically shouted, and this time when I reached for it, he handed me my phone.

I looked at the screen, and my blood ran cold when I saw the Facebook message pulled up.

Ben Craft: Grey, I love you.

Ben Craft: Please don’t do this to us.

Ben Craft: How could you?

Ben Craft: You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.

I stared at the phone for a few more seconds before my stomach roiled and I jumped off of Jagger and took off for the bathroom. I threw up what little I’d eaten before we’d gone out to the lake and sat on my knees, hunched over the toilet as sobs racked my body.

Jagger came in and pulled me back into his arms, sitting up against the wall with me pressed close to his chest.

“Why?” I choked out, and his arms tightened.

“I don’t know, baby. I’m so sorry.” He paused for a second, and hesitantly said, “I think you should block his account, Grey.”

“Do it,” I said shakily, then took a deep breath and said more decisively, “Do it so they can’t do this anymore.”

He sighed softly and stood up, pulling me with him. “Come on, let’s go back out there.”

I stopped long enough to rinse my mouth out at the sink, and then let him tow me toward the couch. He pulled me onto his lap again, and I curled my head under his chin as he grabbed my phone. After a minute, I heard the soft thud of my phone hitting the cushion and felt both of his arms wrap tightly around me.

“It’s done.”

I didn’t respond. I just clutched his shirt to my face as the relentless tears continued to fall down my cheeks.

It’s over, I told myself. It’s over.

MY EYES SLOWLY blinked open and focused on the empty side of the bed beside me. Letting my hand run over the comforter until my mind caught up with me, I finally remembered I was at Jagger’s, but didn’t know when I’d gotten upstairs to his bed. I felt groggy, and my eyes were scratchy, and it was then that the events of this afternoon all came back to me. The messages, blocking Ben’s Facebook account, Jagger holding me as tears steadily rolled down my cheeks.

Quiet footsteps sounded on the stairs seconds before Jagger appeared at the top, his steps faltering when he saw that I was awake.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Did I wake you up?”

I shook my head and pushed myself up until I was sitting against the headboard. “What time is it?”

“Late. You’d been asleep for five hours the last time I looked at my phone.”

“Five hours?”

“And that was probably an hour or so ago,” he guessed.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” I looked down at his blackened hands and raised an eyebrow. “And how did I sleep through your music?”

A smile flashed across his face seconds before his lips softly fell onto mine. “I used earbuds so you wouldn’t hear it, and I didn’t wake you up because you’ve hardly slept in the last week and a half. Let me get all this off my hands. I’ll be right back.” He quickly walked into the bathroom, and I rubbed at my sore eyes.

Six hours was more than I had been getting in two nights combined, and somehow, it still didn’t feel like enough.

“You doing okay?” Jagger asked when he sat in front of me on the bed.

“With what happened?” When he nodded, I continued. “Yeah, I am . . . I guess. I’ve been constantly worrying about what would pop up on my phone the next time and when that time would be. Knowing whoever is doing this doesn’t have that way of communicating with me anymore feels nice.”