Always Yours (The Always Series Book 2)

by J. P. James

  “Close your eyes,” he whispers into my ear. I do as he says, and he grabs me around the waist and ushers me across the room. Once we settle, he leans into my ear once again. “Open,” he commands. A shiver rises and falls down my spine.

  The moment I open my eyes, my knees nearly buckle. I grab onto Blake’s arm and stand in awe, trying to make sense of what’s in front of me.

  “It’s the draft. It’s the original rough draft. This is it,” I choke like there’s no air.

  “Yes, it’s the Declaration of Independence. Or part of it, I suppose,” he says. He walks to another display, expression open and welcoming. I gasp again.

  “Everyone thinks the Declaration is one document, but really, it was a series of rough drafts and memos between Jefferson, Washington, Adams, and Franklin. This is Jefferson’s most famous version. Oh my god,” I say, overwhelmed by the piece of history in front of me.

  Mr. King chuckles.

  “I’m impressed. I was a history major in college, but I didn’t know you were a history buff too,” he says while I ogle everything in the room. I feel like I can’t catch my breath. I shake my head.

  “Part of why I love DC is seeing all of the history that’s been made here. I won’t write anything as amazing as the Declaration of Independence, but someday, we’ll be a part of this history too,” I say in a hushed whisper as I caress the glass display with both hands.

  “That’s poetic, Chase,” he comments, walking behind me.

  “What can I say? I’m in awe,” I admit. I turn to ogle everything in the room.

  “Me too,” he says, looking directly at me. I meet his gaze. I know he’s not talking about the artifacts now, and I can’t help but go hot.

  He checks the time on his watch. “We should get going. With all this excitement, I hope you’ve worked up an appetite.” He extends his hand to me, gesturing for me to come close. However, my stomach growls before he can move in for a kiss. He looks down as I grin ruefully.

  “My sentiments exactly,” he chuckles. “I could use some food. Let’s get out of here.”

  We leave the private collection and make our way back to the limo. Once seated in the back, the car makes its way downtown. I’ve been here a handful of times. My family went on an East Coast trip when I was in middle school, and I came again during my internship and recently when I first moved to DC. Still, the Washington Monument somehow feels much more…I don’t know…monumental when there’s a limo involved.

  Blake knows how to make a man feel special, and I wonder if this is how every date will be – exclusive looks at rare art and books? Whatever happened to dinner and a movie? I must be the luckiest guy in the world.

  We drive for about fifteen minutes until the limo pulls up to RPM Italian, the most elegant Italian restaurant in DC. It’s a white tablecloth place, and my wallet can’t afford it. My general rule of thumb is to avoid anything with three dollar signs from critic’s ratings. Those prices usually send me running in the other direction.

  I take a deep breath and then walk in the direction of the double doors. But before I get even ten feet, Blake grabs my hand and turns me around.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks bluntly.

  “I’m going inside. I have to pee, and I’m starving. It’s literally the two worst feelings in the world,” I say as I rub my grumbling stomach.

  He laughs and pulls me along behind him.

  “Why are we still talking then? Let’s go,” he says as he drags me behind him down 7th Street. We come to a dilapidated red brick building on 6th Street, with the best restaurant in the world in the basement. It’s ten times better than RPM, and I gasp with excitement.

  “China Boy!” I yelp as my stomach growls with vengeance.

  Blake smiles knowingly. “This seemed more up your alley, and mine, to be honest,” he comments, taking my hand firmly in his as we cross the street. China Boy is by far my favorite hole-in-the-wall restaurant. It’s about as big as a broom closet, but they make the best beef chow fun in the world.

  “This place closes at five,” I say, disappointed. “Damn. I guess we do have to go to RPM.”

  Blake’s eyes flash. “I paid cash for them to host me and a guest this evening. Only us, though. There will be no one else.”

  I stare at him.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yep,” he growls, clearly pleased. “It’s kind of nice dating a billionaire, don’t you think?”

  I merely shake my head. This man has unimaginable resources to rent out an entire restaurant for himself and a guest. It’s crazy, and I love every part of it. We’re seated, and Blake looks over the menu, but I don’t even open mine.

  “Number one and number nine, please, and a pot of green tea to share,” I order politely. Blake eyes me, impressed.

  “I’ll have the same,” he says as the waiter runs off with our menus and our orders.

  “I have a soft spot for Chinese food,” he tells me.

  “All of your international travel has developed your palate for Asian food,” I say knowingly. “Makes sense.”

  He nods. “It’s amazing too. When I was your age, I worked three part-time jobs, but it hardly added up to anything. I survived off strip mall, five-dollar Chinese plates. Plus, I got a deal: if I stayed and washed dishes, I could get my meals comped. I hope you’re not disgusted by that,” he says with a sheepish grin.

  I haven’t seen Blake be bashful before now. It’s cute.

  “I’m not disgusted; I’m inspired. Why didn’t I think of that?” I reply. He looks pleased and relieved. But I would never judge the billionaire. After all, I hardly have two dimes to rub together, so who am I to talk?

  Just then, our waiter comes through the kitchen doors with two hot plates of chow fun. Behind him, a cook brings out two plates of rice noodles with shrimp. The most inviting steam wafts off of our dishes. A third staff member comes out with a pot of green tea and two cups. I pour a cup for me and a cup for Blake.

  “Reminds me of my summer in Hong Kong,” I reminisce as I take my first bite. I’d made a promise to myself I wouldn’t stuff myself senseless in front of Blake, but that was before he took me to my favorite Chinese restaurant in DC.

  I grab the chili oil and add two spoonfuls of it to my dish. Blake eyes me curiously.

  “I didn’t know you studied abroad, and in Hong Kong no less. I took you for a Paris or Rome kind of guy,” he remarks. He undoes his tie and the collar on his shirt and then digs in with me.

  I laugh and eat another mouthful of food. “French and Italian cuisine are great, don’t get me wrong. All food is heavenly. But I wanted an adventure, and even though I’d taken years of Chinese lessons, I’d never been to China. I got an internship at Guangzhou Daily, and I was so excited, I cried for hours. Talk about dramatic. That was the summer I learned to love salted duck egg,” I explain, immersed in the memories.

  Blake sips his tea and smiles. “Salted duck egg? That’s bold, even for me, and I’m a self-proclaimed Asian food junkie. I love braised chicken feet. Have you tried them?” he asks with a sparkle in his eye.

  I can’t help but grin back. Am I admitting that I’m a freaky eater?

  “Of course I’ve had them. They were an acquired taste at first. But by my last month there, I had chicken feet every other day,” I say. I sigh heavily as I recall all the food I ate that summer. It was paradise.

  I catch his gaze, and we stare at one another hotly for a moment. He’s sweating, but it looks good. It reminds me of being in bed with the heavenly man as we both strain towards release.

  “I think you’re really brave, Chase,” he says. I look up sharply, my breath hitching.

  “Is it hot in here or what?” I ask, trying to change the subject. Any more compliments, and I swear, I’ll melt into a pile of duck fat.

  “First, you’ve tried duck feet. I haven’t met a guy yet who would even consider tasting those. Second, you aren’t afraid to admit you have an appetite. It’s nice going
to dinner with someone who likes to eat,” he tells me. “So many gay boys around DC peck at their food, it’s hard to believe they’re even alive.”

  I stare at him.

  “I don’t know how else to be. I’ve always loved eating,” I say, a little shy. “And those guys do have amazing bodies. I see them at the gym, and it’s like they can press two hundred pounds.”

  Blake laughs. “It’s all steroids, and besides, you look amazing,” he compliments me. His words strike a chord and my heart hasn’t felt this happy or this full in a while.

  “So you usually go for men who eat weird things?” I ask lightly as I start into my rice noodles.

  “More like I end up dating men who refuse to eat anything but rabbit food,” he quips back. He follows my lead and takes a bite of his dish. We both sit back and let the flavor and texture melt in our mouths. He laughs in a way I haven’t heard before.

  “This is incredible. I feel like a kid in a candy shop,” he says as he fills his tea cup.

  His joy makes me laugh with him.

  “I didn’t know you were into rabbits. That’s pretty kinky,” I tease.

  Blake merely shakes his head with a rueful smile. “The boys barely ate. They were tiny twinks who thought they looked good wearing pale pink t-shirts. I think they must have been hungry, but they never admitted to it. I didn’t like that,” he says.

  I listen as I swallow an enormous mouthful of food.

  “I’m sorry, I could barely hear you over my chewing,” I say, and we both laugh. “I must be twice the size of your exes,” I half-joke. Then again, I also search his eyes to see if I’m right.

  He finishes his tea before pouring more for me and him.

  “You might be bigger than them, but you should take that as a compliment,” he confirms my statement.

  His gaze intensifies. “You have a great bod,” he growls. “Obviously, it makes me very happy.” His voice sounds low and intimate. I wonder if he’s ever admitted something like this before.

  The waiter returns with water for both of us and starts to clear our plates. Two fortune cookies drop on the table. I can feel the blush on my cheeks. I crack mine open.

  “Oh yay! It says that I have a friend in need, and I should to look out for them,” I quip.

  Blake’s eyebrows raise.

  “Who might this friend in need be? Me? I do need you,” he says hotly, his eyes suddenly blazing into mine.

  “Should we go?” I ask, my cock hardening beneath the table. It looks as if Blake’s about to say yes, but then he grabs my hand.

  “You know, I see something in you Chase. This time together has meant a lot to me. You are genuine, ballsy, and smarter than any man I’ve ever been with. I might not have admitted this a year ago, but we all have growing up to do, right? Chase, you mean something to me,” he says with conviction.

  The air in my lungs suddenly disappears. Oh my god, is he going to say he loves me? Tears well up in my eyes; I can’t help it. I brush them away and let a nervous laugh out. Then I hand him his fortune cookie, which he breaks open with a snap.

  Each day, compel yourself to do something that scares you.

  Blushing, I lean over the table toward him. He smiles.

  “What are you doing?” he asks.

  “Something that scares me,” I admit as I come closer. Leaning forward, I press my lips against his, and we share a passionate kiss right there in the restaurant. It shouldn’t be romantic with the greasy tablecloth and dingy lighting, and yet it is. Being with him has changed everything that I feel about the world, and my thoughts go crazy. So this is paradise feels like.

  Bashfully, we pull away, and Blake pays the bill. Thankfully, we have the restaurant to ourselves, otherwise the other diners probably would have been shocked. In fact, I’m shocked. I feel stunned, like a shark that’s been struck on the nose, but somehow, I know this is right and enjoying life with my man is the only thing I want to do.

  11

  Chase

  “Are you sure you want to come back to my place?” I ask him for the umpteenth time. My apartment is small and shabby, and a total sty compared to his penthouse. But Blake merely smiles and taps his knee with his fingers.

  “It’ll be fine,” he says. I nod, and taking a deep breath, I open the front door of the building and lead him through the dingy vestibule before heading towards the stairs.

  “You don’t want to take the elevator?” he asks me, confused.

  “Um, well, I would use the elevator if we had one,” I say wryly. Blake merely laughs it off.

  “Of course,” he says. “My bad.”

  Oh god. This is already getting off to a horrible start. We get to my apartment, and I unlock the door. The moment we step through it, I feel embarrassed. The place is a warzone. It looks like Vance neglected to clean up his mess because his clothes are strewn about the living room. Not only that, but there’s warm lunch meat on the counter in the kitchen, and flies are whizzing through the room. Mortified is an understatement.

  “Sorry it’s such a pigsty,” I apologize, picking up some discarded trash like a one-man Roomba. Vance said he’d be on dish duty before he went out of town, and would leave the place spic and span. So much for that! Instead, I come back to this.

  Blake bends down and grabs a handful of clothes. “I can put these in the washer. Where’s your laundry machine?”

  I stammer again.

  “Um, we don’t have one. There’s an all-night laundromat a couple of blocks away,” I say as I take the pile from his hands. “I’ll just throw these in the hamper.” I hide my face from him as I run to the back room.

  Fuck. I should have known this was a bad idea. Now I have a billionaire picking up our dirty clothes. Mentally, I resolve to curse out Vance the moment he returns.

  I come back to find Blake sitting alone in the living room. He looks tense on my puke-green couch, almost like he’s praying he doesn’t catch cooties. Oh shit. I glance at my cube TV in the corner and the other second-hand furniture Vance and I have collected over the years. It looks like a jumble sale.

  But then Blake smiles.

  “I take it your roommate’s not home?”

  “No,” I say shamefaced. “And I’m sorry we came here. It’s clearly a bad idea.”

  “Why do you say that?” the billionaire asks with an arched eyebrow. I sigh.

  “You have a penthouse with 180-degree views of the Potomac, whereas I have an 800-square-foot dump,” I mumble, looking at the floor.

  “You forgot to mention you don’t have an elevator,” he adds in a gentle tone. Despite his chiseled jaw and cheeks, his face is soft as he speaks to me. I shrug resignedly.

  “This is my life. It isn’t state dinners or private viewings of American artifacts. There’s such a huge disparity between us, and I don’t want to pretend to be someone I’m not. I’m just starting out, and trying to survive. I want you to see that. I want you to see me,” I say as I sit down and wipe my face. I straighten my shirt and try to look as confident as my words sound.

  Blake sits back and looks at me, smiling.

  “Humility and knowledge in poor clothes excel pride and ignorance in costly attire,” he quotes as he takes my hand and kisses it.

  “William Penn, right?” I ask, causing his eyes to sparkle.

  He nods. “You’re a smart one. I appreciate that.”

  Blake turns his body to face mine. We sit for a moment before he leans in, and the moment his lips touch mine, my regrets about bringing him here fly away. I feel energized suddenly, and smile through our kiss. He pulls away and chuckles.

  “You might not have money, but you have class and smarts,” he says. “A man couldn’t ask for anything more.”

  I purr a little, leaning against his chest. “I’m glad you don’t mind slumming it for a night. We can go back to your place tomorrow, I promise.”

  He takes stock of the room, looking from the wine-stained carpet to the faded curtains and then laughs again.

&nbs
p; “When I was starting out, I didn’t have money,” he says as he points at the TV. “I didn’t have a TV, period, much less one that’s operational. I had one pair of jeans that I wore and washed until the blue denim faded to white,” he tells me. His eyes glaze over like he can remember those jeans perfectly.

  I always assumed Blake was a trust fund baby, but now I know that he’s worked hard for his success. A strange sensation comes over me. I’m proud of him. My man isn’t someone who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and it makes me love him more.

  “If it weren’t for Vance, I wouldn’t have a wardrobe. Just a couple jeans and t-shirts,” I confess as I stand up. “Vance is a stylist. You know, he does fashion shows and such.” I head to the kitchen and grab two beers from the fridge.

  “Great,” Blake remarks. “To Vance and his housekeeping skills.”

  I raise my bottle and repeat his words as we toast. But I don’t drink. Instead, I fiddle with my beer for a moment. I want to say something, but I’m not sure if Blake and I are close enough yet.

  He eyes me. “What’s going on? Out with it, Mr. Adams,” he commands. I should have known better than to second guess our connection.

  “I was just thinking that it’s nice that you aren’t some stuck-up suit. You’re rich, charming, and incredibly handsome,” I say quietly, and to that, he shakes his head. “You have all of the trappings of a wealthy snob, and yet you’re so respectful and generous.”

  He leans in and kisses me again. I feel the warmth of his lips rush down my spine and through my arms and legs.

  “That’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a long time,” the billionaire says after a pause.

  “You’re not hanging out with the right people then,” I remark as I sip my beer. My lover thinks for a moment.

  “You’re right. I want to be around people who work hard, who start from the bottom and see nowhere to go but up,” he says as he sets his beer down and moves closer to me. “I want a real man,” he admits, his voice low once again. “Not someone who just wants a piece of my wallet.”

  His words ignite the fire within my belly, and in an instant, we’re kissing again. My lover takes my lips, sending me to heaven. I reach for his neck and move up as I run my fingers through his thick, black hair. I moan softly with his tongue in my mouth. Before I know it, we’re lying sideways on the couch, chest to chest, breathing hard. We must look like two horny teenagers, but I don’t mind. For once, I feel like we’re equals.