The Fortunate Ones
Page 45
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“Because you’re pissing me off,” I reply without missing a beat.
A slow-spreading smirk transforms his steely features.
“Then it’s probably best that you go,” he says, rounding the side of the island toward me. “I’m sure you have a lot of packing to do.”
HE’S KICKING ME OUT!
I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin in self-preservation. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Looks like I’ll be going to Spain with a shitload of baggage.”
“Good. I’ll walk you out,” he says, wrapping his hand around my elbow in an unyielding grip and all but dragging me down the hallway after him. I try to yank my arm away but he’s doesn’t budge.
“I can walk out by myself!”
And to think I actually once liked this man.
At the door, he holds my handwritten note out for me. “Don’t forget this.”
I snatch it out of his hand and crinkle it into a tiny ball. “I can’t stand you.”
“Good.” My angry outburst bounces off him. “How are you getting home?”
“I’ll walk,” I snap.
“Right, well make sure to take main roads,” he says with a tone of bored disinterest.
It’s the last straw. I curse under my breath and turn to perform a frustrated walk-run down his front path. I have visions of inflicting property damage on the way out, maybe dropkicking the mailbox or shredding a few of his precious hedges. I’m halfway to the road when he reaches me with his long strides. I’m not even aware he’s chasing after me until he spins me around and captures my wrists in a vice-like grip. With one hard tug, he draws me against him until our bodies are flush.
My mouth is open to shout at him yet again, but his lips crash down against mine in a punishing kiss. I struggle against him and his mouth turns merciless. I’m angry—livid, in fact. Tears of exhaustion and rage slide down my cheeks. I want my freedom, and I’m prepared to get it by any means possible. I even try one well-placed stomp on his foot, but he evades my assault and I grow still, defeated, allowing his lips to move over mine with fierce tenderness. Eventually, sick of my games, he pulls back and cradles my face between his hands. I’m trembling, and his stormy eyes are seeking honesty in mine. I refuse to give it to him. My gaze narrows, focusing all the anger my mouth refuses to produce.
His mouth descends toward mine again, and this time, he kisses me with such gentle affection that I can feel my heart breaking. My competing emotions riot inside of me at the precise moment he coaxes my lips apart. Wild sparks jolt through my body as his tongue slides over mine, forcing me into perfect compliance for fear that he’ll pull back and end the kiss at any moment.
He doesn’t drag me back inside, but I wish he had, because when the front door closes behind me, I have no one to blame but myself.
James takes my hand and leads me wordlessly through his house. We pass empty room after empty room, and then we step into his bedroom and he lets go of my hand to close the door behind us. It feels like a pointed move on his part, as if by shutting the door, he might be able to block out the problems of the past and future for just a little longer. In this room, it’s just him and me, just now.
I’m shocked to see furniture in this room—well, just a bed, but it’s better than nothing. I wouldn’t put it past James to sleep on a mattress he tossed onto the ground in his palatial mansion.
Sitting in the center of the large room, there’s a dark four-poster bed with a fluffy white duvet cover that sits slightly askew. I can’t help but laugh.
“Another surprise—I would have pegged you as a bed-maker.”
He strolls past to stand in front of me, blocking my view with his broad chest. I glance up to his face just as he reaches to skim his fingers up my arms. He caresses my forearms, biceps, shoulders, and then higher until he’s cradled my head so I can’t turn away. His fingers wind through my hair, and I’m reminded of how sticky and sweaty we both are. When I mention it, he doesn’t care.
“It’s fitting. I’ll burn the sheets,” he promises before tugging my head back and giving himself better access to my soft lips. I smile as he bends low and hovers his mouth over mine. My breath catches in my throat. Outside, he kissed me passionately, forcefully, but it’s clear that in here, he’s not going to take anything I’m not willing to give. I reach up and wrap my hands around his forearms before tipping my head back just another inch. It’s a silent plea, a kiss me, you fool.
He smiles and bends low, skimming his lips gently across mine. My eyes flutter closed and I let out a low moan as our lips slide open. Our tongues touch and desire builds low between my legs. He moves to grasp my waist and then he starts to work my t-shirt up. It’s gone, slipping down to the floor behind me. My sports bra is next, and then his big, masculine hand drags up from my navel to skim along the bottom of my ribcage, up to the underside of my left breast. His touch is sweet as he caresses my skin. He takes turns holding each breast in his palm, kneading the soft flesh. When I’m close to melting on the spot, he finally, finally skims his palm across my nipple. A thousand shockwaves move through me and I moan for more. He obliges, dipping down and replacing his hand with his mouth. His tongue is rough yet tender, a reminder of what he did to me back in that hotel room in Vegas.
Just when I think I can’t take another second, his fingers skim down, dragging along the top of my shorts. He dips down beneath the elastic band, sliding lower until his fingers brush across my center. My head tips back on a moan. It’s a slow give and take. His finger pads tease me with gentle kisses until I’m so hungry for more that I reach down and hold his hand still, willing him to touch where I need it most.
What are we doing? Why am I letting this happen? The rational part of my brain vies for the controls to my body, but the mutiny doesn’t last long.
When he brushes across my tight bundle of nerves, I lose my footing. If he keeps it up, I won’t be able to stand at all. I blink my eyes open to find him staring down at me with undisguised emotion—in fact, he’s looking at me as if I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and it’s too much. I clamp my eyes shut again and swear to keep them closed until it’s over, until I can regain some semblance of my sanity.
“Brooke,” he groans as his finger dips into me.
I squeeze his shoulders in response, showing him how much I like his touch, the feel of him inside me. His mouth lifts back up to my neck and he presses a kiss there, whispering something against my skin. I ask him to repeat it, but he ignores me and backs us up to the bed instead. I know where we’re headed. In a few minutes, we’ll both be stripped down, our workout clothes tossed to the floor and forgotten. He’ll guide me backward until my bare thighs hit his cool sheets, the sheets that smell like his spiced cologne, the sheets he sleeps on every night. This is his private sanctuary, the place where he rests after a long day, and probably the last place we’ll ever see each other. He’s wrapping me up in his bed and covering me with his body.
“I accused you of wanting to fight, of liking it,” he whispers. “I guess I like it too.”
…
I’m grateful that James doesn’t ask me to stay the night. It’s 12:45 AM when I summon an Uber, and I have just enough time to rinse off in his shower before it arrives. He hands me a set of clean clothes when I step out and wrap a towel around myself. They’re his clothes: a white Caltech t-shirt I haven’t seen before and some workout shorts that hang loose around my hips. I make an empty promise about mailing them back, but I know I won’t. Unlike the bike, these clothes are a gift I won’t be returning. They’re a little piece of him I’m going to keep no matter what.
He walks me to the street and opens the back door of the Uber for me. We forgot to kiss goodbye at the door, which means anything we do here is under the careful supervision of the woman in the driver’s seat.
I turn to him and aim my focus somewhere near his heart.
“When do you leave?” he asks, and I’m surprised to find that his tone is completely neutral, not hopeful or angry, just…curious.
I shake my head and glance down his street. “I’m not sure. Soon.”
A slow-spreading smirk transforms his steely features.
“Then it’s probably best that you go,” he says, rounding the side of the island toward me. “I’m sure you have a lot of packing to do.”
HE’S KICKING ME OUT!
I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin in self-preservation. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Looks like I’ll be going to Spain with a shitload of baggage.”
“Good. I’ll walk you out,” he says, wrapping his hand around my elbow in an unyielding grip and all but dragging me down the hallway after him. I try to yank my arm away but he’s doesn’t budge.
“I can walk out by myself!”
And to think I actually once liked this man.
At the door, he holds my handwritten note out for me. “Don’t forget this.”
I snatch it out of his hand and crinkle it into a tiny ball. “I can’t stand you.”
“Good.” My angry outburst bounces off him. “How are you getting home?”
“I’ll walk,” I snap.
“Right, well make sure to take main roads,” he says with a tone of bored disinterest.
It’s the last straw. I curse under my breath and turn to perform a frustrated walk-run down his front path. I have visions of inflicting property damage on the way out, maybe dropkicking the mailbox or shredding a few of his precious hedges. I’m halfway to the road when he reaches me with his long strides. I’m not even aware he’s chasing after me until he spins me around and captures my wrists in a vice-like grip. With one hard tug, he draws me against him until our bodies are flush.
My mouth is open to shout at him yet again, but his lips crash down against mine in a punishing kiss. I struggle against him and his mouth turns merciless. I’m angry—livid, in fact. Tears of exhaustion and rage slide down my cheeks. I want my freedom, and I’m prepared to get it by any means possible. I even try one well-placed stomp on his foot, but he evades my assault and I grow still, defeated, allowing his lips to move over mine with fierce tenderness. Eventually, sick of my games, he pulls back and cradles my face between his hands. I’m trembling, and his stormy eyes are seeking honesty in mine. I refuse to give it to him. My gaze narrows, focusing all the anger my mouth refuses to produce.
His mouth descends toward mine again, and this time, he kisses me with such gentle affection that I can feel my heart breaking. My competing emotions riot inside of me at the precise moment he coaxes my lips apart. Wild sparks jolt through my body as his tongue slides over mine, forcing me into perfect compliance for fear that he’ll pull back and end the kiss at any moment.
He doesn’t drag me back inside, but I wish he had, because when the front door closes behind me, I have no one to blame but myself.
James takes my hand and leads me wordlessly through his house. We pass empty room after empty room, and then we step into his bedroom and he lets go of my hand to close the door behind us. It feels like a pointed move on his part, as if by shutting the door, he might be able to block out the problems of the past and future for just a little longer. In this room, it’s just him and me, just now.
I’m shocked to see furniture in this room—well, just a bed, but it’s better than nothing. I wouldn’t put it past James to sleep on a mattress he tossed onto the ground in his palatial mansion.
Sitting in the center of the large room, there’s a dark four-poster bed with a fluffy white duvet cover that sits slightly askew. I can’t help but laugh.
“Another surprise—I would have pegged you as a bed-maker.”
He strolls past to stand in front of me, blocking my view with his broad chest. I glance up to his face just as he reaches to skim his fingers up my arms. He caresses my forearms, biceps, shoulders, and then higher until he’s cradled my head so I can’t turn away. His fingers wind through my hair, and I’m reminded of how sticky and sweaty we both are. When I mention it, he doesn’t care.
“It’s fitting. I’ll burn the sheets,” he promises before tugging my head back and giving himself better access to my soft lips. I smile as he bends low and hovers his mouth over mine. My breath catches in my throat. Outside, he kissed me passionately, forcefully, but it’s clear that in here, he’s not going to take anything I’m not willing to give. I reach up and wrap my hands around his forearms before tipping my head back just another inch. It’s a silent plea, a kiss me, you fool.
He smiles and bends low, skimming his lips gently across mine. My eyes flutter closed and I let out a low moan as our lips slide open. Our tongues touch and desire builds low between my legs. He moves to grasp my waist and then he starts to work my t-shirt up. It’s gone, slipping down to the floor behind me. My sports bra is next, and then his big, masculine hand drags up from my navel to skim along the bottom of my ribcage, up to the underside of my left breast. His touch is sweet as he caresses my skin. He takes turns holding each breast in his palm, kneading the soft flesh. When I’m close to melting on the spot, he finally, finally skims his palm across my nipple. A thousand shockwaves move through me and I moan for more. He obliges, dipping down and replacing his hand with his mouth. His tongue is rough yet tender, a reminder of what he did to me back in that hotel room in Vegas.
Just when I think I can’t take another second, his fingers skim down, dragging along the top of my shorts. He dips down beneath the elastic band, sliding lower until his fingers brush across my center. My head tips back on a moan. It’s a slow give and take. His finger pads tease me with gentle kisses until I’m so hungry for more that I reach down and hold his hand still, willing him to touch where I need it most.
What are we doing? Why am I letting this happen? The rational part of my brain vies for the controls to my body, but the mutiny doesn’t last long.
When he brushes across my tight bundle of nerves, I lose my footing. If he keeps it up, I won’t be able to stand at all. I blink my eyes open to find him staring down at me with undisguised emotion—in fact, he’s looking at me as if I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and it’s too much. I clamp my eyes shut again and swear to keep them closed until it’s over, until I can regain some semblance of my sanity.
“Brooke,” he groans as his finger dips into me.
I squeeze his shoulders in response, showing him how much I like his touch, the feel of him inside me. His mouth lifts back up to my neck and he presses a kiss there, whispering something against my skin. I ask him to repeat it, but he ignores me and backs us up to the bed instead. I know where we’re headed. In a few minutes, we’ll both be stripped down, our workout clothes tossed to the floor and forgotten. He’ll guide me backward until my bare thighs hit his cool sheets, the sheets that smell like his spiced cologne, the sheets he sleeps on every night. This is his private sanctuary, the place where he rests after a long day, and probably the last place we’ll ever see each other. He’s wrapping me up in his bed and covering me with his body.
“I accused you of wanting to fight, of liking it,” he whispers. “I guess I like it too.”
…
I’m grateful that James doesn’t ask me to stay the night. It’s 12:45 AM when I summon an Uber, and I have just enough time to rinse off in his shower before it arrives. He hands me a set of clean clothes when I step out and wrap a towel around myself. They’re his clothes: a white Caltech t-shirt I haven’t seen before and some workout shorts that hang loose around my hips. I make an empty promise about mailing them back, but I know I won’t. Unlike the bike, these clothes are a gift I won’t be returning. They’re a little piece of him I’m going to keep no matter what.
He walks me to the street and opens the back door of the Uber for me. We forgot to kiss goodbye at the door, which means anything we do here is under the careful supervision of the woman in the driver’s seat.
I turn to him and aim my focus somewhere near his heart.
“When do you leave?” he asks, and I’m surprised to find that his tone is completely neutral, not hopeful or angry, just…curious.
I shake my head and glance down his street. “I’m not sure. Soon.”
