Adore (On My Knees Duet Book 2)

by Ella James

  “Because of me?”

  “That would be a little fucking stupid, wouldn’t it? Somebody who hadn’t talked to me in years…”

  His shoulders rise then fall. He rubs at his neck. It’s a tell of his. I noticed on his YouTube vids the first time that I ever watched them—back in fall 2016, when I found out who he was.

  He says, “I’m sorry,” at the same time I say, “The app is glitchy on my phone.”

  “Oh okay,” he says, and I say, “Don’t be sorry, Sky. Sorries are for people who have regrets. We don’t roll that way.”

  He looks down at his plate, and when he looks back up at me, his eyes are screaming. I can almost hear him say the things my ears are aching to hear.

  Instead, he shuts his to-go box and grabs one of my hands. He brings my fingers to his face. I rub his scruff.

  “It’s late. I should go. Before I have at you again and we both fall asleep here.”

  Disappointment drops my stomach. “Yeah. Okay.”

  His lips brush my cheek. “Should…but I don’t know if I can.” His hand comes behind my neck. He tugs my hair—a gentle pressure that sends chills down my back. He kisses me like I’ve got all of him—as if by some miracle, this is our moment. Then he takes both of my hands.

  “What do you think, Vanny? Want to go somewhere with me?”

  Luke

  I watch his face. The stubble and the square jaw…those soft lips of his and the long lashes, the dark brows and storm-gray eyes. Sitting with him like this—I feel like I swallowed the sun.

  He gives me a funny little puzzled smile. “Do you want me to?”

  I shake my head. “No. I just said that to mess with you.”

  He grins. “Where you wanna go?”

  “Are you too tired?”

  “Nah.”

  “When do you go to sleep?”

  He shrugs. His hands wrap around mine, and he brings my right one to his mouth…brushes his lips over it.

  “It’s almost two AM your time,” I realize out loud.

  He squeezes my hands and lets them go. “Take me somewhere.” He gets up and crouches by his suitcase. “What’s your car like, M-c-D?”

  I get up to dress, too. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see, yeah?” I don’t usually end my sentences with “yeah,” but I love it when he does. He glances over his shoulder, giving me a funny arched brow before pulling on a pair of dark jeans. He’s got on a cream hoodie with a thick vertical gray stripe down one shoulder and his torso.

  “I’m betting on a modest Acura or Volvo…” He frowns. “Although considering your suits, maybe I should go with Mercedes.”

  I smile. All wrong. He pulls on some black sneaks as I tug on my shirt. “Are those Vans?” I ask.

  He grins. “One of my friends got them for me last year.”

  “I like.”

  That makes him laugh again. “I’m glad they get the Luke McDowell seal of approval.”

  I move over to him, take his chin and whisper by his cheek, “I’ll show you the Luke seal of approval.”

  We kiss till he drags his mouth away, tired-eyed and smiling. “You’re too much for me, McDowell.”

  I feel a pang of guilt for asking him to come with.

  “How so, Mr. Rayne?”

  He frowns. “I hated how you called me that.” The words are quiet.

  “When?” Even as I ask him, I remember: at the church the other day.

  His gaze dips to his feet before returning to my face. He pulls his lips flat, gives a shake of his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

  Yes it does. I rub a hand through my hair. There is nothing I can tell him…no excuse that’s good enough for hurting him intentionally. I approached him partially to let him know not to tell Pearl we know each other. But there’s no denying it—I also sought to drive him off. By hurting him.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He steps forward a little, lacing his fingers through mine. “I knew what I was getting into when I took the job.”

  “I’m still sorry.”

  “It’s in the past, my man.” He lips brush mine, then he hugs me to his chest for just a second. “Take me away, Mr. McDowell.”

  6

  Vance

  He drives a Model Fucking S—one of those dreamy red electric Tesla sports cars. He must know I get a hard-on for sweet rides, because he didn’t tell me in advance what kind of car it is. Just said it’s curb parked by a soup joint and that it’ll light up when I get close, just from the key fob being in my pocket.

  I’m laughing like a kid as I duck into it. “Fuck yes!” There’s a tablet-looking screen on the dash, and the iconic T symbol on the steering wheel. I smile when I have to push the passenger’s seat back. I don’t know who’s been in here with him, but for sure no motherfuckers my height.

  I shove my hands into the pockets of my coat and keep my head down, keep my face out of the gaze of any cameras pinned up onto nearby buildings. Never know when some crime could happen and cops could look back through the footage. His car is distinctive, and I’m in it, and it’s after midnight.

  Luke strolls up six minutes after I get in, coming from the opposite direction on the sidewalk. I get a glimpse of someone tall in a dark hoodie—my hoodie—before he’s coming through the driver’s side door. He flashes me a smug grin, then slides the Tesla out of its spot.

  “Damn, man. This is sweet.”

  He guns it like he’s in a car commercial for a few blocks, showing off the famous fast acceleration. When I look back over at him, he’s not holding the wheel.

  “Ahh shit.”

  He reaches over, squeezing my leg. I shove his hand. “Don’t you need to…I don’t know…like shadow it or some shit?”

  Luke laughs as the wheel turns itself. “Nah.” His eyes move over my face slowly, and his faces takes on a thoughtful tilt. “You got a car, V?”

  “Yeah, and when I take it out, I have to drive myself.”

  He looks amused, but he starts steering the car again.

  “You sweating it, New York?”

  I rub my face. “Yeah. I’m a lover of the Tesla—theoretically.” I laugh at myself.

  “Ye of little faith.”

  I snort.

  He’s grinning as his right hand finds my left one and his fingers slide between mine.

  “Warm.” He squeezes, and his eyes move over my face again. “Tired.”

  “You’re tired, too. I can tell.”

  “How?”

  I move our joined hands toward his face, extending one finger. “Just under your eyes…gets puffy.”

  He smiles slowly, looking impressed. “You’re not wrong about that.”

  “I think you don’t sleep well. You fell asleep…after, in the cabin that night. On my little boat that same night, you were drifting. Had the puffy thing going on your yacht, too. The morning we parted ways.” Also in a YouTube video once. I don’t mention that, though. No reason to come off like a stalker.

  “It’s true. I’m a crummy sleeper.”

  “When you travel, does it fuck you up more?”

  “Yeah.” He hangs a left, and I notice the streets look wider…cleaner. “I’ve tried everything for sleep, but nothing helps.” Luke lifts his brows. “Got this cucumber stuff to put on my face from my stylist.”

  “Fancy boy.”

  He’s smiling, and it’s fucking cute.

  I trace my finger over his knuckles so I’m not just cheesin’ at him. Then I say the weirdest thing I could say. “I like your hands.”

  His face goes somber. “Yeah?”

  I trace the round bone protruding just a little from the outside of his wrist. “They’re really well-proportioned. Art hands.”

  His lips twitch a little. “They don’t make art.”

  “They are art.”

  I can see how my words change him. How he inhales and gets more rigid, and his shoulders lift a little. Damn, McD. How does such a superstar guy not know how to take a compliment?

  “It mak
es you uncomfortable when I say shit like that.” I fold my hand over the top of his, stroking the inside of his wrist. “Why does it?”

  He looks at the road and just keeps steering—like I didn’t speak at all—and I feel sorry that I asked. I lift our hands up near my face. “You smell so damn good, dude. Since we saw each other last, it sort of haunted me.”

  He laughs, and I know that I made my mark. “My smell? Haunted you?”

  I grin. “It’s one of a kind.”

  His hand tightens around mine. “So is yours.” He sounds a little gruff. It gets me hot.

  “What smell is that? Poor artist?”

  “You’re not poor, Vance. You’ve done very well for yourself.”

  “You been keeping track?”

  “Of course. You sell out every exhibition…and the prices have gone up.”

  “How do you know?” I’m just teasing, but his face goes somber serious.

  “Sometimes I want to buy them all.” He slows a little as we roll up to a stop sign. He bites the inside of his cheek. “I don’t. Because I can’t talk about your art—can’t talk it up—and every other customer can.” I watch him roll his lips together as we glide down the dark, tree-lined street. “Long ago, back when I had Pearl buy that first piece for me, I used to check and see if you sold out—so I could buy if not.” His eyes move over me. “That doesn’t happen anymore.”

  “Not since the work I did inside the Capitol.”

  We’re somewhere nice. It’s still urban, but the businesses have disappeared, and all the homes are stately.

  I look at him and see his jaw is tensed up.

  “You did that,” I murmur.

  “I did what?”

  Fuck his poker face.

  “Did you do that for me, like rec me? Back in January ’18?”

  “That would be a risk for me.”

  “Skywalker.” I drag it out like it’s a warning…and a big, slow grin spreads over his face. His gaze touches mine.

  “Dammit. How did you set that up?”

  “Just right place, right time.” He glances at me again with his brows arched. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I squeeze his hand. “Shit, those jobs changed my whole life. Mary on the Mayflower…and the mural I did in the East Wing.”

  “Purple Mountains,” he says, smiling.

  He slows the car as we pass an urban castle with shrub-lined grounds, and it hits me. “Oh, shit!”

  “What?” He’s all eyes.

  “That light saber. Do you still have it?”

  He gases the car a little and turns sharply right beside a regal-looking mailbox. We roll down a driveway lined with lampposts and some small trees, and I see him press something on the car’s dash before the iron gate ahead of us comes into focus. The thing starts to open, sliding into a tall cement wall that seems to surround the side of the house. I blink at it. It’s a big house.

  “This is your house.” He’s grinning. “We’re at your house, and you fucking have the light saber. Please tell me you still have it.”

  He laughs as he follows the driveway in a left curve. I see a blink of dark lawn, what looks like another fence. Then we’re facing a four-car garage. The nearest door lifts open, and we roll into the pristine-looking space beside a dark SUV.

  “This is your house?” I’m grinning like an idiot.

  “Nah.” His lips twitch as he looks up at me. “Took you to the neighbor’s place.”

  I squeeze his leg. “Hope the neighbor doesn’t care if I play with your light saber.”

  LUKE

  His low words make my dick hard. I can see him see it. His eyes glaze, and his lips curve into a slow smile. Then he reaches over, looking into my eyes as he cups his hand over my package. “These pants make me crazy,” he confesses. “So damn soft…and just a little bit tight.”

  I laugh, then grit my teeth and lean my head against the headrest as he rubs me. “Tailor has to let them out,” I say. He comes under my balls, and I rasp, “Right there.”

  “Serious? Your balls are too big for pants, McDowell?”

  “They’re bespoke. It’s not a big deal.”

  He rubs me. “Oh, I would say it’s definitely a big deal.”

  I lift my hips on a groan. “You gonna make me cream my pants in the garage?”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  I lean over and give him a rub. He’s hard as ever.

  “Mr. Rayne. Always so excited.” I put my hand over his hand that’s covering my cock, then capture his wrist. “Let’s take this to my room.”

  I look up, and his eyelids are so low, his face so slack with lust, I can’t help kissing his mouth.

  “I don’t know what sword I want to see first.” He looks tired—and joyous.

  “Who’s saying you get a choice?”

  We’re both tenting our pants as I press my finger to the lock by the back door. I keep my eyes on his face as we step inside the kitchen hallway, facing my two Rothkos. After a second, his blue-gray eyes pop open wide, and his soft Vance lips part.

  “Oh shit. I’m gonna come now.”

  I laugh at his hoarseness and the shock on his face. Then I reach out, rubbing him as he leans back against the wall. I reach into his pants and stroke his thick, warm tip—jutting up out of his boxer-briefs now. Then I take his hand and pull him through the kitchen. We pass through the living room, start down a long hall. There’s a mural on the hallway ceiling…glass-blown chandeliers…a great, vast landscape in oils by Peter Doig.

  As we pass by that, Vance’s hand squeezes mine. But I don’t want to talk about my family’s art now. I lengthen my strides, leading him past the yellow room, the gray room, the small library, music room…

  I picture his cock held to his hard, warm belly by the confine of his waistband…his thick, heavy sac drawn up below, bouncing slightly with each step past the green room, the old game room…over the oriental rug that leads to my door.

  I unfasten his pants, reach inside, and give him a few slow strokes. Then I lead him by his long cock into my room.

  His glazed eyes move around the space. I think he rasps, “Big.”

  I stroke him again. “It is big. And always so hard. Why don’t you get on the bed, Vance?”

  There’s a Dali over the carved headboard—where his painting hung until I ruined it. My regret at that is tempered by the pleasure I feel as I watch his eyes widen. He looks happy. Horny.

  “Lie down, Vanny.”

  I watch, stroking myself as he settles with his legs toward the pillows. He bends his legs, looking at my painting then the artwork on the wooden four-post canopy as he pumps himself.

  I climb up beside him, work my pants down my hips, and crawl between his knees. I squeeze myself while I lean down and suck his thick head. I suck more of him into my mouth, and his rear comes up off the mattress. He groans, “Luke.” I suck him deeper, and Vance shifts, moving so one of his legs is between mine. He raises his knee partway up, rubbing his leg against my balls.

  I push my tongue into his slit and roll his balls, taking him deep a few times. Then I think about how we’re on my bed. Vance is on my bed, and I’m sucking him off. His leg rubs my balls, and I come in a crash of satisfaction. As I groan, he blows in my mouth.

  I’m watching his face as he comes back around. I watch as his eyelids lift open. He smiles at me, drapes his hand around my nape.

  “Tell me when you made that sound that you came, too.”

  I sit on my knees, revealing cum-smeared pants.

  He smirks. “Dirty boy.”

  His eyelids drop a little, and he rolls onto his side. “Don’t let me fall asleep,” he murmurs.

  I lean down and grab him underneath his arms and drag his heavy body so his head is closer to the pillows. He gives me a sleepy smile.

  “It’s really soft.”

  “This duvet is made of silk.”

  I lie down beside him…knock some pillows to the floor and start to work the covers
down so we can slide under them. By the time I’d need him to sit up so I can pull them down behind him, he looks asleep.

  His arm lifts away from his side, and his eyelids flutter. “Come here.”

  I pull my pants off, ball them up, and drop them onto the rug. Then I reach across the bed and grab the corner of the duvet, pull it over us, and do what he asked. I lie by him…chest to chest. I wrap an arm around his back and let myself inhale the scent of him. Vance. He makes my head spin.

  Just when I’m sure he’s asleep, he kisses my throat. His big arm wraps around my back, and faster than it ever has before, sleep comes.

  7

  Vance

  These carved panels… Even in my half-asleep state, I admire the woodwork and the subtle lines of paint that accent it. The panels stretch over me. Oh fuck, that’s the canopy on Luke’s bed.

  I lurch up and look around the massive bedroom.

  Holy shit, it’s fucking gorgeous. Fireplace. Lush as fuck leather couches…rugs, an armoire. Jesus, that chandelier. My gaze jumps over all the sweet shit.

  No Luke.

  I do another slow sweep. That’s when I spot the slip of paper near the foot of the bed. I swipe it and sit back on my haunches, squeezing my erection with one hand as I read.

  Hey man—

  Got an early thing at campus. My luck, you’ll be waking up with morning wood right when I can’t watch on the cameras. Lie back down and have a good jerk. (Kidding on the cameras—none in my room.)

  There’s a bunch of stuff in the kitchen. Oat milk too.

  When you leave, go out the smaller iron door by the car gate. Code for you 091516. Your phone’s charging on the nightstand. Staff arrives 9:30 on Fridays.

  You can leave the room the way it is. No one comes in.

  Hope you slept well. I did.

  -L

  I sit there grinning for so long my cheeks hurt. I know what the gate code means. I set the paper aside, lie back with my boner, and reach for my phone. I’m still grinning as I text him.