by Kacey Shea
“That’s not fair.” His jaw tightens and the tension winds tighter, like a band about to snap.
“No?” I challenge and lift my brow, begging him to argue.
“I’ve never lied to you. I never would.” The gravelly scrape of his low tone sends a thrill up my spine and my body comes alive, not with adrenaline this time, but need. Desire. Want.
I don’t dare open my mouth, even to argue, because I’m absolutely sure if I do, he will sense my longing. Besides, he won’t change my opinion with words when it’s his actions that garner my mistrust.
His gaze drops first, and then he practically shouts, “See!” His finger shoots out, pointing at the floor near the doorway. “That’s what someone slipped under the door. And the air conditioner was off.”
It is warm in here, but there’s a steady stream of cold air pumping from the ceiling vent.
“I turned it back on,” he says, as if he can read my thoughts, and shrugs in defeat before brushing past to retrieve the letter. “And the peephole was blocked. I wasn’t making that up.”
“It was a sticker,” I grumble, and take the envelope from him. It’s hotel watermarked and the flap is sealed shut. I peel it open, and inside is a note handwritten on matching stationary.
New set. 24-48 hours. Expect link.
I tilt my head and hand over the letter, having no clue what this means. But I want a full view of Austin’s reaction in case he does and won’t tell me.
His eyes widen for a fraction a second, and if I weren’t staring critically, I would have missed it.
“You want to tell me what that means?” I tilt my chin and blow out a breath.
“No clue.” He passes it back to me as if it’s nothing.
“Really?” I carefully fold the letter and place it back into the envelope, choosing my next words wisely. He’s hiding something. Or protecting someone? Either way, I don’t want him on guard. If he senses my suspicion he might close off completely. “Maybe the hotel staff got the wrong door?”
“Maybe.” He shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and shrugs.
So, that’s how he’s gonna play this? Fine. I’ll bring my own tactics. “Thirsty?”
His gaze shoots to mine with a stare so hot my lips suddenly feel parched. He lifts his brow. “You offering to help?”
I swallow hard at the innuendo and tip my chin to the bar. “You were drinking.”
“Right.” He nods and I swear he almost appears disappointed. In me? In himself?
“You left the party early.” I don’t know why I keep pointing out the obvious, but I can’t seem to stop. Tension builds in the air with our silence. I don’t entirely trust myself when it comes to Austin.
“Yeah, well.” He rocks on his heels before flicking his gaze to mine. “The only person I wanted to hang with was unavailable.”
My heart rate picks up, my pulse racing under the implication of his words. He couldn’t be referring to—?
“You left,” he blames.
“I was working.”
“Was?” His brow lifts with challenge.
“Am. Still.”
“But you’re here with me now.” He drags out the words.
My body does the strangest thing, tightening with hyper-awareness of how close we’re standing, and at the same time straining to lean closer. “Because you were supposedly under attack.”
His chuckle scatters goosebumps across my flesh. “I feel like an idiot.” He smiles that damn smile. As if it’s just for me.
“Why did you post that video?” The question flies from my mouth before I have the good sense to keep it in. I shouldn’t care so much about his words and the disappointment he filled me with tonight, but I do.
“The one we made?”
I swallow and conjure a confidence I don’t necessarily feel. I already brought it up, no use in backing down now. “The part you added at the end. The message for me.”
He nods, evaluating me as if he’s unsure of how to proceed, but he must settle on a decision quickly because he takes a step forward, his gaze steady and open. “I’m not sure whether you’re aware, but I like you, Jayla.”
I like you. What does that even mean? His stare leaves no doubt, but his behavior at tonight’s after party? “You also liked that woman at the bar.”
His lips tug at the corners and the trace of his smile appears. “I thought I could make you jealous.”
I lift my brows and roll my eyes. It worked, and I hate myself for it. But I’m not interested in playing games. Spinning on my heel, I turn toward the door.
He catches my arm. “Wait. Jay. Stay.” He moves in front of the door. “I was stupid. I am stupid. But if we’re laying things out, being totally honest, I thought maybe I’d find a woman to bring back here tonight.” He reaches his hand out as if he wants me to hold it.
I raise my hands in front of my body to ward off his advance, or maybe it’s to push away the hurtfulness of knowing he intended to sleep with someone tonight. Someone who was not me. “Don’t.”
His eyes cloud with sincerity, and even his lips turn down in a frown. “Stupid idea, because like I said before, there’s only one woman I want.”
I stare, unwilling to do more than inhale a shaky breath. I won’t admit how much his words stoke the hope building in my mind. I should walk out of this room right now. But my mouth must have other thoughts. “So then, why did you come back here alone?”
“You, Jayla. You’re the only one I want.” His declaration takes me by surprise, and next, his lips. The remaining space between us disappears in one long stride of his feet, and then his chin dips, his heavy lidded gaze holding mine right up until the second his mouth presses over mine.
My pulse races, my body heats, and then I’m opening my mouth to him, eager for a taste.
His tongue brushes across my lips, soft at first, and then dips inside, possessive and tangling with mine as if he can’t get enough. He shuffles forward, his hands at my hips, and I let him lead until my back hits the wall.
Panic flares at the sensation, but damn it, I won’t let my past steal this moment. My hands reach for his chest and I push. Maybe a little too hard, because he stops kissing me. Our breaths mingle together, ragged and out of control. My chest brushes against his with each deep inhale. His gaze searches mine, but I don’t want to talk about why I freak out every time my body feels caged in. I want his lips back on mine. I need this. Need him.
I shrug my shoulders and allow my small backpack to slide off my arms until it hits the floor with a thud. Snaking one of my hands into the nape of his hair, I thread my fingers through his locks and tug his lips back to mine. He doesn’t attack my mouth this time, probably still confused as to why I stopped to begin with. But it gives me the opportunity to set the pace, to lead, and my anxiety fades as my lips move against his. With my other hand, I press against his chest and move us until the backs of his legs hit the sofa.
“Sit,” I demand, rough and low. The desire in my voice surprises my own ears.
Austin doesn’t argue, or skip a beat. His butt hits the cushion. His hands skim up the backs of my thighs, his eyes searching mine as I stand over him. My hands settle on his shoulders for balance and I straddle his lap, my knees pressing into the cushions on either side of him before my mouth finds his again.
His hands skirt along my hips, then slide back to squeeze my ass.
No!
Panic flares and I rip his hands off, gripping his wrists tightly and pressing them into the couch, a safe distance from my body. I expect him to question, or at the very least stop kissing me back, but instead he groans, releasing the most erotic sound. His hips lift and his hardness presses against the apex of my thighs.
He’s into this.
This might actually work.
I resist the urge to sob, because fuck, it’s been so long since I’ve had sex—good sex—and this is Austin, the man I dreamed about, the boy I once thought hung the moon, and if I’m honest, the guy who
’s consumed my thoughts since our lives became intertwined once again.
I suck his bottom lip into my mouth and nip it before resting back on my heels. I release his hands and resist the urge to grind down on his erection.
His gaze is molten, hot and heavy with lust, but he waits for me to make the next move.
“I like to be in charge,” I say.
He doesn’t even blink. “You have my full cooperation.”
Fuck. That’s hot. I reach for the hem of my shirt and peel it off, slowly, but it snags going over my head. My eyes fly wide open and I fumble with my earpiece. Dear God! I hope I didn’t broadcast our make out session to the entire security team.
I’m weak with relief when I find everything still muted. I climb off Austin’s lap and step away from his gaze to check in with Brian.
“Everything okay, boss?” he asks at my call.
Okay? It’s fantastic. My gaze drifts to Austin, half-naked and notably aroused, sitting a few feet away, and decide for once in my life to throw caution to the wind. I don’t do impulsive. I don’t take uncalculated risks. But between the heat in Austin’s gaze and the wetness between my legs, I allow temptation to lead. “I need you to take over for the rest of the night. Can you do that?”
“Sure. Yeah.” Surprise tinges his tone. “You feel okay?”
It’s a loaded question, but I reach for a bit of truth to justify my actions. “I’m fine. Just following up on a lead. If you need anything, or any issues arise, call my cell.”
“Got it,” Brian says.
“And remind everyone about the briefing tomorrow morning.”
“Conference room, nine o’clock sharp. On it.”
“Thank you,” I say, and end the call. Austin’s gaze trains on my body, and I swear he leaves tingles with each sweep of his eyes. I turn off my earpiece, remove my holster and gun, then kick off my shoes—all the while meeting Austin’s stare. This man. He drives me to do crazy things. Things outside my comfort zone. The desire from one look emboldens me to ditch my pants too, before strutting over to him in nothing but my bra and panties.
“You’re so damn gorgeous,” he whispers, his gaze greedy but body unmoving. Because he respects me? Because he’s giving me permission to lead? Either way, this moment between us feels safe. Sacred. He’s mine—maybe not for long, but for this night—and for this fraction of time we’re the only two people who exist.
“Take off your jeans.”
He shucks them down his hips, kicks them out of the way, and leans back onto the sofa. His erection is obscene, hard and pressing to escape those tight boxer briefs. He’s bigger than I remember. Or maybe the last time we were together I was too embarrassed to stare. That, and I had nothing to compare him to. Not anymore.
His lips quirk as I close the space between us.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“Nothing. I like when you look at my dick.”
“Yeah?” I release a soft laugh.
“Yeah. He promises not to embarrass himself this time.”
“He?” I straddle his hips again, this time allowing my hands to run up and down his chest. “You refer to yourself in third person now?”
He shivers at my touch, his voice raspy. “No, my dick promises.”
“Sure he can keep that promise?” I tease, reaching between us to stroke his length over his underwear. Wanting to feel him, I slide my hands under his waistband and wrap my hands around his hardness. I squeeze firmly, stroking him, and relish in the power I feel when he lets loose a groan.
Austin coughs out a laugh, and his entire body flexes as if touching him causes him pain. “Not if you keep that up.”
I let go of his hard-on and find his gaze. “Sorry?” I murmur and lift an eyebrow.
“Fuck.” He grins back. “Don’t apologize for anything you’re doing right now.” His hands come up to cup my face, and he arches up away from the backrest to brush his lips over mine.
I kiss him back, but when his hands move to wander down my neck, I reach for his wrists and press them against the back of the couch. “Hands here,” I murmur against his mouth.
“Yes, ma’am.” His fingers dig into the upholstery.
We kiss again, and this time I allow myself to get lost in the touch of his lips, our soft moans, and the brush of his tongue inside my mouth. My sex clenches with each delicious movement, and the scraps of fabric separating us do little to contain my wetness or his hard length. Without meaning to my hips move, grinding myself along his cock in search of release from the pressure building deep in my core.
God, he feels good. So good, and I’m close. Closer than I’ve ever been. That is, if I don’t count the times I’ve gotten myself off alone. Adjusting my movements, I grind down harder and my clit brushes against his pelvis to bring me closer with each swivel of my hips. My fingers leave his shoulders to tangle in his hair and tug at the strands.
He groans and his hips lift on a thrust to match my movements. Yes, right there. His fingers brush over my hip once before gripping my butt.
I shake my head, grab his wrist and pin his damn arm back to the couch. “Keep touching me and I’ll use my cuffs.” My threat comes out harsher than I intend, but I can’t contain my frustration at being pulled from the moment, especially after being so close to orgasm.
His face lights with desire, and the lust in my veins amps up at his gaze alone. Even his length hardens further against my center.
“You want me to tie you up”—I cock my head and study his reaction—“don’t you?”
He holds my gaze—so damn serious, a rarity for him—and then nods. He likes it. Or at least the idea.
My colleagues used to brag all the time about using their cuffs on their sexual partners. Their wives and girlfriends liked being tied up and at their mercy. That’d be a hard no for me, but I’m not like most women. Guys joke about wanting to play with my cuffs, but that’s only because they imagine getting to act out some low-budget porn where the bad guy fucks the cop. I consider telling this to Austin, but there’s something in his gaze, a vulnerability that makes me believe he’s not joking. He actually wants this. And if he’s restrained, I don’t have to worry about him touching me. About the ghosts of my past barging their way past his fingertips and painting my skin with shame and disgust. I could let go. Totally.
“Okay.” I nod, still holding his stare. “Don’t move.”
His gaze widens, as though he didn’t anticipate I’d take him up on the offer. But it’s full of excitement, not fear, so I climb off and grab my bag from the floor.
I walk over to the bar, needing space to calm my racing pulse. The anticipation of what we’re about to do, of my own excitement, is almost overwhelming. But I want this. Him. And that’s all the confirmation I need to unzip one of the pockets and remove the metal handcuffs. I turn to him and take in my fill of his body. Sexy. Masculine. Ink sprawls over his skin like paint on a canvas. He’s a work of art.
“Take off your underwear,” I demand.
Again, he follows my directions without argument or verbal sparring. This version of Austin is different. But his dick bobs as if it can’t wait until I return to shamelessly rubbing myself against him and chasing my release.
I can’t wait either. Reaching around my back, I release the clasp of my bra and drop it to the floor.
“Oh, fuck, yes.” Austin groans, watching intently as I return to him. His eyes shift between my naked breasts and the restraints dangling from one of my hands. In the depths of his irises I find my own desire reflecting back.
Standing before him, I bend over to reach for one of his hands and stand to circle the metal restraint around his wrist. He offers me his other hand with total trust. The sharp click of the cuffs practically echoes off the walls as I slide and lock each one into place.
We should move to the bed. It’d be more comfortable for him. But I don’t want to break this spell we’ve created or chase another freak-out on my part, so instead I raise his arms over his h
ead and help him settle onto the couch so his head rests on the sofa’s arm and his body lies stretched out across the cushions. His long legs don’t have much room, but he makes it work by bending one and hanging the other off the side with his foot on the floor.
“Please tell me you have the key.” He chuckles, a low and throaty sound as I discard my panties and straddle his thighs.
“I lift my brow. “Already backing out?”
“Fuck, no.” He almost groans, and we both glance down at his bobbing erection. “I just don’t want to be stuck here forever. I do have a show tomorrow.”
“They’re not too tight?” I climb over his body, my fingers caressing his skin from his chest to his shoulders, and then the length of his arms to slip a finger between his flesh and the metal cuffs.
“Perfect,” he mutters, his face pressed between my breasts. Before I can sit back, his mouth captures one of my nipples and laves his tongue across the sensitive flesh.
My sex clenches and a groan escapes my lips.
He continues to suck my nipple, only releasing it with a pop when I sit back on my heels.
Taking his length in my hands, I stroke the soft skin over his hard flesh, determined to drive him insane with need. To bring him to the same crazy lust I feel inside myself. His hips attempt to buck off the couch, but without the use of his arms, my thick thighs hold him in place. The head of his cock beads with precum and I gently brush it away with the pad of my thumb. My actions are meant to drive him wild, but my own anticipation builds with each touch of his skin. The wetness of my desire grows with each sexy groan that falls from his blessed mouth. The need to have him inside me overcomes my intention to keep this controlled.
“I want to taste you,” he says, his gaze zeroing in on my pussy.
Jacking him with one hand, I use my other to dip two fingers inside my core. He watches. I love his eyes on me. Love how he stares as though he can’t get enough, or I’m doing something so captivating that it’s the only thing that matters. I pump my fingers inside myself a few times, the wetness filling the silence. His eyes practically roll back into his head on a groan.
