She shifted her weight from foot to foot, her face otherwise blank.
“Thank you, Tony. For today. For everything. I mean it.”
The corners of her mouth lifted up. “My pleasure.” Holding the door, she pulled out her phone and tapped the screen. “I reserved a private shooting lesson at the gun range tomorrow. Seven in the morning was the only time I could rent the range exclusively.”
He cringed. That was only hours away. But he’d rather do early and empty than later and crowded. He nodded.
She followed him and Nathan through the door and positioned her back at the wall near the entrance. “Nathan, your things are set up in the guest room. I’ll show you the way when you’re done here.”
Jay strode through his sitting room and weaved through the clutter of guitars, amps, and mic stands with Nathan on his heels. He used the room as his personal studio, writing music, mixing samples, composing songs about Charlee. Their real studio was twenty feet below and stretched the length of their ranch-style estate.
At the hallway, he stopped and looked over his shoulder. “I’ve got her from here.”
Nathan’s eyebrows dipped over his narrowed glare. “I need to see where she’s sleeping.”
And Jay needed to clear the room of smoke, dope, blow and whatever else he had stashed, including the gear he was sure he’d left on the bathroom counter. Nathan knew about the drug use, but he didn’t need to be reminded of it his first night away from Charlee. “Tony swept the room. And you know where she’s sleeping. In my bed.” He verbalized the last part to set boundaries and roles, and to test the reaction.
As expected, Nathan’s back snapped straight and his hands balled at his sides. He wasn’t ready to leave her side.
“Just let him see.” Her sleepy mumble drifted over his neck and sent a tingle down his spine. “He won’t sleep well if he doesn’t check it out himself.”
Jay looked down into her half-lidded eyes and his heart thumped. He hated that she knew another man so well, but he reminded himself that their closeness kept her alive. “Good morning.”
She squirmed to get down even as her fingers combed through the hair at his nape. “It’s morning?”
He let her feet touch the floor, but didn’t release her. “It’s around two or three.”
In the circle of his arms, she shuffled backward, pulling him along by his belt loop. “Let’s see your room.”
“Our room.” He tried to skirt around her, his guilt over wanting to hide his drug cache squashed by his embarrassment for having it in the first place. “Hang on a second.”
Ignoring him, she spun out of his arms, moving a few feet beyond his reach, beyond the circle they had spent hours joined in. A chill invaded his empty arms. Her eyes widened, locked on his. Did she feel it too?
She probably wasn’t aware of her shoulders curling forward as she rubbed her biceps and scuffed her boots over the white marble floors into the bedroom. Eyes sweeping the white walls, she zigzagged around the white leather couch, the white pine furniture, and the sheet of one-way windows overlooking the pool and grounds. At the foot of the bed, she leaned against one of the massive posts and stared at the expanse of white linen.
Nathan prowled the perimeter of the room and disappeared into the bathroom. Fuck. Jay braced for the impending lecture.
“What do you have against color?” She looked around the room and eyed his black t-shirt, black pants, black Chucks.
He shrugged. “Purple leather pants are out of fashion.”
A laugh rolled past her curved lips, and she collapsed on the bed. Long tresses spread out around her angelic face and blazed rivulets of fire over the white bedding. Her flawless complexion glowed under the angled lighting as she stretched. The arch of her torso, the ripple in the hollow of her belly, and the languid blink of her eyes seeped sensuality. She was so beautiful, and so unaware of it. His muscles strained with the effort to keep himself from falling over her and ravishing her like an animal.
“Oh God, this is heaven. I mean, seriously, if I were to imagine the light at the end of the tunnel, it would be as bright as this room.” She twisted a finger around a lock of hair. “Pick a color. Tell me your favorite.”
“Red.”
She released the fiery coil around her finger like it singed her.
“Second to blue.” He stared into the depths of his favorite shade and she blinked, coughed.
“Then what’s up with the all-white decor?”
He turned toward the black sky beyond the windows and his reflection glowered back. The reason was simple. And haunting. “I don’t like the dark.”
“The shed was dark.”
Hearing his toxic shit whispered in her sweet voice built a pressure behind his breastbone.
“Jay. A word?” Nathan’s shout tumbled from the bathroom.
“Here we go.” He flashed her a guilty look before he could stop himself. Shit. He strode across the room and through the archway to the master bath, loosening his limbs to absorb the confrontation.
Fists on his hips, Nathan scowled at the waste basket between his boots. He’d emptied the cabinets of every pill, pipe, and baggie, filling the can mid-way. “Am I missing anything?”
Yeah, he was missing the bulk of it, hidden throughout his bedroom. Jay would deal with that later when he wasn’t under the watch of stabbing eyes. He shook his head.
“How problematic is this going to be?”
Jay snapped his head up. “It’s not.” He straightened to his full height. “Do your job. Protect Charlee. You don’t need to protect her from this. I’m done with it.”
Nathan glanced over Jay’s shoulder, and the stiffness fell from his expression. With a sigh, Jay turned to face her.
She stared at the waste bin, chewing a nail. “Drugs are one thing I’ve never been exposed to. Don’t have a clue what the side effects are or how hard it is to quit.” Her gaze floated up and captured his. “It’s not my place to tell you what to do, Jay. I’m just going to have to trust you.” She inhaled deeply, and her eyes spilled over with conviction. “I do trust you.” She looked at Nathan. “So drop it.”
Her confidence in him scared the piss out of him, but it also got him moving. He picked up the basket and walked through the bedroom, collecting the remainder of the stash. The sock drawer, the closet shelf, under the couch cushion, the mattress, behind the painting of the Canadian Boundary Waters. “That’s it.” He pushed the overflowing trash can into Nathan’s arms. “Boy scout’s honor.”
That earned him a distrusting glare. So be it. As soon as Nathan discarded his bounty, the estate would be drug-free, barring the random joint his bandmates kept.
Charlee reached around the trash can and hugged Nathan’s rigid body.
Jay’s pulse jumped, his jealousy rising to the surface. What did he have to offer her that Nathan wasn’t already providing? He tried to scrape up some understanding, fully aware it was the first night in three years they would be sleeping apart. Yet, she clung to him like he wasn’t going to be under the same fucking roof. Jay jerked toward her before he could stop himself.
Nathan set her away with a pat on her shoulder. “I’m getting you a cell phone first thing tomorrow.” He bent his knees to look her in the eye. “If you need me tonight…” He glanced at Jay.
“Press star seven on the intercom.” Jay stepped behind her and gently nudged her chin toward the control panel by the door. “That’ll ring Nathan’s room. And star one will send a broadcast to every room in the estate.”
Straightening, Nathan nodded. “Okay?”
“Yep.” She rubbed her hands on her thighs as if she didn’t know what to do with them.
At that moment, Jay knew he could offer her something Nathan didn’t. He slid his hands over her hips, laced them with hers, and wrapped their arms around her waist. An electric current coursed through them and they exhaled in unison. She leaned her back against his chest.
He slid his nose through her hair, soaking in the sha
mpoo she’d borrowed in his shower that morning combined with her sweet natural scent. The click of the door sounded Nathan’s exit, and they stood there, sharing warmth and affection, content to do nothing more but lean close together.
Together. A foreign concept, yet so recognizable when he could feel her heart beating in harmonic balance with his.
Her head turned toward the bed. “What now?”
He followed her gaze. Never had a woman lay upon his bed, beneath him, straddling him, curled around him. And the only one he ever wanted was minutes away from nuzzling into his private nest, against his very aroused body.
She slumped in his arms, reminding him how long they’d been awake.
He sighed. “Now, you sleep.”
She untangled from his embrace and shuffled toward the bed, tugging at her boots laces through hopping strides. Toed them off. Stripped her shirt. Her bra. Thrust her pants down her hips. Crawled over the mattress with her red-laced ass in the air.
Heat ignited in his belly and swept between his legs. He set his molars together to bottle his groan. “I’m just going to…I’m going to grab a shower.” And rub one off. Or two…or ten. He ducked into the bathroom without meeting her eyes, knowing they would lure him to his fantasy and his fantasy was very, very real.
Chapter Fifty-One
‡
A shower, a shave, and two self-induced orgasms later, Jay tied a towel around his hips and padded into his bedroom. As expected, Charlee’s steady breathing marked her restful sleep.
He dropped the towel, paced to the bed, and stopped. He slept nude, but should he now? He wanted to crawl in there naked with her, but would she think him too eager? Well, he was. Shit. He didn’t want her to think that was the only thing he thought about.
He spun back toward the closet. Did he own a pair of boxers? He dug in the back of one of the shelf drawers. Aha! Boxer briefs. He dragged the scratchy cotton over his hips and snapped the elastic band. Then he hurried back to her and eased between the sheets.
She lay on her stomach facing him, her arms cradling the pillow to her head. Her hair, full and wild, fell around the flawless lines of her back. Her auburn lashes fringed glowing cheekbones and the seam of her lips bowed up despite the relaxed muscles in her face.
He traced the hem of the sheet along the rise of her ass, shifting it lower with a careful nudge of his finger until the strip of red lace peeked out.
Blood surged to his groin. Why the hell was he torturing himself?
Soon. Very fucking soon, he would know her in every way. Even as he promised himself that, he knew he couldn’t get married to it. Not with their army of demons standing in the way.
Neither of them would ever know normal, together or apart. And while he loathed labeling her, doing so rooted him in the reality of the situation. She was a masochist, whether by nature or nurture, and he was…a lot of things, but a pain-bearer wasn’t one of them.
He’d tied up countless women, humiliated them, and took what he wanted. But Charlee wasn’t some self-seeking fan trying to attach herself to him because he was in a rock band. Her intent seemed to be shoving, scolding, and seducing him toward happiness, no matter how fucked up he was. A token of her effort was permanently outlined on his back.
He stretched his finger beneath the scratchy lace, reveling in the velvet feel of her bottom. His obsessive impulse to take care of her muddled things. Guard her or hurt her? Maybe guard her while hurting her? What a perverse notion.
Part of him understood why she needed pain, but the other part—the part that was feeling particularly sensitive and protective, considering he’d been mourning her death only hours earlier—wanted to demand she learn a more acceptable way to be with him.
He fluttered fingertips over her back, drinking in the silky feel of her. One of her arms flopped toward his face and lay on his pillow, delicate, inviting. He twined their fingers and brought her hand to his lips. Her breath hitched and fell even again.
Could he bruise her perfect body with the force of his grip and his thrusts? Could he welt her with some cruel leather implement? Could he pleasure her for hours on the edge of orgasm, torturing her without allowing her release?
His body quaked with the need to pull her against him, to drive into her and possess her. Rolling to his back, he captured her hand against his chest and squeezed the base of his erection. His dick seemed to think he could do all those things. It also knew she lay inches from him, wearing only a tiny scrap of lace.
Beating off in the shower had done nothing to assuage this insane need. Her body, their bed, his freedom was her. If he gave her pain, would her freedom be him?
What if he couldn’t bring himself to hurt her? Did that mean he loved her too much? Or maybe love meant hurting her despite his abhorrence to it.
It was the same murky feelings he often circled around when writing music. Sometimes, he would stop mid-composition and tell himself, “No. I can’t do this. The rhythm is too chaotic for mainstream. The lyrics would be misunderstood.” That was when he knew he should do it.
Was that what was happening? Did his refusal to give her pain-derived pleasure stem from some prevailing social opinion? The act of love couldn’t be governed by tradition or conformity. It was an individual choice, sometimes one that was questioned and judged, perhaps abandoned in frustration, but always returned to. Just like writing music, love was a unique, hard-earned and giving experience.
Holy shit, he loved her. The revelation budded and strengthened with each thud of his heart. For three years, he’d been in love with the idea of her. It had been the sort of devotion that breathed through his songs and embraced him in his lowest hours. It was too soon to fully appreciate the woman she was, but during the course of a single day, a sweeping, chaotic sensation had taken up residence inside him. It cowered at the prospect of losing her again, but also galvanized with a sense of duty. Love wasn’t a feeling. It was a mission. A driving purpose to fulfill her every desire, to give her a life worth sharing.
He tapped the switch on his bedside table and washed the room in darkness. Shifting to face her, he inhaled the sweetness of her exhales and cherished each breathy trace of her existence. She was his greatest possibility. His reason. His why. He would give whatever she needed to be whole and happy, because loving her was as essential as drawing air.
Chapter Fifty-Two
‡
A faraway gasp pulled at Charlee’s sleepy fog. She blinked through the dark, her eyes adjusting to the blanketing shroud. The wrinkled bedding, gray in the absence of light, was tossed back. The dip in the mattress beside her, empty.
Another distant inhale. Without moving, she squinted in the direction of the sound.
A silhouette blotted the far wall. She focused on the long, lean outline and the movement of the lower half. She needed neither light nor nearness to recognize Jay’s incredible body.
She held herself still as his hands cupped his groin. No, they stroked. One up and down in long twists of his wrist, the other kneading underneath. His briefs pooled around his ankles, the back of his head resting against the wall. The sharp angle of his jaw stretched up, scissoring back and forth, and the slivers of his half-lidded eyes glinted, watching her.
A hot wave of lust descended over her and concentrated between her thighs. There was nothing more seductive than the way his smoldering gaze raked the outline of her body as he rubbed himself with furious pumps.
The speed of his strokes escalated, and his hips thrust into his rotating fist. The muffled sounds behind his closed lips skittered quivers along her thighs. Would he finish if he knew she was watching? Peeking through the narrow slits of her eyes, she held herself immobile, enthralled by the view and the man providing it.
His shoulders bunched forward, rolling the muscles in his chest. He licked his lips, panting, his neck straining, his abs crunching. And still, his eyes remained firmly locked on her.
The sight of his nude body, impeccably defined and flexing toward clima
x, pushed her heart beat from frenzied to dangerous. He shifted his stance, spreading his legs farther apart, and pressed his shoulders to the wall. Was he on the cusp of release? Imagining him letting go made her breath catch and her stomach take on that unnerving butterfly effect. She dug her fingernails into the pillow to keep from reaching down and massaging the pulsing ache.
The twitches cascading over his body, the heat of his gaze, and the unrestrained way he rocked into his fist were too much. So completely enraptured by his lust, she jerked her hand down and covered the triangle of lace with stiff fingers, pressing against the throb as if that could possibly sate it.
His strokes slammed to a halt, chest heaving and air hissing through clenched teeth. His lips, taut with arousal only a moment earlier, slowly slid up at the corners. “How long have you been watching me, pervert?”
Holding his penetrating stare, she sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed. The sheet pulled away, and he sucked in a sharp breath.
“Not as long as you have been watching me.” She leaned back on her arms, grinning. “Pervert.”
He looked at the floor, hand clamped around his cock. “This isn’t—”
“What it looks like?”
His head fell against the wall with a thunk and he groaned to the ceiling. “I’m not usually this creepy.” Without releasing his erection, he straightened and squinted at her. “I won’t hurt you, Charlee. I promise I’ll stay right here until I calm down.”
Clueless man. “We’re going to pretend you didn’t just say that.” She slid her panties down her legs and kicked them off her feet. “Any of it.”
His nostrils flared and his fist squeezed, stroking once, twice. She burned everywhere his eyes lingered. Her breasts, her mound, her legs, darting back to her face.
“Charlee.” A pant. Another stroke.
Could she get him worked up enough to take her roughly? Would rough be enough to get her off? She raised her hand and drew her middle finger between her lips, out, in, out, in long sucking strokes, humming.
Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire Page 136
