Beneath the Burn (56 page)

Boisterous laughter stumbled in from the patio. Everyone had congregated outside with beer and chips, their spirited mood wafting into the night sky.

“You have a magical way of bringing people back to life, Charlee.” His timbre was husky, his gaze burning her skin.

Too bad she couldn’t bring nineteen-year-old girls back to life. She gave herself a mental slap. Hadn’t she beaten herself up enough? “Nothing’s more magical than a six-inch double rainbow over your ass.” She packed up the last machine and bent to close up the box. “All done.”

Fingers curled around her hip and she jumped. Sneaky bastard. She turned to face him with a spurt of mischief pumping through her veins. Stretching her jaw, she let out a dramatic yawn and snapped it closed. “Race you to the bedroom.”

She spun. Through the living room, down the hall, around the bend, she pushed off the wall and threw open the double doors to his suite.

The slap of bare feet closed in behind her, kicking up her pulse. He slammed the doors and caught her in his sitting room. Arms around her waist, he doubled her over the back of the loveseat. She clawed at the leather, tried to plunge headfirst into the cushions, laughter tearing from her lungs. Ass in the air—

Ow, fuck. He bit her. His teeth clenched through her jeans and pinched the crease between her thigh and cheek. His hand followed with a smack that shimmied a twinge from her hip to her feet. Wowza, he meant business. Desire curled in her pussy and pulsated with a force that stole her breath.

His weight bore down on her, chest pressing against her back and lips fluttering over her ear. “Go to the bedroom. Remove your clothes. Face the foot post on my side of the bed, feet spread and arms above your head. You have two minutes.”

She nodded, voice strangled, a fever blooming over her skin.

One minute later, she stood in the commanded position, her yearning wet and clinging to her inner thigh. She shuddered, the footfalls behind her magnifying the tremors.

Soft fabric touched her cheek, and the room disappeared. He secured a blindfold around the back of her head with a knot.

“Too tight?”

“No, Sir.” Damn, she sounded breathy.

He chuckled and gripped her wrists where they stretched along the post above her head.

The click-click-click of felt-lined handcuffs filled her ears and restrained her hands. She tried to lower them and they didn’t budge. “There’s a hook in the bedpost?” Had it always been there? Why?

“Had an eye bolt installed yesterday.” He slapped her ass.

The smack was lighter this time, but the sting lingered without the protection of denim. Her clit awoke, pulsing. “Harder.”

His breath came out in heavy gusts, tangling in her hair and winding down her body. He ran his hands along her stretched arms and circled her breasts, lifting them.

Was he naked back there? Was his erection straining to reach her? “Move closer. I want to feel you.”

He shifted, and the disappointment of denim brushed the backs of her legs. But, oh God, the heat pouring off his bare chest mingled with hers and plastered her flesh. He slid down her body until his breath brushed the apex of her legs. The throb there was met with the warm stroke of his tongue.

He covered her pussy with his mouth, his licks deep and urgent. She raised herself toward him and ground against his face. His groan vibrated inside and out as his hands heated every inch of skin he could reach.

His warmth disappeared, replaced with the chill of the A/C vent somewhere above her. She remained still, tried to follow the rustling sound of his jeans.

Whack.

Pain fired over her ass. Holy fuck. Didn’t he say he didn’t need to hit her—

Crack. Crack.

Both thighs. Low and sharp. Damn it hurt good.

The hollow sound of wood clattered to the floor. The bamboo pole? The scratch of his zipper lowering produced a clench between her legs. The velvety head of his cock rubbed against her folds, and she pressed her ass against him, needy and impatient.

Leaning against her back, his body engulfing her from head to toe, he must have caught his weight with a hand on the bedpost. His lips skid over her shoulder, his breath hot and rushed, his free hand squeezing her breasts and lowering over her belly, between her thighs, and guiding him to her center. Right there. Oh God.

He pushed in, and the sure-fire stroke shot ripples through her womb.

“Aw fuck. Your pussy just lets me right in.” His hips moved into a pounding rhythm. In and out in driving circles, his pelvis slammed into her backside and her mound rubbed against the unforgiving wood post. “Jesus, you feel good.”

The absence of sight intensified the scratch in his voice and the burn of his lips on her neck. He kicked her feet farther apart and his hands were everywhere, yanking her hips against him, squeezing her breasts, tugging on her clit. His torso, taut and smooth, glided over her back, flexing against her, controlling her movements.

He pinched her clit, and she sucked in a breath. His teeth sunk into her shoulder, and he pinched harder. The pressure was overpowering, demanding, pulling her in until nothing existed but the mounting stimulation.

She clenched her inner walls, tried to hold back the orgasm, to suspend the sensation, to savor the moment.

His tongue flicked across her skin between the brace of his teeth and his thrusts rolled and bucked. When his breath caught, she lost her self-control, her release pouring over her in powerful waves. “Ahhh, Jesus. Oh fuck.” Her body tingled, slumping in the clutch of his.

He rocked once, twice, and rammed to the hilt, grinding as he moaned a delicious cacophony of noises.

Hands slid over hers, and the shackles released. The blindfold followed, and she squinted against the brightness of the room. He scooped her up, arms behind her back and thighs, and tumbled them into bed. He positioned her on her side, tucked her chest into his, her head under his chin, and caressed a palm up and down her back. “Okay?”

“Mmm. More than.” She angled her head back and fell into his heavy-lidded eyes. “You used the pole to keep me guessing, didn’t you?”

His smile softened the strong lines of his gorgeous face. “If the threat isn’t there, if I never
hurt
you, you won’t anticipate.”

Hurt
. The way he whispered that word reminded her of what it cost him. “Thank you.” She stretched her neck and covered his mouth with hers.

He parted his lips and rolled his tongue with hers. Tilting her head, he deepened the kiss, shifting her to her back and blanketing her with his body. His hands raked her hair, jaw working and tongue stoking a low burning fire.

When he slowed to a gentle slide of lips, she touched his cheek, smiled. “Good lord, you know how to kiss.” His head jerked back, and his eyebrows crawled together. She guessed he’d never tried to please a woman before, never needed to. But, holy shit, he was good at it. “What’s wrong?”

He rolled them to their sides, face to face, and smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear. “When I kissed you in my room in New York—” he smiled, traced the shell of her ear “—that was my first kiss.”

Her heart gave a thump. He had intimacy issues, but surely he’d kissed someone at some point. “Ever?”

He shifted close, so close their noses touched. “Ever.”

73

Charlee emerged slowly from a content sleep. The bedside lamp shed a soft glow through the bedroom. She was alone in bed, but not alone. Jay’s silhouette reclined in a lounger on the veranda, the back of his head a smudgy shadow against the winking lights of the L.A. skyline.

The waning moon drifted beyond the open doors. She must have dozed off in his arms an hour or so earlier. She snagged one of his t-shirts from the closet in case of a chill in the evening air, shrugged into it, and swiped her cell phone from the desk on her way out.

A puff of smoke billowed above him. With his back to her, he seemed lost to a million thoughts, or perhaps just memorized by the view of the distant lights. He lowered a cigarette and scattered the ash to the breeze.

The smell of tobacco permeated, kicking in the urge to share it with him. “You smoke?”

He flinched, facing her, and fumbled for the ashtray, cigarette aimed to be squashed.

“No, no. Don’t put it out. Here.” She curled her fingers back and forth. “It smells delicious.”

He held it out, reluctance in his wide eyes. “You smoke?”

“I asked you first.” She plucked it from his fingers and climbed between his spread legs, back to his chest. Cigarette poised between two fingers, she swiped through the screens on her phone.
Lebanese Blonde
by
Thievery Corporation.
Perfect. She set it to play on a low volume and placed the phone on the side table.

With a hand on her tummy, he pulled her close and leaned them back in the lounger. “No. I don’t smoke.” His tone was deep and teasing.

She pulled a drag through her lungs and exhaled. “Me neither, but over the past couple years, I’d get this lofty feeling of nostalgia and buy a pack.” She took another pull and passed it to him. “Ask me why.”

He accepted it, fingers lingering over hers. “Why?”

“You stayed after I inked your outline, smoking your cigarette, waiting for me. I didn’t give it much thought then.” There was so much on her mind that night. Marrying Noah. Running from Roy. She fought a shiver and caressed the denim-clad thighs bracing her, reveling in the strength of the man and his heart. “You liked me, and you weren’t ready to let me go. I figured that out months later. So I’d smoke and try to touch that moment in time. I’d imagine myself waiting with you. Waiting
for
you.”

The cigarette butt skipped over the concrete patio. He flipped her, chest on chest, and stared into her eyes, his expression stripped bare. “I love you.”

“Mm. I can’t relate love to writing music or personal experience, but I have this terrifying and wonderful sensation flowing through me.” Making decisions for her, consuming her. “It’s more powerful than any label I could give it, but if I had to name it, I would call it love.”

He pulled her up his chest and buried his face in her neck. A comfortable silence whispered over them.

“I quit that night.”

Quit? Quit what? His chest rose and fell steadily beneath her. She waited.

“I quit smoking. Drugs. Booze. Sex. I wanted to be clean and worthy of you.”

Her heart soared. Drug free and celibate? For her? Oh, what a soothing balm for her jealousy.

“I was a reformed man for two months. Then I flew to St. Louis to see you…”

And she was in the penthouse, grieving Noah and clawing at her chain.

“I only made it two weeks after that. Two weeks.” His tone was low and thick with regret.

“You thought I was dead. And never mind that. You owed me nothing. I was just a girl in a one-hour blip on your way to a successful life.”

“No, Charlee. I was just a boy who was too low to find success. And too high to care. One hour with you showed me how to succeed.”

The rumble of faraway planes passed above. Water splashed in the pool around the corner. She snuggled into him, no longer needing the nostalgia of tobacco, no longer waiting. She suddenly wanted to wash away the nicotine lingering in her mouth. “I’m going to go get something to drink.” She lifted off him and moved toward the corner where the pool deck lay beyond. “Want anything?”

“Not dressed like that, you’re not.”

His t-shirt reached her thighs. Seriously?

“I’ll go.” He rose and stretched that fine muscular frame. “Share a bottle of Merlot with me?”

“Mmm. Yes, please.”

He scanned the pitch black acreage, probing the perimeter hidden by the night. There must’ve been half a dozen guards out there, strolling the grounds. If she couldn’t be left alone in his supermax fortress, she couldn’t be alone anywhere.

His gaze strolled over the roof’s edge, pausing above the door, the windows, and the corners of the wing. Cameras. Probably dozens of them.

The corner of his mouth curved in a half-smile. Shaking his head, he disappeared around the corner, his black shirt and jeans reflecting a silver glow in the moonlight.

“I love you.” She marveled at how good that felt on her lips and wished she would’ve said it before he left.