The Hierarchy of Needs (The Portland Rebels #2) Read Online Free PDF

back on a gasp when he held her wrists down. The sound she’d made when he brushed his fingers over the damp cotton between her thighs.
    The noise had gone straight from his ears to his cock.
    Dean’s strokes turned fast and brutal, his dick as thick and greedy as it had been that night. He wasn’t a virgin, but he’d been far too amped up, worried he’d hurt her. And no one’s first time should be in the back of a truck. So he’d spent ages rubbing and teasing her, learning her body like he was learning to drive stick, memorizing every gasp and shiver until her back arched, mouth going slack as she whimpered out his name.
    Sensation ripped through him. Dean clamped his eyes shut and pressed his mouth against his bicep, silencing his shudder.
    Disgusted with himself, he rinsed his hand and shut off the spigot. He had no business thinking about her like this. There was a reason he’d promised himself to keep his relationship with Jamie strictly in the friend zone, where it belonged. She had a future, a life to live.
    He didn’t.
    Dean stepped out of the shower and snatched a towel. Two painkillers and one heavy swig of water later, he padded down the hall to his room. It was freezing in there, so he grabbed some boxers and went hunting for his sweats. He found them in a drawer, noting they fit more snugly than he would’ve liked. He had shoulders he was proud of and jacked up arms, but the abs of steel he’d once had weren’t as visible anymore—the result of a few too many beers making themselves at home in his gut.
    He didn’t like it that Jamie had noticed. Cutting back on that shit was definitely going on the agenda.
    Still too cold, he pulled one of his heavier Henleys down from a high shelf in his closet. The sleeve got snagged on something. Dean tried to wrench it free but the clothes started fighting back. One strong yank later and a whole pile of crap toppled down and landed in a heap on the floor.
    Grumbling out a curse, he began gathering up the mess. Buried under everything, so dark it nearly blended with the wooden slats of his floor, was a thin, flat, leather folio.
    Of course he’d have to see that tonight.
    Dean snatched it up with the intention of putting it back in its place, but the handle felt heavy in his hand. The contents beckoned him, calling him into a past he didn’t want to remember. Tucked inside it were a dozen of his favorite photos.
    The kid’s hobby he’d given up long ago.
    Dean sighed and sank down onto his bed. Sixteen and defiant, he’d thought school was a waste of time. What was the point in studying when he was going to be fixing up cars for the rest of his life? Goofing around instead of doing his homework was what landed him in detention, something he’d mildly regretted until Connor showed up. The kid had no boundaries. He was a powder keg, eager to fight, and Dean fed off that energy. But the persistent misbehavior brought him to an obligatory meeting with his guidance counselor.
    She’d looked at him with tired, pleading eyes and asked if there was anything other than cars that interested him. Desperate for a way out, he’d begrudgingly admitted that taking pictures was kind of cool.
    He wasn’t actually invested in it or anything. He only had a camera because his mother sent him one as a birthday present after the divorce, a shiny digital one back when that technology was brand new. It was a gift distant enough that it was obvious she hadn’t put much thought into it, but expensive enough that it would seem like she cared.
    Dean shifted the portfolio to the side and collapsed back on his bed. His parents had been high school sweethearts, married at eighteen. Mom had big dreams of a life somewhere else, of traveling and seeing the world, but Dad needed to take over the family business when his father suddenly passed away, so she stuck by his side.
    Fifteen years later, the business was struggling and so were they. Dean heard them fighting pretty much every