“Oh, come on. You’re telling me your parents wouldn’t support you?”
Her eyes went even darker. “I’ve lived off their good graces for a while now. I think my welcome is running out.”
She sat up and rubbed her hands over her arms. Dean wasn’t sure if it was because she was cold or needed comforting.
He wasn’t sure if it was his place to offer her solace for either.
“It’s okay,” she said. “The job at the center is good money. It’ll pay me enough so I can finally cover my own bills and move out. And swimming does make me happy.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
Her gaze snapped to his. She started to argue, but Dean shook his head.
“That’s not the face of someone who’s happy.”
“Okay. Maybe I’m not ecstatic, but I’m content. It’s like your hierarchy says. Be okay with the status quo, and life will be good, right?”
For a minute, Dean hated the theory he’d relied on, not liking it at all when it came to Jamie. When it clenched its jaws around the image he’d always had of her—happy and carefree, never held down by anything.
It was like gravity reversed, to hear she’d become as trapped as he was.
“It would’ve been nice, though,” she added softly. “To work in fashion. It’s transformative, the way one outfit can turn you into something else. Let you be someone else.”
Dean’s pulse stalled. He stared at her. “You wish you were someone else?”
Jamie gave him a weak smile. “I wanted to do something meaningful. To have a life that was more than smelling like chlorine and constantly having swimmers’ ear.” She laughed quietly and shrugged. “I wasn’t good enough for it.”
Something inside Dean snapped. He gathered the remains of their dinner into the box and chucked it into a bin on the street, anger pooling like battery acid. She thought it was okay that she’d given up her dream, but it wasn’t okay. Not in the slightest. It wasn’t okay that she was disappointed in her life.
That she thought she wasn’t good enough.
He wrapped one hand around the back of her neck and drew her gaze up, not caring if it was appropriate. If it broke the boundaries of their weekend rules. She needed to hear this.
“You listen to me,” he said. “Don’t you ever say you’re not good enough for something. That you don’t deserve to have a life that’s amazing and exciting. Don’t even think it. Because if there’s anyone who deserves the most incredible future possible, it’s you.”
Jamie blinked. Her mouth dropped open slightly, brows lifting with surprise and something else he didn’t have the brainpower to put his finger on.
Dean kept going, honesty bubbling up inside him, a hole poked through a dam.
“When I look at you, I see that girl I knew as a kid. Someone who was always smiling, always happy, and has stayed like that, no matter what. You’re like this one single bright fucking spot of sunshine I have in a life that pretty much sucks otherwise, so don’t you dare wish you were anyone else, or think you can’t have what you want. You should have everything you want, Jamie. Everything.”
Her eyes brightened and glossed over, brown turned to gold in the waning sunlight
Then she smiled, leaned in close and whispered, “Take me back to the hotel, Dean.”
Chapter Ten
Dean twisted away, boots hitting the concrete before Jamie said another word. He had the gate folded up by the time she’d hopped into the front, and swung himself into the driver’s seat, jamming the key in the ignition. He grabbed her hand when he started to drive, pulled it onto his lap and held it firmly against his thigh. He needed to touch her, something to cut the tension until he got her back to the room.
It apparently wasn’t enough for her. She inched her fingertips down and swept them over his fly.
Dean groaned and clenched his jaw, his eyes on the road. “Don’t do that.”
Jamie laughed softly. She sidled next to him and kissed behind his ear, down his neck, teeth a rough chafe against the sensitive spot at his shoulder she knew so well.
“Fuck.” He shuddered, hips shifting forward. “You’re gonna get us killed, doing that.”
She licked over the spot she’d bitten. “Then drive faster.”
He grunted, hand gripping hers more tightly. He took the camera with him when they reached the hotel lot, too impatient to waste time locking it up in the back. They hurried through the lobby, Dean’s fingers wound tightly around hers. Finally at their room, he dragged the key card from his back pocket and opened the door with one hand. Jamie barely had time to catch her breath before he dropped the camera bag to the floor, shut the door and slammed her up against it.
“Too many clothes,” he snarled. “You’re wearing too many fucking clothes.”
“I like my clothes.”
Snarky words, but she was panting despite them. Dean skimmed the bottom of her sweater up her sides, pushing the fabric over her head.
“I like them too. But I’ll like them better off you.” He yanked off his shirt, tossed it to the ground and growled, “Shoes.”
Jamie complied, eagerly kicking them off. Dean’s brain buzzed as he stepped out of his boots, everything she’d told him about her severed dreams settling into a low hum like a rattling engine in his thoughts. He hoped she’d be able to find a way out of the life she’d let herself get tangled in. That someday she’d get everything she aspired for, and have that exciting life down in New York City.
But not right now.
Right now, she was his.
He gripped her leggings and dragged them down, some kind of caveman, testosterone-filled urge taking over him, wanting to prove she wouldn’t be able to “get him out of her system”. That two nights with him would only make her want him more.
He knew he shouldn’t want that, because he refused to trap her any more than she’d already trapped herself, but God, he couldn’t help it.
Dean moved to stand, stopping short when he saw the scrap of fabric at the apex of her thighs: a triangle of sheer white, laced up like a corset and held together with a tiny bow.
“Jesus,” he breathed.
So this was what she’d been hiding from him. Thank fuck he hadn’t known about it, or he would’ve been hard all day. His brain registered that her bra matched too, but he couldn’t draw his eyes away from the mouth-watering sight in front of him.
Curling his hands around her hips, he brought his mouth to her cloth-covered slit. Her skin was smooth and soft beneath it, bare except for a tiny strip of hair.
He kissed her fully, over and over, and she dropped her hands to clutch his hair. Dean closed his eyes and concentrated on the way she moved, how she tried to gather more of the sensation, body arching off the wall. Every reaction notched his need to epic proportions, but he held it in check. Making her come wasn’t enough. He wanted to take this glorious girl out of the corner she’d let herself get put in, and make her see herself the way he did.
He slid her panties down her legs, then stood and unclasped her bra. It landed in a pile with the rest of their clothes. He shucked his jeans and boxers, adding them to the mess, then finally kissed her.
Jamie clawed at his back, the pure hunger in her response jacking him up even higher. He palmed her thighs, hitching them up over his waist. She wrapped her legs around him, kissing him frantically as he walked them to the bed.
“How do you want it, Jamie?”
“I don’t care,” she said in between kisses. “Just take me.”
He dug fingers into her backside, reveling in her hiss. “How? Specifically.”
If tonight was going to be his last night with her, he was going to make it memorable.
She panted, cautious, then whispered, “From behind. Hard.”
Fuck.
He eased her down to the floor. “Bend over th
e bed.”
Jamie turned around, doing as she was told. Dean palmed his dick, unable to resist the urge to stroke at the sight of her ass on display. She looked over her shoulder, glanced at his slowly pumping fist and grinned.
He reached for a condom, quickly rolling it on. Another minute of that and this whole thing would be over before it even started.
Dean nudged her legs apart with his knee, then bent down to kiss the divots above her bottom and mapped her spine with his tongue.
Her hips flexed. “Please.”
He ignored her plea and slipped his hands beneath her to cup her breasts, tweaking lightly at her nipples before sliding down lower. Teasing her flesh, he coaxed her open, thumbs light over her clit.
She whined and pushed back against him. Groaned his name.
He loved how turned on she was, how hungry and restless. That was how he wanted her—this time anyway.
Next time, he’d let her take what she needed.
With one hand on her hip to steady her, he eased inside her slick passage. Dean almost lost it within seconds, going stupid already with the feeling of hot and tight and so fucking good. He closed his eyes, trying to collect himself, because he was unraveling too quickly. If he looked at her, took in those fuckhot responses and let them hit home, he’d be a goner.
She whimpered, pressing back against him. The sound helped him find his control. He reopened his eyes and moved slowly, keeping his thrusts deep and even. Jamie cursed in pleasure as he surged and withdrew, surged and withdrew.
He halted before his next plunge, wanting to see what she would do, how frenzied he could make her. She hiked her chin over her shoulder, her gaze tiptoeing backward. When their eyes met, the connection was as sharp and hot if he’d sunk into her again.
“Fuck,” she gasped. “I love it when you look at me like that.”
He’d picked up on it before. The way one glance seemed to hold her still.
“You like being watched?” He thrust forward, an unhurried push that made her mouth drop open and her eyes slam shut. “My little exhibitionist?”
“I do, but…oh…not like that.” She bit her lip, eyes opening again. Latching onto his. “I love the way you watch me. How you—fuck…how you see me.”
What Jamie truly needed crystallized into focus. It wasn’t just about being held down, about giving up control and letting go. It was that she’d spent a lifetime living in other people’s shadows, and needed to be seen.
Dean slid a palm down her back and grabbed a fistful of her hair. She responded with another deep groan.
“I see you,” he said. “I see what you want. What you crave.”
He did. And he wanted to watch her absorb every last drop of it.
“Harder,” she begged. “Please.”
“You want it harder?”
“Yes.”
Releasing her hair and hip, he leaned over her and whispered, “So do I.”
A shuddered curse was all she had time for before he pushed her down onto the bed and dragged her arms behind her. He pinned her wrists together at the small of her back and secured them with one hand, then snatched her by the hair again, hard enough to lift her whole body. Jamie cried out and arched into the contorted shape he’d twisted her into, taking everything he gave her as he started a punishing rhythm.
It was ridiculously erotic, seeing her let loose like that. Dean’s release bore down on him, his balls tightening, legs going stiff.
“Don’t stop,” she pleaded. “Don’t…I’m going to…oh, God.”
She didn’t need to warn him. Her body told him for her, unable to hide it when her orgasm rocked through her. Her voice broke on a wail that lashed out at him, shattering his control and reducing him to an animal.
Lost to any thought other than the need to come, Dean urged her forward, one hand spanning her back as he pressed her firmly against the mattress. Climbing up on the bed behind her, he fucked into her hard and steady, hips pistoning with quick, ruthless moves. Her pussy surrounded him. So good, so deep. He had only seconds to enjoy the way her muffled moans matched his until pleasure shot up his spine. He snapped taut, his body taken hold by an orgasm so hot and intense it felt like whiplash.
Sated, he all but collapsed on top of her. His arms shook when he leaned down to kiss between her shoulder blades, tasting the salt of her sweaty skin.
Dean tossed the condom in the trash. Jamie turned over onto her back, head at the foot of the bed, arms draped over the edge of the mattress. She grinned wide, her arms stretched up above her head, back rolling like a cat. It reminded him of the way she’d sprawled out across the backseat of that car this afternoon.
“Don’t move,” he said.
Slipping his jeans and boxers back on, he retrieved his camera from where he’d left it by the door. Changing the settings to allow for the darkness of the room, he focused in on her. With her legs up in a lazy upside-down V, her knees swaying from side to side and her curls spilling everywhere, she was every bit the tainted angel of his teenage fantasies, the one who’d gone bad and liked it.
She lifted her chin and looked over at him. “What are you doing?”
Trying to capture how beautiful you are.
“What does it look like?” he asked. “Stay like that.”
“These aren’t going to end up on the Internet, are they?”
He scowled from behind the lens. As if he’d ever do that to her. “Of course not.”
He hadn’t thought far enough ahead to imagine what he’d do with the pictures after the weekend was over. He was simply compelled to record the moment. He’d think about the rest later.
She grew bashful when he got too close, giggling from behind lowered lashes.
“We could turn this into your own personal X-rated fashion show,” she said.
“We could.” He concentrated, needing to catch the demure look on her face.
“Yeah?”
“Sure. Go put something on for me.”
Jamie scampered off the bed and knelt by her bag. Dean lounged back on the pillows while she dressed, keeping his eyes off her so he got the full effect when she was done.
“How’s this?”
He glanced up. She’d topped a black bra and panties with a sexy gray-and-black pinstripe jacket. She’d put on a necklace too—a long line of dark beads that spilled over her cleavage and kissed her belly button.
And he was ready for round two. Dean swallowed.
“Where’d you think you’d be wearing that?”
She flashed him a snide grin. “It comes with pants, smartass,” she said. “I didn’t know what was out here. Lifeguards always come prepared.”
“Isn’t that the Boy Scouts?”
“Whatever.” Jamie crawled onto the bed and smiled, a sex kitten on her knees. “You like?”
Like didn’t cover it.
He scooted down until he was lying flat on the bed. “Put your hands behind your head.”
She followed his instructions, bunching her hands in her hair so several soft strands fell around her face. The move lifted her breasts, beads dangling between them. She puckered her lips like a supermodel, but was unable to hold the expression for long before dissolving into laughter.
It was going to make an incredible shot.
“Lose the jacket.”
She drew it off slowly, one sleeve at a time. He kept hitting the shutter button until she’d tossed it to the floor. His dick couldn’t handle the striptease, hard again already and fighting the constraints of his jeans. Dean pushed a palm down to stifle the ache, but it only made everything worse, something he could tell Jamie caught by the way she raised her eyebrows, the corner of her mouth turned upward.
“I want to take a few pictures too,” she said. “Can I?”
He looked at her for a minute, at the gleam in her eyes.
He wordlessly handed the camera over.
She bounced back onto her bottom, delighted. “Okay, Trescott. Strip.”
Feeling his own cheeks color, Dean rose up on his knees. He couldn’t look at the camera, surprised by his own embarrassment, especially when he unzipped his fly and his cock made an appearance beneath the cotton.
Jamie made a soft noise of appreciation. Dean looked up to see that she’d trapped her lower lip between her teeth. Her gaze raked over him like heat.
“I think the working out has done you good,” she said with a coy smile. “But then again, I liked the way you were before too. You’re kinda like a giant teddy bear.”
Dean froze. “I am not like a teddy bear.”
“Yes, you are. A big, bad sexy one. With tattoos instead of fur.”
He laughed. Jamie smiled from behind the camera and twirled a finger in the air, as if to say get on with it.
Enjoying the ego stroke of her attention, he hooked his thumbs into the backs of his jeans and boxers, and pushed everything down, one inch at a time. She took a couple more quick shots, then stopped when he rid himself of his clothes entirely.
The camera forgotten, she put it on the edge of the bed and crawled over to him, but it wasn’t his throbbing dick that she reached for. Her fingers light, she began tracing the ink on his arm.
“Is this okay?” she asked.
He nodded and stayed silent, letting her touch, watching as she took him in. She caressed the sleeve, soft touches to the thorny spines he’d had drawn into his flesh.
“Barbed wire. I guess that’s kind of a warning, huh?” she asked. “A metaphorical ‘do not enter’.”
He chuckled. It was cliché, but true.
Light fingers stroked over his ribs. “Birds flying away. Freedom? Or wishing for it.”
Dean took a breath. She was right on the money.
“Both,” he said, but the word came out strained.
The Hierarchy of Needs (The Portland Rebels #2) Page 11
