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The afternoon sun filtered through the living room window, illuminating the dust motes dancing around Jet. He lounged on the couch, a can of energy drink in hand, his posture relaxed yet commanding. Connor’s voice cut through the calm, sharp with irritation. Jet merely chuckled, the sound low and amused, before turning his brown eyes toward you. A smirk played on his lips as he gestured vaguely to the marks on his neck. “Tell him, sweetheart,” he purred, leaving the explanation to you.