Joanne leaned forward, still sitting on the bed, and shoved at the drawer. JD held it open.
"You have wild preferences, Ms. Smith." His voice was amused, tinged with sothing almost mocking. He cocked his head, eyeing the scandalous item inside. "What is that... about eight inches? And the girth... Is that even realistic?"
He smirked, pretending to reach toward the big, long, pink pleasure thingy.
Joanne rolled her eyes, her face burning. His scent was too close—too distracting. She slapped his hand away, but he didn’t budge.
"It’s pretty realistic," she muttered. "It might be rare, but so n have it this... big..."
Her stomach clenched. Liam did.
The thought sent another wave of heat to her face—not the kind she welcod. Humiliation prickled under her skin, creeping up her neck. Between the fever and sheer mortification, she felt like she might pass out. But before that, she had to close the damn drawer.
She pushed harder, but JD still held firm, unmoved.
He had so many questions.
Where did she even get this idea? P*rn? How often did she use it? Was it a regular habit? Or was she just... extra? Was she even getting any? Had she been without a boyfriend for that long?
Before he could voice a single thought, sothing else stole his attention—Like a guard dog distracted by a dangling steak, JD went silent.
His gaze dropped—Lower.
And landed directly on her chest.
She was only wearing a slip...And she was bending down...
His brain short-circuited.
His hand tightened on the drawer. For the first ti in his life, JD understood what people ant by temptation.
She was oblivious to the effect she had on him, still struggling with the drawer, still completely unaware that the thin strap of her slip had slid down her shoulder.
She hadn’t noticed. But he had.
His jaw locked. His throat went dry.
His body reacted.
JD had always prided himself on his self-control.
As a Winchester, he was used to won throwing themselves at him—prancing, seducing, doing anything to win his attention. Even as a teenager, he never lacked admirers, and as a man, he never wavered.
To him, a body was just a body. Fat cells and tissue. Nothing more. He was desensitized to a woman’s naked form.
Until today.
Until her.
His body burned in ways it never had before. His mind scread at him to look away—but his eyes weren’t listening.
He was acting like a goddamn pervert.
And he didn’t care.
He wanted to bury his face in the softness of her chest.
He wanted to inhale her scent, to press her down into the mattress and climb on top of her, to sink deep inside her until nothing else existed—
"Oh, fuck!"
Her sharp curse cut through his haze like a blade.
JD jolted, clearing his throat and jerking his gaze to the side—away from the very thing that had just tested every ounce of restraint he had.
Was he caught?
Was he going to see the mortified expression on her face? He didn’t have the guts to see.
Joanne, however, hadn’t noticed JD’s glace. Only her inappropriate attire. She yanked her strap back into place, curling up on the bed, pulling her knees close as though she could shrink into herself and disappear.
She was never this careless.
Never.
What the hell was happening to her?
Was she... getting numb to JD’s presence?
This was dangerous.
He was dangerous.
At the end of the day, he was still a man. What if he snapped?
JD exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t an to make things worse. But he didn’t want to apologize either.
If she confronted him—demanded an explanation—he could at least say sothing. Maybe even admit that whatever the hell this was between them, it wasn’t just an accident.
Instead, since she was not saying anything, he smirked, trying to play it off.
"This is sexual harassnt, you know." His voice was deliberately light, teasing. "You’re my boss, and this might constitute as—"
"Sorry!"
The word shot out of her like a bullet.
JD froze.
He hadn’t expected that.
In this situation, wouldn’t most won bla the man? Call him a pervert? Berate him for staring?
Why the hell was she apologizing? What was her thought process?
Joanne tried to stand. Her legs wobbled. JD instinctively stepped forward to steady her, but she twisted away, refusing to look at him.
Her body swayed. She was so damn vulnerable—physically, ntally.
"I..."
Her voice cracked.
And then—
The world around her darkened.
JD lunged forward just in ti to catch her before she collapsed.
She slumped against him, her strength gone, but he had enough for both of them. He carried her effortlessly, placing her back on the bed with more gentleness than he ever thought himself capable of.
She was light.
Too light.
"I can carry you up the stairs, Jo," He brushed a damp strand of hair from her cheek, his fingers lingering against her skin longer than they should have.
His heart pounded.
He wanted to do more.
To see her lying there, vulnerable and soft, made sothing inside him snap.
He wanted her.
Desperately.
And for once in his life—
He wasn’t sure he could fight it.
JD leaned forward, pressing his lips against her cheek.
And that was not enough.
-----
The sharp chi of the doorbell yanked Joanne from the depths of unconsciousness.
Her head throbbed.
A dull, relentless pain pressed against her skull, pulsing behind her eyes. It felt like she’d been rolled down the entire Appalachian Mountain—twice—then tossed into a dryer for good asure.
She groaned, squinting against the faint morning light filtering through the curtains. Her limbs ached, her muscles stiff and sore as if she’d fought a battle in her sleep.
The doorbell rang again.
And again.
Each chi was like a hamr against her skull.
Then, just as her vision cleared, the ringing stopped.
Silence.
Her fingers moved instinctively to her face, brushing over her cheek... then her lips.
Sothing felt off.
A strange warmth lingered there, like a ghost of a mory she couldn’t quite grasp. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to rember.
There was a dream...
A dream where she’d felt warm all over. Secure. Protected. Held.
Her stomach clenched.
With a sharp inhale, she shot up.
A rolled hand towel tumbled onto her lap—dried and still faintly warm.
Her gaze flicked to her sides. Two more neatly rolled towels rested beside her, as if they’d been placed there deliberately.
Her brows furrowed.
And then she noticed—
She wasn’t wearing what she had been before.
Her slip was gone.
Instead, she was draped in a shirt.
A man’s shirt.
JD’s shirt.
The realization hit her like a freight train.
Her breath hitched.
Her fingers trembled as they clutched the soft fabric, her mind racing to piece together the missing fragnts.
What the hell happened here?
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