Powerless (Chestnut Springs, #3)(65)

“Oh my god, Jasper! Fucking say something!”

“I feel like I could crumble under the weight of not wanting to disappoint you. I’m paralyzed by my fear of losing you.

His words suck all the air out of the room. Like a punch straight to the gut. I remember falling off the tire swing on the ranch as a child and gasping for breath.

He was there . . . rubbing my back and telling me to stay calm.

I open my mouth to respond, but he cuts me off.

“The thought of needing you this badly and letting you down.” He drops my gaze, shaking his head. “It fucking kills me.”

“You’re never going to lose me,” I whisper back, itching to rush forward and touch him but wanting to give him space. I don’t want him to corner him or smother him.

“I almost did lose you.” He takes a couple of steps forward, and I think he’s going to come to me. But he places the glass of water on the marble island before propping his hands there, like that island is the only thing keeping him from moving across the room toward me again.

As though he’s fighting to keep himself away from me.

“On that mountain runaway lane. To your dad’s maneuvering. To him,” he adds, eyes dropping to the ring on my finger, the one that clearly did not prevent me from crossing that line with Jasper at all.

“Then fucking take me back already! I’ve been dreaming of you for literal years and never knew you saw me as anything other than a friend.” He flinches but I’m done holding back. “I’ve been licking those wounds for so damn long, Jasper. And you’ve been too chickenshit to say anything. So say it already. Tell me what you want!”

He groans and drops his head for a beat before leveling me with his midnight stare. “That’s what I want. That’s what I get off on. Telling you what to do and having you listen. Control.” His cheeks flush bright under his stubble. “I’ve tried not to. But with everything that’s happened in my life, it’s just become . . .” He runs an agitated hand through his hair. “Part of me. But I don’t want you to do something that makes you uncomfortable just to give me that. That’s not what you need. It’s not what I want for you. I see you. I see what you’ve been through. I’ve seen these men in your life telling you what to do, using you as a pawn. And I don’t want to be another asshole telling you what to do.”

Arousal unfurls in my gut, heat leeching out into the tip of every limb. “Don’t you get it, Jas? I’ve seen all the darkest parts of you and I’m still here. I still want more. Stop trying to scare me away. It isn’t going to work.”

He looks pained now.

“I don’t want to be another man who—”

My hand slashes out in front of me, and I cut him off. “You talk about not telling me what to do, that you don’t want to let me down, but I’m sick of being treated like I’m too fragile or too pristine. I don’t want to be a damsel in distress! So stop treating me like one. I’m not a trophy. You aren’t telling me to do anything! I’m telling you I want you to take me, and you’re sitting here, patting my head like I’m stupid, telling me I don’t know what I want. If I don’t like something, I will fucking tell you. But for the love of god, stop deciding what I like or don’t like. What I can or cannot endure. What feels good or doesn’t. Stop holding back with me.”

My breathing is labored by the time I finish. Saying what’s on my mind feels good. I feel empowered and frustrated and . . . alive.

“How many times do I need to tell you for you to believe me? Before I get to hear it back?” I shake my head in disbelief at this man I know so damn well, yet not at all. “It’s always been you, Jasper. It will always be you.”

I sigh heavily. “Please tell me what to do with that.”





25

Jasper


I listen to Sloane, all fierce and determined, laying into me and being so damn right.

She’s telling me to take what I want, taking what she wants, and there’s nothing holding me back. They’ve found Beau. I’ll be able to get back to the team. The only thing left unfinished is Sloane and me.

The restraint inside of me snaps as I stare back at her. Chest heaving. Cheeks flushed. It’s like a shoelace tugged too fucking tight. I’ve been pulling back so hard that my steady hand flies back with the weight of my resistance.

Fair, unfair. Appropriate, inappropriate. It all fades away under the simmering rage and arousal of so many missed years with this woman. We came close to missing so much more.

I don’t want to miss another second. And she told me to stop holding back.

My voice comes out harsh and gravelly when I say, “Take your clothes off, Sloane.”

She startles ever so slightly, but her top teeth sink into her bottom lip, and I know she wants this just as badly as I do.

I push myself back into the countertop behind me so that I have a better view across the open living space, feeling the bite of the edge against my palms. If this is what she wants, I plan to take my time.

I plan to savor her.

If Sloane says she can handle me, then she’s right . . . Who am I to tell her she can’t?

She flicks open the top of her baggy jeans and drops them around her slender ankles before stepping out of them. Those crystal blue eyes don’t leave mine for a single second. Holding my gaze, she unbuttons the soft flannel shirt she’s wearing, light pink and cream plaid falling open to expose the unpadded pink lace bralette hugging her breasts.