Ensnared (Brutes of Bristlebrook, #1)(48)

Instead, he lifts his hand from my belt and cups the side of my face. A few strands of inky, satin hair fall over his forehead.

He’s not teasing now. He’s not severe. Dark, grave eyes caress my face.

Tension coils inside me, and I tremble under his grip. I’ve never seen him look at me this way, not even in the depths of a scene.

“You seem very taken with her,” he says softly, and I can feel his breath on my mouth.

My erection strains for attention, but there is an inch of space between every part of our bodies, except where his hand holds me in place. Where he stops me from floating away. I feel magnetized against him, like that space can’t be closed. Like it won’t ever be, not with us.

“So do you.” My words are just as soft as his, but they’re glass in my throat. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. He looked at her like he was captivated. Owned. Alive.

But not at me.

Not like that.

I’m not usually a jealous person, but I’m jealous of him. I’m jealous of her too. I’m jealous that it’s so uncomplicated for them to be together but for some reason it’s the hardest thing in the world for us.

It must be because I’m a man, but the conversation has never been on the table, and I’ve been too chicken shit to ask. I never wanted the confirmation that there’s no hope for us.

“She could be the solution to a problem of mine.” Jasper rests his forehead on mine, and my breath falters at the contact.

His thumb moves along my jaw. He hesitates, and the moment is so unlike Jasper, I wonder if I’ve been transported to some other reality. Finally, he murmurs, “If I asked something selfish of you, would you do it?”

A shiver courses down my spine, raising gooseflesh on my arms. My mouth dries up. God, I want him to be selfish with me.

I want him to take and take until I’m wrung out and spent. Part of me wants to make a joke, to lighten the mood, because he can’t be saying what I think he’s saying—and if I’m wrong, it really will destroy me.

Because there’s this other part of me that doesn’t have a sense of humor at all. That part of me is desperate, and lonely, and has ached for him to touch me like this for too many years to count.

“Anything. I’ll do anything for you,” I whisper, finally meeting his eyes.

I’m shaking, my body fighting against this rising tide of hope. He wouldn’t look at me like this if he didn’t care, right?

His grip tightens painfully. Then his forehead rolls against mine, just slightly. “You don’t even know what I’m asking yet,”

he mutters, letting out a sound suspiciously close to a groan.

It goes right to my dick. He’s confusing me now. For the first time since I’ve known him, he seems undone.

“Jasper? Sir?” His eyes come back to mine, full of a banked heat that thrills me. “Are you okay?”

He doesn’t answer, but the pad of his thumb brushes over my lips. I shudder, caught. My every atom zeroes in on that single point of contact.

His thumb drags over my lip harder, smearing it. Owning it.

“Don’t sleep with her.”

The words are halfway between a plea and an order. They hang in the air for too long.

“Why would you . . . ask that?” My stomach is in knots. I can’t tell if I’m thrilled or horrified. I think I’m both. I try to move my head back so I can think—so I can breathe—but he holds me tight. “You of all people shouldn’t be asking me that.”

“I know.”

“Years, Jasper. It’s been years. And she likes me. I won’t have to be— Damn it! You’re doing this now?”

No. Okay. I think I’ve got a handle on this. I’m definitely pissed.

I push him off me and get some distance even though my heart tries to carve its way through my chest and leap back into his arms. Stupid thing is a masochist.

Okay, all of me is a masochist. It’s no excuse!

“Lucky, I know,” he repeats.

The use of my nickname pulls me up short. I’ve never heard him use it. Not once.

“Are you going to promise the same thing?” I demand.

I look back at him and the delicate line of his throat works. He sighs, looking at the floor, which, really, is answer enough.

But . . .

But.

He’s achingly beautiful in this moment. Rumpled and vulnerable and raw. I wonder how many people have ever seen him like this.

Jasper has unspooled me before, and I’ve curled up at his feet and thanked him, but I never thought I’d see him unravel.

“I know it’s cruel. I know it’s unfair. But . . . I’m asking anyway.” Jasper swallows, and his voice is unsteady as he adds, “Please.”

Please.

Fuck.

Drawing in a tremulous breath, I have to ask, “Why?”

My voice is too hoarse. My erection has long since deflated—but this isn’t about that.

He shakes his head once, and I laugh, a little surprised at how strangled it sounds. “No. You can’t ask something like that and not even give me an answer. Even I’m not that much of a pushover.”

“You’re not a pushover,” he snaps, dark eyes flashing like lightning in the night. “Being submissive with me is not the same thing.”