Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 151469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
I enter, avoiding her eyes, and the doors close, the whirling of the mechanisms kicking in. I ride up, questioning for the first time if James knew I’d come. Goldie’s reaction to my arrival suggests so. And I hate that. I hate that he was right.
The doors open, and my eyes find him immediately, sitting at the bottom of the stairs in his boxers. My question is answered. He knew.
But he doesn’t know why I’m here.
I step out as he rises to his feet, unfolding every glorious inch of his body. There he is. My path to oblivion. His hair looks darker. His eyes lighter. His physique sharper. The air sizzles in the space between us, and I reach for the buttons of my shirt and start to unfasten them. His face remains impassive as he turns and starts taking the stairs, his steps measured and slow, his scarred back a beacon of ruin. I drop my shirt to the floor and follow him, reaching back to undo my bra, dropping it to the steps.
When I reach the top, I kick my shoes off and start on the fly of my jeans, watching as he bypasses his bedroom and goes into his office. I don’t question it, my feet naturally following him. I arrive at the open door, finding him in his chair, reclined back. Waiting for me. And then suddenly we’re joined by music, and the track is no accident. I stare at him, struggling for air, as Labyrinth’s Still Don’t Know my Name plays.
I don’t want to know his name. I don’t care. I just want this. Him. These sensations.
He says nothing, scanning my face. Trying to read my emotions? Trying to figure out why I came when I refused him not so long ago? His eyes journey the length of my legs, and I take his silent instruction, pushing my jeans down my thighs, catching valuable air as I do, loading up, preparing. It’s a pointless endeavor. Nothing will prepare me.
His sharp stare lands at the juncture of my thighs and stays there as I remove my panties. He pushes back in his chair a little, and once they’re on the floor at my feet, I step out and wander around his impressive desk to him. He looks up at me, watching me closely as his hands find my hips and guide me until I’m standing in between his legs. He leans forward and pushes his mouth onto my stomach, and my body folds in pleasure, my hands finding his shoulders, my fingers feeling the start of the scarred flesh of his back. Soft kisses are placed across my stomach, every inch of it, and I breathe in deeply, closing my eyes. He turns his face into my arm, licking the inside of my elbow, sending shivers surging through me. I look down at the back of his head, my hand finding his hair and stroking through the wet waves. I’m here. I was always going to be here, and he knew it. Was ready. Waiting.
He looks up at me, his hands sliding onto my ass. His stare is hard yet soft. Revealing yet disguising. Reaching for my arms, he inspects my wrists, smoothing over the welts softly with the pad of his thumb. His moves are so tender, and yet his expression remains hard. Contrasting. Confusing? No. I feel like I’m beginning to read him. Understand him. He needs this too. What I don’t understand is why.
He slowly encourages me to turn away from him and pulls me down to his lap. I rest against his chest, the back of my head settling on his shoulder, feeling his soft bristle against my cheek, his hardening cock behind his boxers pushing into my ass. He takes one of my legs and guides it up until my foot is wedged against the edge of his desk. He repeats with the other, and then places his palms on the insides of my thighs, pulling them apart so I’m spread wide open to the room. My arms curl back around our heads, and he turns his face into mine and kisses me softly. How he knows I need this moment of gentleness doesn’t escape me. I certainly didn’t expect it, not from this dark, complex man. The chemistry is electric, but I feel so incredibly calm. And yet the nerves between my legs are screaming, my flesh dripping.
James reaches for something on his desk, and the next moment, the screens before us come alive.
And on all of them . . .
Us.
A still image of us.
Me, blindfolded, gagged, shackled, hanging from the suspension bar, and James standing before me naked. The same scene on every screen, but dozens of different angles. I inhale, scanning them all, taking in each one. My eyes home in on the center, largest screen. It’s a close up of his face. His wild, beautiful face. He looks drunk, dozy eyed, completely lost. In me. He was lost in me. Completely. He didn’t like seeing me with Ollie, because he’s watched this. He’s watched us. And it’s a sight to behold. Mesmerizing. Spellbinding.