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His smirk is salacious. Dirty. It’s knowing. “I want you all to myself,” he whispers, guiding himself to the juncture of my thighs and slipping the throbbing head of his erection across my pulsing flesh. I cry out, bowing violently, straining against my bonds. “Is that a problem, Beau?”
“Stop,” I beg, as he circles my clit with his cock, his free hand grabbing my jaw.
“You want me to stop?” he asks, slipping his thumb past my lips and circling my tongue. “Then say my name.”
“Which one?” I gasp, and then yelp when he changes the direction of his flesh slipping on mine, pushing closer toward my opening.
“The name you know.”
My internal walls scream, trying to grab his cock and pull it in, trying to get the friction it needs. My jaw tightens, my eyes narrowing. “Stop it,” I order. He knows I’m not telling him to stop this. I’m ordering him to stop purposely fueling my intrigue.
“You stop it,” he counters, tackling my mouth hard, fisting my hair at my nape, holding me steady as he starts increasing the friction between my legs, driving me wild. The feel of his arousal, firm but soft, plays havoc with my nerve-endings, tickling them, teasing them. Our tongues tussle, our teeth clash, our moans collide. “You’re burning up down there, Beau,” he pants, biting at my lip and returning to my mouth, continuing the clumsy, frenzied kiss.
Heat sweeps through me, working its way to my head. My muscles start to stiffen. My mouth becomes urgent on his, my arms yanking and pulling at the restraints, my legs solid. I’m going to come so hard, and there isn’t a doubt that Dean will hear it. “James,” I say in warning, though all the signs tell him.
The friction is suddenly gone, his mouth missing from mine, and I growl my frustration as my orgasm retreats. He reaches down and yanks my jeans off, taking my flip-flops with them, and then seizes behind my thighs and yanks me onto him. He slips into me with no guiding. No holding. No encouragement.
“Yes,” I whisper, my forehead falling onto his shoulder. “Yes, yes, yes.”
He groans, holding still, and the feel of him beating inside of me brings my vanishing orgasm back with a vengeance. “How are your arms?” he asks, his voice still hard.
“Numb,” I admit. Every ounce of blood in me seems to have gone to my head and my core. “Finish it,” I order, and he rolls teasingly, turning his face into my neck and kissing me way too softly.
“This will never be finished,” he murmurs.
I open my eyes, gazing across the bathroom to the door. “Good.” I lift my head, turning into his face, finding his eyes. I see too much freedom in his gaze. Too many promises. And too many secrets. I hold his stare, lowering my mouth to his and nibbling at his lip. He quickly turns it into a kiss, and then gets moving again, thrusting into me steadily and firmly, no rushing, no urgency. But my release soon comes, and when James’s fingers dig into my thighs, his hips becoming rigid, I know he’s with me. It seems to hit us simultaneously, and we both jerk and whimper, prisoners to the pleasure. Our bodies roll. Our groans meld. James chokes a little, releasing one hand and grabbing the rail above us, clinging on, holding us both up, as our rolls transform into shakes and our groans become broken rather than smooth, the nerves of my clitoris pounding, my walls squeezing him unforgivingly.
He stills, and I become limp, the strain on my wrists becoming painful. The sound of our labored breathing is golden. “It’s a no from me,” he pants into my shoulder, and I sigh drowsily.
“You don’t like it?”
“No.”
“What’s not to like?”
He peels his skin from mine and lowers me to my feet, reaching up to the leather holding me in place. “You living alone, that’s what’s not to like.” My hands are quickly free, and they fall like lead to my sides. I wince, and it doesn’t escape James’s notice. Taking an arm in turn, he starts massaging some life back into them, checking the welts, which are red and raw again. “I don’t see why you don’t just stay with your uncle. What’s the rush?”
“There’s no rush, hence I’ve been at Lawrence’s for nearly two years.”
“Then what’s the problem?” He looks up at me, and I detect something in his cool eyes I haven’t seen before. Worry. I’m sure it’s worry. I’m surprised James is encouraging me to stay with Lawrence after my uncle was so rude to him. So, is there more to this?
“There wasn’t a problem, but now you’ve made me feel like there is a problem.” I gently pull my arm from his hold and find my jeans, pulling them on while I watch him closely. “You’re making me suspicious,” I admit, but what I could be suspicious of is beyond me. He’s a stockbroker, for God’s sake. Wealthy, lives in a glass castle, has cameras everywhere, fucks random women with no apology. Everything I learn about James results in more intrigue, and it’s getting to the point I’m losing the battle against my head, which is telling me to keep my mouth and ears shut. Just take what you need, Beau. Take that and nothing else. “Is there a problem?”
