CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I can only imagine what the scene looks like from James’ perspective: he strolled into the crowded bar and found me sipping drinks with another man. Martin’s still turned toward me, brushing his leg against mine. I could tell him to back off, but there’s no need—he won’t do anything now that James is here. As soon as he approached us, I noticed a lull in the conversations around us. Everyone is holding their breath, waiting to see if there’s going to be a standoff between James Ashwood and Martin Stone. Every tech blogger in the room has Twitter open and their thumbs at the ready.
Martin sweeps his gaze from James down to me. He’s confused, clearly.
“Your date? She just said she wasn’t waiting for anyone.”
I want to make things perfectly clear. James might have flown me to Vegas, but the second he stood me up at dinner, I stopped being his date. “I’m here alone.”
“Brooke—”
“You heard her, James. She’s not your date.”
James’ grip tightens on my shoulder and a shiver escapes down my spine. I don’t want him to read my emotions, so I turn back to the bar and take a long sip of my drink, hoping one of them will leave before the situation escalates to a point of no return.
“Plenty of seating over there, James,” Martin suggests with a stern tone. He wants to be my knight in shining armor so badly, but unfortunately, he’s acting as a pawn in this game I’m playing with James. I should tell him that, but then James steps back and releases my shoulder. I glance up and meet his gaze in the bar’s mirrored backsplash. His features are etched in stone, that intimidating jaw is clenched, and while the fury in his eyes should warn me away, I arch a brow and meet it head on. Your move, buddy.
Fire blazes between us, and I think he’s going to grab Martin by the scruff and yank him off the barstool beside me. He seems angry enough to do it, but then I watch as he slowly overcomes his baser emotions. The tension between his brows eases slightly, his jaw loosens, and I can’t be sure, but I think he’s trying to fight off a little smile. I narrow my eyes, trying to figure out his game. He tilts his head and waits patiently. He’s not going to make a scene, isn’t going to explode with jealousy. He’s James Ashwood, after all. This isn’t his first rodeo.
We’re having a fight without words, and Martin is completely oblivious.
“Listen, bud, you look pretty tired. Maybe go rest up for your big keynote?”
James holds my gaze and completely ignores him. I want to squirm in my seat or fan my face, something to ease the tension between us, because I know he won’t do that for me. If I want this to end, I have to be the one to speak up.
“Martin, I’m sorry for the confusion.”
He rears back, clearly having expected me to side with him after all this.
I reach for my purse. “Let me pay you for the drink.”
That makes James laugh under his breath, which only further pisses Martin off. I’d feel really bad for causing so much drama and embarrassing Martin if he wasn’t so damn sure of himself. The man’s face is hanging on a banner in the lobby—he could use a healthy blow to his ego every now and then.
He refuses the twenty I try to hand him, and when he vacates his seat, he brushes past James with a hard hit to the shoulder. I brace myself for James’ reaction, but instead of escalating the situation, he shakes his head and steps forward, claiming Martin’s barstool.
The difference between Martin and James is night and day. When Martin sat beside me, I wasn’t hyperaware of every move he made. With James, I’m jumpy and nervous, anticipating some kind of consequence even though I did nothing wrong.
We sit side by side for a few minutes without a word. I know he’s had a long day, and while I’m annoyed with him for standing me up, I don’t necessarily want to talk about it at the moment. Instead, I pass him my drink in silence and he takes a long drag, finishing the last of it.
When the bartender returns, he orders himself a whiskey neat then turns to me.
I shake my head. “Nothing, thanks.”
I can’t continue drinking without dinner. I’ll pass out, or worse, I’ll tell James how much I missed him today.
“Have you eaten?” he asks.
“No.”
“We’ll order something when we go back up to the room.”
My stomach dips.
The room. Of course.
It’s hard enough sitting beside James in a crowded bar, let alone following him back up to our suite. I keep my gaze down because it’s easier than meeting his eye, but even that isn’t safe territory. His strong thighs press against the fabric of his suit pants. His hand bridges the small space between us and grips my leg. Goose bumps bloom across my thigh as he brushes his thumb back and forth along the sensitive skin inside my knee.
“Brooke?”
“Hmm?”
He leans closer when I don’t look up. “I like that dress,” he says with a whisper against the shell of my ear.
I glance down at my lap and nibble on my bottom lip.
His thumb continues to skim back and forth across my knee, lingering for a moment in the hollow before claiming the bare skin an inch higher up my leg. I like that he can’t keep his hands off me. I put thought into my dress, picking the exact silhouette that would make me feel most confident. My hair and makeup are weapons, temporarily forgotten after sitting alone at the restaurant for so long. Now, I remember why I needed them in the first place; I can’t keep up with James unarmed.
My fingers ache to reach out and touch his raven-black suit. I want to feel his muscles tighten beneath the soft fabric. Instead, I fist my hands on my lap. James chuckles and turns to accept the drink from the bartender, taking his hands with him. My skin tingles from the ghost of his touch, but I use the moment to regain some ground.
“How was the conference?” I ask, proud that my voice doesn’t shake.
He stands and reaches into his wallet for his cash. He only arrived five minutes ago, but apparently he’s too anxious to sit at the bar for long. He downs some of his drink and flags down the bartender to pay his tab.
“James?”
He ignores me, tugging a few bills out of his wallet and sliding them across the bar. His hand grips my upper arm and when he turns to walk away, I swivel on my barstool, forced to follow after him or fall flat on my face. His hold on me isn’t painful, but there’s also not much room for negotiation. He leads us out of the bar and toward the hotel’s elevators.
My cheeks flush with embarrassment as people turn and watch us.
“What’s wrong? James?”
My heels clap against the marble floor as we beeline through the lobby. The doors of the elevator are already open, waiting for us. We step inside and he presses the number for our floor. The doors whoosh closed, we start ascending, and then he turns to me. My pulse jumps.
“I missed you today,” he says, his heated gaze lingering on my body.
I step back, and he follows.
He looks like he’s cornering his prey.
“Apparently not enough to make it to dinner,” I point out icily.
“I called the restaurant and told them I’d be late. Didn’t they tell you?”
I cross my arms and glance away.
“Brooke.” He steps closer and gently lifts my chin, forcing me to look back at him. “Fight with me tomorrow.”
I narrow my eyes, angry with him for shelving this discussion so casually. To him, it doesn’t matter that I sat in that restaurant alone, looking like a fool for nearly two hours. He’s brushing off my anger, stepping closer and forcing his way past my defenses.
“I think I’d like to talk about it now.”
I catch the beginning of a smirk just before he leans in to kiss my cheek.
“Are you sure there isn’t anything you’d rather be doing right now?”
He uncrosses my arms and brings them up over his shoulders then steps closer, towering over me. My arms tighten around his neck, but still, I turn away, keeping my mouth from him. His breath hits my neck and he pulls me taut against his hard body, growing more impatient with every moment I try to resist.
“Brooke,” he whispers huskily.
My eyes flutter closed as he bends and presses a kiss to my cheek, my chin, then lower, tipping my head back so he can reach the smooth recess at the nape of my neck. I shiver and he groans, obviously aware of what his touch is doing to me.
Torn between wanting to submit to my desire or hold my ground, I turn toward him, and his mouth crashes down on mine without warning. He kisses me mercilessly even as I struggle against him. My hands fight their way between us and I try to shove him off, but his ironclad embrace is too strong for me to break. I know I won’t be able to outmaneuver him, so I resist in a simpler fashion by holding completely still. He can force me against him, but I don’t have to respond, and I don’t have to kiss him back.
My rebellion makes him even more annoyed. His grip bites into my hip and his mouth moves over mine relentlessly. All the while, I ignore the sparks of desire stemming from his touch. I tell myself I would be reacting this way if any man kissed me like this, not just James. His kiss turns punishing, and I respond by digging my nails into his suit, hoping to break skin.
We’re ascending so quickly. I know any moment the elevator will ding and announce that we’ve arrived, but something changes in that short time. His touch turns from brutal to sensuous. His lips move over mine with tenderness. His hand drifts down my back in a slow caress, easing me closer until our bodies are flush. He’s rock hard and unyielding. I moan against him and fist my hands into his suit pockets.
The elevator dings and the doors whip open.
I break our kiss and inhale sharply, trying to fill my lungs like a madwoman. James wastes no time hauling me out of the elevator. It’s a few feet to the door. He swipes the key and we push inside, halfway through before our mouths collide. He opens his lips against mine and his tongue sweeps into my mouth. My purse is tossed across the room and his jacket follows. I tear at the buttons on his shirt and he reaches around to fumble with the zipper on my dress.
Our passion is fueled by our impatience. The last button springs free and I drag my hands up his toned chest and past his shoulders, taking the fabric with me. It slides down his arms and onto the floor, leaving his toned upper body completely bare. I feel my slip dress starting to slide down my body, but I’m too preoccupied with him, with his powerful, tan shoulders and arms on full display to stop it. I watch the muscles flex and coil as he yanks the garment the remainder of the way off. My strapless bra is already slipping down, halfway concealing my chest. I think he’s going to tug it off like he did with my dress, but instead he hauls me up against him and walks us into the suite’s living room. I’m a feather in his arms, and then I’m falling through the air, caught suddenly by the couch. He stands over me, his large frame bathed in bright neon light from the Vegas strip. A swath of dark blue darts across his face, and when our eyes meet, it gives him an animalistic glow.
I try to adjust myself to sit up straight on the couch, but before I can, James bends down and grips my thighs. With a hard tug, he drags me to the edge. I prop myself up on my elbows and watch as he steps closer.
His eyes drag down my body. It’s a suggestive perusal, as intimate as if his fingertips were following the same trail. I usually don’t care what people think of me, but I’m desperate to know his thoughts as he bends down onto his knees and pushes my legs apart so he can fit between them. His eyes are hooded, his touch searing. He drags his fingertips across my thighs and my stomach quivers. Then he grips them and inches them just a little…bit…farther…apart until the backs of my thighs hit the couch. Apparently pleased with my position, he skims his fingers higher across my stomach, and then up and over my bra. There’s no rush as he follows the line of the material, dragging his finger pad over each cup. My toes curl. With slow precision, he works the material down, and then my chest is bared for him.
I fight the urge to squirm, instead lying perfectly still as his hungry gaze moves over me.
“Brooke,” he groans. Then, as if he just can’t help himself, he bends low and takes one of my breasts in his mouth. His tongue drags across my nipple and I cry out, arching my back to give him better access. He stays there just a moment, teasing me before he stands back to his full height.
He unbuckles his belt with deft hands. I reach up to replace his fingers with mine and slide it out in one smooth tug. The metal belt buckle hits the ground with an audible clunk, highlighting how little sound there is in the hotel suite, nothing but our breaths coming hot and fast. The tension ratchets up another notch as we meet each other’s gaze. I can only imagine what he sees in my light eyes—everything, no doubt, every ounce of desire surging through me. I blink and cut off the connection, turning instead to the zipper of his suit pants. I tug it down and he pushes the material low before stepping out of them, exposing his long, muscular legs. He obviously spends hours in the gym lifting weights or running or doing some other form of torture that produces results like this. I’m very appreciative, and my sly smirk says so.
James reaches down and strokes across the bottom of my breast, feeling the weight of it in his palm before rolling my nipple between his thumb and index finger. I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to keep my mask of indifference right where it belongs. I’ve never felt this…this frenzy before, this need to get under his skin. The thought scares me and I try to push it aside, but it’s like he knows how close I am to begging him for more and wants to stoke the flame.
He bends low and brushes a seductive kiss across my lips before whispering, “You’re so beautiful.”
His voice is hoarse and raw, so damn sexy that I reach up and grip the back of his neck, tugging him down against me. His hands hit my thighs and he bends low so he’s on his knees between my legs. It almost feels like he’s submitting to me, but I know better. I doubt this man has submitted to anyone in his entire life.
His hands squeeze my thighs, ensuring that I stay spread eagle on the edge of the couch. My panties are still slightly askew, just enough so that when he tips his head and glances down, I know exactly what he’s seeing. A low groan escapes his mouth and I feed on it, letting my legs fall open just a little bit more. His fingers bite into my thighs and I try not to smirk. Maybe he wasn’t submitting to me before, but he is now.
He loops his strong arms around my legs and tugs me until I’m lying horizontal on the couch, my legs bent up in the air. Before I can process the new position, his mouth hits my inner thigh, close enough to hint at his true destination. Dear god, I’m going to implode the moment his tongue strokes across me there. I try to squirm away, back to sitting up, but he forces my legs apart and pins me down. His finger tugs my panties to the side and I’m utterly exposed with nowhere to go. I’m forced to feel every one of his breaths as it hits the skin of my parted legs. Every instinct in me screams for release, but as soon as his lips descend, I pinch my eyes closed and embrace my lack of control.
I’ve been here before, but never with someone like James. There’s always been a lack of confidence, a grip that’s a little too gentle, a hand that’s a little too rough. When James sweeps his tongue across me, it’s with desire and intent, a hungry sort of lust that fills me with power. I lift my head and watch him between my thighs. His need is obvious in the way he stares, eyes wide and gleaming, like he’s a thief who’s just found the crown jewels. He dips low and his tongue licks across me slowly, just once before he pulls back and meets my gaze. Tension sizzles between us and he holds eye contact as he bends low again, this time dragging his tongue across me until he lands at the very top, swirling until my hands fist his hair.
I squeeze my eyes closed, let my head tip back, and release his name on an exhale. My voice sounds hoarse.
He picks up the pace, lapping and licking me quickly so there’s no time to resist the orgasm building inside of me. The first few waves of passion build and build, and just before they crest, he pulls back, blowing cool air on me until I’m squirming for release. Then he bends low again, kissing and sucking gently until my hips are grinding up to meet his mouth, desperate for him to continue. I’m sweaty and raw, a mess of emotions fully exposed to him. There’s no limit to how long he’ll drag out this torture. Maybe he really did miss me today, and maybe he really was jealous to find me at the bar with Martin, because right now, he’s punishing me for both.
I yank his hair and he growls, finally pinning his mouth on me and licking with enough speed and pressure to build my orgasm to a peak. My back arches off the couch and my head falls back. I see nothing but blackness behind my closed lids as I moan his name again and again.
The climax rushes through me with such force, such power, that I feel invigorated when it’s over. It’s like a jolt of caffeine to the system, a powerful surge of energy that makes me hungry for more. Without warning, I sit up and leap onto him. We fall back onto the floor of the living room and our nearly naked bodies collide for the first time. Soft curves meet hard muscle. My dark hair fans out around us. He reaches up and cups my breasts, and the feeling is so intoxicating that I give in completely to the kiss he presses against my lips. We’re impatient, hot. Weeks and weeks of anticipation built this moment.
His hands grip my ass and he pulls me down hard against him, rolling his hips in a maddening pace. I moan and fist my hands into his hair, hating the fact that our underwear separates us. The friction is teasing and suggestive, but I want to feel his smooth hardness against me, in me.
His hands dig into my flesh as his hips roll and grind, teasing me until I’m close to a second orgasm. Just like this, high school-style, over-the-clothes grinding—no. I deserve better. I deserve the real thing. I reach down and yank my panties aside, barely noticing the sound of lace gently tearing. He would have to stand to allow me to pull his boxer briefs all the way down, so I make do. I lift my hips just enough and tug until he’s exposed enough for me to pull his hard length out of the material. The sound he makes when I sit back down on him, flesh to flesh, is nothing short of a growl.
We are animals.
Hungry.
Impatient.
Wild.
“Brooke,” he groans as I roll back and forth across him.
Teasing.
Taunting.
So damn close to letting him slide into me.
I’m reminded of our talk so many weeks ago, and it hits me: we need a condom, NOW. I’m about to tell him that, but he’s quicker than me, reaching back for his pants with one hand. He hangs them upside down, shaking them out until his wallet falls to the floor with a heavy thunk.
I laugh.
He finds a thin packet, tears it open with his mouth, and then I reluctantly lift off him so he can slide it on with smooth confidence.
My body is shaking with desire and excitement. I know he’s going as fast as he possibly can, but it’s still not quick enough. My fingers dig into flesh. He groans and rolls the condom all the way down. We don’t wait, don’t take a breath. I angle him just right with my hand and then he pushes into me with one sumptuous thrust.
“JAMES.”
My second orgasm tears through me as I cry out. His mouth covers mine with passionate kisses, and then he picks me up and flips us over so I’m on bottom. The smooth rug cushions me from below as James hovers over me, cast in neon light. God, he’s sexy. The way he moves. The way he holds himself up on one arm and stares down at where we’re connected, where he drags out of me slowly before thrusting back in. I shudder.
There’s too much to focus on: the muscles jumping in his sharp jaw, his abs flexing and straining under the effort when he pulses in and out of me. I reach up and drag my palm across his chest and then I move lower, hooking my hands around his hips and making sure he pushes in as deep as he can possibly go. My eyes squeeze closed as I try to keep up with his unyielding rhythm. He starts moving so fast that pleasure brushes against the boundary of pain.
He tells me he’s going to come, and it’s such a sexy, bold declaration that I know I’ll soon follow. I’m panting. He’s groaning. We’re so in sync, I feel myself clench around him as his body starts to heave and shake. I look up and watch as his orgasm contorts his features into a mask of ecstasy.
When it’s over, he collapses on top of me and I stare up at the ceiling, relishing what it feels like to have his weight stealing my breath. It’s just enough to keep me in the present moment, to keep my brain from overthinking every move, every kiss.
“Brooke,” he whispers.
I hum.
“I promise I won’t miss dinner ever again.”