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“Sure.” Dean lowers to a stool. “Take your time.”
“I will.” James cocks his head at me, and I inhale, my chest expanding. My waning stability becomes ricketier as he seizes my hand and pulls me, and I feel Dean’s stare follow us.
“The TV room,” I say as he tugs me through, my skin tingling, preparing, bracing for his touch.
“Lovely.”
“The view.” I look over my shoulder, smiling awkwardly when I discover Dean looking at us, alarmed.
“Great,” James mutters.
“The dining area.” I blindly point at the table and chairs I know to be somewhere in this vicinity.
“Amazing.” He drags me on, unperturbed.
“James,” I hiss as Dean disappears from view and I’m yanked into the master bedroom. “Bedroom,” I breathe, and James releases my hand and places a palm on my shoulder, walking me forward. To the bathroom. I hear the buckle of his belt clang, and then the unmistakable sound of it being pulled free of the belt loops of his trousers. Oh Jesus. My mind is yelling at me to stop this, but my body is absolutely begging for him. “Bathroom,” I whisper on a shaky breath when we enter, hearing the door close. My purse slips from my hold, hitting the floor, and when I glance at the mirror, he’s looming behind me, looking ready to strike. Jealousy. Possessiveness. It’s written all over him, and I’m wary of it.
His eyes turn to something, and I read him, following his gaze to the solid metal bar that’s suspended from the ceiling, attaching the shower screen to the wall. I’m damned if I can say no. And he looks far from prepared to accept a refusal, anyway.
I wander across to the shower and stand below the bar, raising my arms, and his chest is pushed to my front in a second, his hands working expertly and blindly above me, his intentions burning holes in me as he stares, daring me to back out. I won’t. Can’t. There’s no room to consider where we are. Not past the inexorable lust. I’m out of my mind on James, and that’s the best kind of crazy I’ve ever felt. And, strangely, I realize what’s about to happen isn’t intended to release me from anger, from pain, from fear. But him? This will be a possessive fuck. He needs me. But just fucking someone shouldn’t involve possessiveness or jealousy.
The warm leather of his belt rubs against my wrists, and I look up to see my hands bundled together, bound above my head. I breathe out. It’s wobbly, my heart thrashing double time. I feel James’s palm frame my cheek, and I let my gaze lower. I’ve never seen so much conviction in a stare. The agent could breeze on in here at any moment, although after encountering James, he might think twice. But that could be part of the game for James. The risk. He said it himself. I know firsthand that being watched isn’t a problem for him.
Jesus, what am I doing?
“Did you miss me?” he asks, dragging his fingers down to the buttons of my shirt. He starts unfastening them one by one as I battle to find some air and some words. “Beau?” His hands stop, his head tilts, his eyes blaze. Demand. He’s not rushing. He really couldn’t give two fucks if Dean walks in on us. “Did you miss me?”
“I missed this,” I say quietly. Today was as long as a day could be. I was restless, my thoughts chaotic, jumping between James, Lawrence, Zinnea, and whether Nath has found out anything about Mom yet.
“This is me,” he says roughly. “This is us.”
“What are you saying?”
He pulls my shirt open and yanks the cups of my bra down, and I jerk, harder still when he takes my breasts and molds firmly. “I’m saying there is no this if there is no us.” He undoes the fly of his trousers, unfastens a few more buttons of his shirt and pulls it over his head, and then works my fly, tugging my jeans down my legs to my ankles, leaving them there, effectively restraining my feet too. I look at the ceiling, every brain cell consumed by a need inside simmering dangerously, ready to bubble over and have me screaming his name. But I still manage to read between the lines of his words. What he’s saying, James-style, is that only he can do this to me. No other man. No one. Only him.
“What are you going to do?” I pant, knowing there’s no chance of penetration when my legs are unable to spread. “Tell me what you’re going to do.” I need to prepare. It’s a crazy claim. I could never be prepared for James. But always ready. Always willing.
When he doesn’t answer, I find him again. His thick cock rests in his hand, being stroked slowly, every muscle in his chest rolling smoothly. “Oh God,” I breathe, knowing the level of torture I’m about to face, restrained, unable to touch him or myself. This won’t be escape. This will be hell. “James.” I look at him with pleading eyes, shaking my head. I will have to depend on him, and something tells me he’s not in an accommodating mood. I’m blaming Dean. Or James for being unreasonably possessive.
