I almost lost my nerve at the Alexander. It was one of those swanky places with an awning at the entrance and a doorman waiting to usher me into the building. The lobby had a horrible patterned carpet—some kind of linked chains in cream and blue—with uncomfortable-looking furniture that would have been at home in Jane Austen’s drawing room. Still, it was a four-star hotel. I could only hope the accommodations were better. I told the concierge I was expecting Flynn and to give him my room number when he arrived.
As I let myself into the room, I breathed a sigh of relief. There was a huge, king-size brass bed with crisp white linens and about forty-seven pillows. Okay, I’m exaggerating slightly. The carpet was a quiet tan and harmonized with the beige and white bedding. The dressers looked as though they might be real antiques. Ditto the brass lamps. The room was larger than it had looked online, with a big sofa and another table at the far end. Plenty of space for entertaining guests. I rubbed suddenly sweaty palms against my thighs and hoped it would all be worth it.
There was a knock at the door.
Flynn was there.
Chapter Six
I OPENED the door and stepped back to let him in.
He moved into the center of the room and stopped to flick back the ends of his jacket so he could rest his hands on his hips. The new jeans molded to his body as though he’d been poured into them, and I appreciated the view. Slowly he turned to face me. His expression wasn’t quite shuttered. I’d gotten used to the blank expression he often wore, particularly when he was feeling closed off about something. I’d seen that look a lot since he took me out of the hospital, usually when Charles was present. I had no idea what it took to master that peculiar sort of facial shield, or if it was meant to keep me out as well. It was like a barrier coming down, with me on the wrong side of the airlock, hammering at the thick glass and shouting into the void. It was like being on the outside of a soundproof booth and wondering if he could hear me.
Some of my doubt must have been apparent, because I got Smile Number Four, the half smile, the one that engaged one side of his mouth, self-deprecating and slightly encouraging at the same time.
I could work with encouraging.
Something about the way his eyebrows pulled together and the skin around his eyes tightened said he had a problem, though. He indicated the room with a wave of his hand. “This must be costing you a fortune. The clothes, the car, the hotel….”
Good thing he didn’t know about the cookware. Or the coffeemaker. Seriously, one fifty was not too much to pay for a really good coffeemaker. “It’s my money to spend. Stop looking at me like you need to take me in for another MRI.”
He grinned at that one. “Well, you got to admit. It’s a bit out of character for you.”
“Is it?” I looked around the room. “I like nice things. I have money. I don’t see any reason not to indulge myself every now and then.”
“As long as it’s only every now and then.” I could see the tension ooze right out of him as he dropped the stiff, hands-on-hips posture. If there had been something to lean on, he would have done so. I just knew it.
“What about you?” I came forward. I was still well into my pseudo James Bond persona, so my voice practically purred. “What do you like to indulge in?”
I swear to God, he had the look of a deer that had just been spotlighted. Hitting a nerve, eh?
The tip of his tongue made a brief pass over his lips, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen anything so hot. Which was both exciting and frustrating, at the same time.
“I, er, uh, well, I kind of like it when you… you know, take charge. Like this.”
“Wait, what? Let me get this straight.” James Bond was forgotten. “Are you telling me you like it when I’m pissy and demanding?”
“Not pissy. Um, forceful,” he mumbled. The tips of his ears turned bright red, which was incredibly endearing. They must have burned, because he immediately rubbed one of them, as if he could make it stop.
“You’re telling me,” I said, taking a step closer with every word, “that you find something inherent in my nature—something I couldn’t possibly change, even if I wanted to. You’re saying you find this hot?”
I ended up in front of him. He had just a couple of inches on me in height, but I felt seven feet tall.
He swallowed. “You, ah, probably don’t remember the last time we… you know.”
“Had sex? It’s okay. You can use the adult words.”
John pursed his lips in a sour expression. “Are you going to let me spit this out or not? Because—”
“I know, I know. Articulating your feelings is difficult for you.”
This time his cheekbones joined the blush party. “You know, this is why I haven’t brought this up before. I knew you’d take this kind of attitude.”
He started to turn away, but I took hold of his arm. “No, c’mon. I’m sorry. You just caught me by surprise, that’s all. You were telling me about the last time we made love. What? What is it you need me to know?”
He took a deep breath but didn’t resist my grip. Interestingly enough, he didn’t meet my eye either. “Okay. You know how watching movies you’ve seen before helps you to kind of zone out? To get away from the pressure of remembering everything all the time?”
I nodded. No wisecracks.
He lifted his gaze to meet mine. “Well, when you take charge in the bedroom, that’s how I get. In a zone. A good place. A place where I don’t need to think for a while.”
“Wow.” My thoughts were racing. Who would’ve known? I was going to have to do some research, because it sounded like I was in way over my head. Perhaps I’d have been better off if I had taken Jean to a BDSM toy store on our shopping trip.
“No.” John put his hand over my mouth, as though I’d continued speaking. “I can practically see the wheels in your head spinning. No Wikipedia on this one. No haunting online forums or asking questions at sex shops.”
Pooh, as Jean would say. He was taking the fun out of it. I couldn’t help it. I licked his palm.
His eyes half closed, and he didn’t move his hand. “Just go with your gut, Jer. I don’t want textbook. I want you.”
Hot damn. I dragged his hand away from my face, pulled him into me until we bumped chests, and kissed him with all the pent-up passion and frustration I contained. It poured out of me like lava, threatening to burn everything in its path. But man, what a good way to go. We pushed and pulled at each other’s clothing, lips locked as if magnetized, unable to stop kissing long enough to shed our clothes. My sunglasses fell to the floor and almost got stepped on. John’s jacket got stuck coming off his shoulders, and for a moment we broke apart, laughing at the ridiculousness of John’s inability to free his arms.
That’s when the idea hit.
“You. Hold that thought. Stay here.” My eureka moment made my voice rise with excitement, but damn, this was a good idea.
Instead of questioning, John just looked at me. His dilated pupils made his eyes dark and unfathomable.
I backed toward the door, patting my pockets to make sure I had both my wallet and the room keycard. “Stay!” I ordered again. I paused to look over my shoulder as I opened the door. “Better yet, get naked. I’ll be right back.”
I took the elevator to the lobby and started for the concierge, only to hesitate when I saw him assisting a well-dressed couple checking in. I thought asking where the vending machines were located would cause my stock to drop another few notches in his eyes. I could almost hear my ex, Derek, saying, “Honey, your Southern white-trash roots are showing again.” Which was really a pisser. A failed relationship I could remember, but the one I wanted desperately to recall? Not so much.
I shook off the image. Derek was the last person I wanted to think about. Besides, hotels like the Alexander probably didn’t have vending machines. Most likely the staff brought a bucket of ice to your room, complete with—yes! That’s what I’d do.
Bypassing the front des
k, I walked to the far side of the narrow lobby, where I could see a gift shop. The young woman at the desk had slipped off one of her heels and was rubbing her instep against her other foot, but she perked up and surreptitiously put her foot back into her shoe when I entered the store.
I didn’t waste any time.
“I was wondering if you could help me. I have a few things I need on short notice, and I was hoping you might have them in the shop.”
“I’ll certainly do my best.” She gave me a winning smile and came out from behind the elegant counter.
I smiled back. The gift shop was the kind of place where you could buy anything—from candy to light reading material, souvenirs, and cubic zirconium bracelets that could pass for the real thing. Anything the young, wealthy debutante might need for a night on the town, or a convention attendee who’d forgotten his cummerbund. It was a little bizarre. “I need a tie to go with a business suit. Preferably solid in color.”
That was a request she could easily handle, and she walked me to the men’s section, which was stocked with cologne, shaving items, hairbrushes, and even designer-label underwear. She pointed out the couple of choices in ties, and I went straight for the silk straight ties. I chose a nice Hugo Boss in navy blue with a barely noticeable pattern of squares, thinking I’d at least be able to wear it for work sometime. The thought of wearing something on the job that would evoke certain memories was kind of hot, if you know what I mean.
She made an approving sound. “So many men today prefer a clip-on tie. We have to stock a few, just in case. But I think there’s nothing like a real tie.”
“The mark of an up-and-coming young businessman is the ability to tie his own necktie. Or have a partner who can tie one for him.”
Her smile grew wider. “Yes. Exactly. Is there anything else you need?”
My breath caught at the sight of the royal blue bathrobes. I couldn’t help myself. I reached out to stroke the plush softness. “The same as the ones in the room?”
She nodded, her smile taking a turn for the wicked.
“I’ll take two of those. Put them on the room charge, along with the necktie.” I was going to have to go back to work soon to pay for it all, but I was on a giddy power trip.
“His and Hers?” she asked.
“No, His and His.” I waited just a second for her to get it, and then winked at her.
Her eyes widened, and then she looked back at the necktie in my hands. She caught her lower lip in her teeth, glanced up at me, and smiled slowly, appraisingly. Her gaze flicked over the phone number written on my cast. I could see she was going to have plenty to share with her friends at happy hour tonight.
My eyebrows all but shouted “smug,” I’m sure. Let her think I just picked up some guy in a bar, for a night of kinky sex. The truth was even better. “Do you have any of those sleeping masks? The kind that shut out all the light?”
She nodded and wordlessly took me to the display. I picked out the least garish one, which turned out to be lavender. I could only imagine what John would say when he saw it. At least it didn’t have any flowers on it.
I watched her total my purchases and signed for them with my room number. I took two twenties out of my wallet and pushed them across the counter. “Now,” I said, adopting John’s Number Three smile for my own, “if you could call room service and have them bring a bottle of champagne on ice up to my room immediately, I would greatly appreciate it.”
Her eyebrows reached for her hairline. She folded her lips together, as though she were keeping a secret. Her eyes were bright as she slipped the money off the counter and into the pocket of her dress. “I’ll get right on that, sir,” she said cheerfully. “And may I add, I hope you have a very pleasant evening.”
“Oh, I will. Trust me.”
When I returned to the room, John was sprawled in all his naked glory on the center of the bed. I’d spent nearly every day since I was released from the hospital watching him dress and undress, and I’d spent more time than I care to admit wondering what the parts I hadn’t seen looked like. I wasn’t disappointed. He had the lean, muscular build of a runner. I knew he counted skiing and rock climbing among his hobbies, but that presupposed he had enough downtime to indulge, and I hadn’t seen much of that. I was familiar with the dark hair on his arms and legs, as well as the landing strip pattern of hair leading down to his cock. But oh, that cock. As straight as an arrow, it was standing up from the dark thatch at his groin—just begging me to taste it. Everything about him was not too much, not too little, just right. Especially his cock. He was palming it lazily as I came into the room, watching me through half-shut eyes as I set down the bag from the gift shop. My mouth watered, aching to close on it.
Patience, young grasshopper. All good things come to those who wait. It suddenly dawned on me that, for the first time in memory, he wasn’t wearing his sister’s cross. I wasn’t entirely sure of the significance, but it sent a surge of emotion through me, just the same. I felt in control. Powerful. In command.
“Good,” I said, pleased he’d complied with my previous order to strip and wait for me.
“You said get naked.”
There was a hint of tension in his voice, and I worried he was having second thoughts. No, no, no. We couldn’t have that. “Room service will be here in a minute. When they get here, go into the bathroom until I say come out again.”
His eyes narrowed, but he only said, “Okay.”
I walked to the bed so I could look down at him. The cut on his face wasn’t the only sign of the trouble he’d had at work. A purple and black bruise marked his rib cage, and his right knee and elbow were skinned. The scar on his shoulder seemed tame by comparison. He had tan lines around his pelvis, and the contrast of pale skin around his cock seemed almost like a beacon. It also made him seem just a bit more human, a little less like Hollywood perfection. He shifted slightly, as though it bothered him to be examined.
“Still want to do this?”
He licked his lips, though with anticipation or nerves, I couldn’t tell.
“Yeah. If you do.” His qualifier was tacked on hastily.
I shoved my nervousness aside. The last thing I wanted was for my self-doubt to leak through. I needed to give him what he wanted—I wanted to give him what he needed—and that gave me the courage to lift my chin and say, “Of course.”
There was a tap at the door.
“In the bathroom. Stay put until I say you can come out.”
He got to his knees, his cock jutting out between his thighs. Part of me wanted to hold him right there in that position, it was so goddamned beautiful. I took a mental snapshot, praying there would never come a day when I wouldn’t remember that moment. With a flush on his features—no doubt from being ordered about like a pool boy in a porn film—he slid off the bed and slowly sauntered toward the bathroom, the muscles in his ass flexing and relaxing with his movement. That too, I mentally recorded for posterity.
It was my turn to swallow. I had to adjust my cock in my pants before I could make it to the door. Another twenty-dollar tip later, I closed the door in the face of the waiter, hugged the ice bucket of champagne to my chest, and held the two flutes by their stems. I hastily sat everything down on the coffee table before I dropped anything and then pulled out my purchases. It took me only a matter of seconds to strip down, letting my clothes lie where they fell. I slipped on one of the blue bathrobes, taking a moment to caress the soft fabric against my arm. Nice. Very nice. I had plans for that robe. I left it untied, and my cock, overeager for some attention, poked through the folds, hoping someone would take notice.
On the bedside table, I laid out the mask and the necktie, along with a discreet, travel-sized container of lube and a condom within easy reach. “Come on out,” I said, lifting the champagne bottle out of the bucket. “Bring me a hand towel while you’re at it.”
John came out of the bathroom, one eyebrow raised sardonically. That didn’t last long, however. He took in my a
ppearance, flicked a quick glance over at the bed, and looked back at me. I used the towel he gave me to dry the bottle of champagne. John gave me a smoldering look from under the heavy fringe of his hair and held out one of the empty glasses while I untwisted the wire cage over the cork. There was a soft pop, like a gun with a silencer going off. I poured the champagne into the glass and covered his hand with mine to steady it.
“None for me, thanks.” John’s voice was as dry as the champagne. Marvelous. It was a pity John wouldn’t join me for even a single glass, but with his mother being a recovering alcoholic, it made sense that he refused to drink. Was smart, even.
“You won’t need it,” I promised, setting down my glass on the bedside table.
His eyes darkened at my words. “And you do?”
“Maybe,” I said. Dutch courage? I’d mostly ordered the flagon for the ice that came with it. Which was stupidly extravagant, but the night was all about image. I wasn’t sure why that was so important to me, but it was. I needed it on a level I couldn’t explain, not even to myself. “Safe word?” I asked.
John made a pained face, as though suddenly attacked with stomach cramps. “Do we really have to do this, Jerry?”
I lifted my chin and glared.
“Oh, right. Lee. Do we really have to do the whole safe word thing?”
“My way or not at all. Safe word?”
“Fine. Peekaboo.”
I smiled. “Babylon 5 reference. I like it.”
To my relief, he smiled back.
“Are you ready?”
He gave a little shrug. I could see that his erection had flagged a little during the wait, and I needed to get him ramped up again.
“Up on the bed,” I ordered. “Against the headboard. On your back, arms spread wide.”
John crawled up the wide expanse of the bed, treating me to an excellent view of his ass, and his cock hanging heavy between his legs. I felt like a leopard spotting its prey. Just watching him had me breathing harder. My heart was thudding in anticipation. I wanted this so bad I could taste it. When he was in position, near the stacked pillows, I handed him the sleep mask. “Put this on.”
Truth and Consequences Page 8
