Always Yours (The Always Series Book 2)

by J. P. James

  I have never felt so vulnerable. I’m so horny that every smooth slide makes my body shake with need. I feel euphoric. I never thought I could let someone do this to me, but I need Blake to give me this gratification. I need it more and more the closer I come to my peak.

  “I’m going to come any moment,” he growls as his thrusts become uncontrollable. I grab the sheets, clenching them in my fists, as Blake dicks my ass like crazy, the little hole gripping him tight. We both cry out. I arch my bottom closer still to that aching pole, and a final thrust sends both of us to our climaxes.

  “Yes, Blake,” I groan, my ass so pummeled.

  “Oh fuck,” he growls in return. “Shit, this feels so good.”

  Stars flicker wildly before my eyes as I clasp the billionaire close to my chest. Electricity races to my fingers and toes even as my cock spurts, covering both our chests in cum. After a few seconds, Blake jets wildly too and semen blasts into my ass as my anal muscles milk him. The billionaire groans once, loudly, before collapsing on me totally exhausted. We enjoy the feeling of being together, like we’re riding the same wave. I’ve never done this with a lover before, and it feels intimate and strangely soothing.

  After he pulls out, I collapse onto the bed. My anus feels raw and used, but also so good. He spreads out onto the bed as well and moves his hands over my body.

  “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he growls. His hands channel pleasure through my entire body. I feel like I’m coming down from a high.

  “Handsome, powerful, and great with my back hole? You’re not half-bad yourself,” I tease, grabbing at his muscular body. He moves on top of me.

  “Your ass is breathtaking. It’s all mine. Say it,” he commands. His words make my back quiver.

  He puts his hand on my cock and rubs it slowly, massaging the shaft. I feel myself go hard again in his grasp and my eyes flutter shut with pleasure.

  “I said, ‘Say it’,” he repeats. Breathless, I move against his hand.

  “It’s yours, Blake,” I admit as I try to control myself. “My ass belongs to you.” With that, I let go again with a long cry. Hot jets of semen pour out of me, my second orgasm within ten minutes. How does the billionaire do this? But Blake merely grins, stroking every last drop out before lowering his head and licking some of it from my chest.

  “Tastes good, pretty boy,” he growls. “But now, sleep.”

  I try to protest but before I know it, my body surrenders. My lover tucks me into the sheets and kisses my forehead. The tenderness of the moment shakes me to my core, although I’m already beginning to drift.

  “Sleep well,” he growls, and I sail off into dreamland.

  I wake around 6 o’clock the next morning. Immediately, my ass clenches. It’s a little sore, but not painful. It’s like exercising a muscle – the more you use it, the easier it gets. Otherwise, I’m perfectly fine. More than fine. I feel invincible.

  “Good morning,” I greet as I turn over, but all I find is an empty bed with a note taped to the pillow:

  Last night was amazing. The kitchen is fully stocked. Help yourself. Senator Collins was at the meeting yesterday. You have an interview scheduled with him at 2. Thank Jimmy for that one.

  – Blake

  “Yes! Yes!” I drop back onto the pillow and pump my fists to rejoice. I’d completely forgotten about the interview. I was sure I had lost a day of work, but the sex was worth that. I can’t believe he went through the effort to set this up for me. Well, I guess Jimmy did most of the work, but still, Blake didn’t have to be so thoughtful. Somehow, this billionaire keeps getting under my skin, and I love it more and more.

  9

  Blake

  The people on the street below my office move about like well-oiled robots. They zoom by, ready to tackle their day with the same old obstacles and maybe new adventures too. I wonder how many of them will have normal days and how many will have days that will change them forever. I guess we never know when something big will happen.

  Today, I’m a changed man. I realized the moment I woke up and saw Chase lying in the bed next to me. He’s not just another fling. Earlier this week, I was one of DC’s most eligible bachelors. Today, though, I feel attached. I feel tied to him.

  The way he let me have control over his pleasure drives me crazy. I’ve never felt so strong. Yes, I have wealth and position, but this? This is sheer carnal power. It’s beautiful and erotic and sublime. I don’t think I could feel this energy without him because he’s giving, yet assertive, in his own way. Plus, I can’t get the young man’s body out of my mind. He’s hard all over, yet soft right where it counts. Plus, the way he took my cock? Perfection.

  But what excites me most is his wit. Chase is one hell of a reporter; calling him persistent is an understatement. He’s determined and stubborn, yet also civil. He may be a cub reporter, but he’ll work his way up in no time. A little more experience, and he’ll be the next Dan Rather. I wonder who his favorite journalists are. Maybe Bob Woodward or Hunter S. Thompson? Why didn’t I think to ask? Come to think of it, I still don’t know much about Chase. It’s amazing how connected I feel to him regardless.

  “Damn, I really am an ass,” I remind myself out loud. That’s it. I have to ask him to dinner, and maybe we’ll see where the night leads us afterward.

  A knock comes at my office door. I guess I’ll have to daydream later. “Come in,” I announce.

  Jimmy walks in sheepishly. He doesn’t look me in the eye.

  “Sir, I’ve received some information. I think you need to sit down for this,” Jimmy tells me as I stare out my office window.

  Silence.

  “I know you’re busy, but I think it’s important,” he says quickly. I don’t answer at first, and it makes my assistant fidget. Jimmy must think I’m mad at him for walking in on Chase and me in the conference room. In fact, I kind of like that he’s uncomfortable; I’ll make him sweat a bit. Maybe next time, we won’t be interrupted. Besides, Jimmy isn’t bothering me. It’s his job.

  “Sir,” Jimmy reminds me with a bit more backbone. I turn to face him and sit at my desk. He’s holding a blank manila envelope and staring at his shoes.

  “Thank you for arranging that meeting for Mr. Adams. Was it much trouble?” I ask. I try not to wear down my aides with last-minute calls, but most understand it’s necessary from time to time.

  Jimmy nods. “It was totally fine. Lyla and I both don’t sleep very much, so it wasn’t any trouble to coordinate on short notice,” he says. I notice him blush endearingly, and my mind groans.

  “Are you and Lyla close these days? You’re both assistants at the same company. You must have other things in common,” I say wryly. Come to think of it, Jimmy never talks about his personal life, and I’m curious. What is my assistant up to?

  “Lyla and I are having dinner Friday night,” he admits as he further shields his eyes from mine. His bashfulness puts a smile on my face.

  “Good for you,” I commend him. He nods, unable to meet my gaze.

  “Well, Jimmy, I’m seated. What did you want to tell me?” This better be good; I’d like to keep daydreaming about Chase, although it’s unprofessional.

  Jimmy bites his tongue. He unfastens the envelope and removes a handful of items. Photographs, documents, I’m not sure what exactly. He hands them to me. As soon as I take a look, my mind goes into a flurry. Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?

  “Jimmy, is this a dick pic?” I look at him incredulously. He goes flaming red.

  “In the flesh. Sorry! No pun intended,” he adds, embarrassed, shifting from foot to foot.

  “I can see that. And another and another,” I say as I thumb through the pornographic material in my hands. The images are all parts of a naked man, and every picture is more salacious than the last. What the hell?

  I flip to the end of the stack. They’re print-outs from the Twitter pages of a few random guys. But then one very familiar account flashes across my eyes like the explosion from a flare gun. It�
��s BJ Jones.

  “Are these pictures of BJ Jones?” I squint. “What’s going on? Who are these dudes? How did you get these?” I demand. I’m trying to piece this together, and yet a part of me doesn’t want to know the truth. Whatever it is, it can’t be good. Politicians shouldn’t have dick pics. Nor should they be exchanging dick pics on Twitter.

  Jimmy clears his throat. “Officially, an anonymous tip provided this information. Unofficially, well, it’s a doozy. We have a source at Twitter that forwarded this stuff to me. These are all unsolicited dick pics sent from Mr. Jones’s account,” Jimmy says. He stops abruptly, finally looking me in the eye.

  “What the hell? Are you serious?” I ask, still looking through the stack. As expected, BJ’s cock is tiny. It shouldn’t even be called a cock because it’s the size of my little finger. How the hell did Chase get off riding a rod like that?

  “I’m sorry sir, but our information is good,” says Jimmy apologetically. “It’s definitely him.”

  “Holy shit,” I mutter. “Holy fucking shit.” I hand the papers back to Jimmy.

  “Should I tell Chase?” Jimmy asks timidly. I look at him and he looks away again.

  Now I understand. Jimmy must have caught on about us, so when he got his hands on this, he wanted to check with me before alerting Chase. It’ll be better coming from me for a few reasons, one of which is that I’m the publisher. If anyone should break the news to Chase before a story hits, it should be me. Then again, is what I’m doing ethical? I don’t want my lover to worry before the piece is published, and I also can’t have him interfere with the publication. Knowing Chase, he’d probably do something. Shit. What do I do? Tell him, or say nothing?

  “You’re one hell of a person, Jimmy. I’ll try to talk to Chase myself. Thank you,” I nod to him. “You do much more than just remind me to take vitamins. We should talk about a promotion, don’t you think?” I ask and watch as his eyes light up.

  Jimmy smiles so big, I can see all of his teeth. “Thank you, Mr. King! Thank you!”

  “I’ll touch base with editorial. Can you set up a meeting?” He nods, and quick as a flash, runs out of my door and onto the next task.

  I lean back in my chair and suck air through my teeth. I never liked BJ Jones because he rubbed me the wrong way, but for him to do something so selfish and dumb is almost beyond words. He had such a promising future. What the hell was he thinking, sending unsolicited dick pics to randoms on Twitter? He must had a massive brain fart.

  But I know what has to be done for the sake of journalism and for the sake of the truth. If Chase and BJ were still together, it would make this task difficult. It would destroy BJ’s candidacy because that’s what happens these days. The public gobbles this kind of shit up. It’s the price of good journalism.

  Now that they aren’t together though, I don’t have to hold back. BJ’s going to get put through the wringer, and Chase doesn’t have to stand by him. I’m sure it’ll hurt because he’s someone Chase cared about just recently. But still, random dick pics? What the hell? With that, I turn to pick up the phone. This isn’t my fault. This isn’t Chase’s fault either. It’s BJ’s. After all, the whiny politician destroyed himself with these pics, and I’m just the messenger.

  10

  Chase

  “Where are we going?” I ask as I tighten my grip on Blake’s arm. The blindfold across my eyes works almost too well. I can’t see my feet or the roof of the limo, let alone anything outside of the car.

  The door opens, and Blake steps out. I wait patiently, but I can hardly hear him over the thump of my own heartbeat. I don’t usually like props, but this blindfold has intensified my senses. Blake grabs my hand, and I feel lightening rush up my arm. I want him to touch me like this all night.

  He pulls me from my seat, and I steady myself against his chest.

  “There’s a curb here. Lift your feet carefully,” he says as he guides me to safety. “Now walk this way a little farther. That’s it. Now stop here,” he says. As he walks behind me, I can feel his breath on my neck, warm and delightful. It’s heavenly. He unties the blindfold and lifts it off my eyes. I blink for a moment to get my bearings.

  Before me, I see the Washington Monument a few hundred yards ahead. Um, ok. I turn to face him.

  “If you think I haven’t been to the Washington Monument before, then you must not think I’m very cultured. Are you saying I’m not cultured?” I ask wryly.

  The handsome man balks. “You must not think very highly of me. I’m not trying to say you don’t know DC,” he assures me as he takes my hand in his and walks us down the nearest path.

  “I’m not a tourist either,” I remind him. I hope he doesn’t feel like he has to be my tour guide just because I’m new to the city.

  “That’s not it either. You’ll see. In fact, I should have left the blindfold on longer,” he says with a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes.

  He winks at me, and I can’t help but smile. I push into him with my shoulder. I wouldn’t mind if he used the blindfold on me later tonight.

  I remember now one reason why I moved to DC. I love this city because to me, it symbolizes living history. Every day, lawmakers, journalists, and even the street performers are taking what we know about the world and reshaping the information for a better tomorrow. We’re all doing what we do in pursuit of the greater good. I’m like the Batman of journalism…or maybe The Post is Batman, and I’m one of a thousand Robins.

  “Tell me what you know about the Washington Monument,” Blake commands as we draw closer to the front entrance. It’s closed, so why are we walking toward it? I wrack my brain.

  “Construction started in 1848, and ever since then, its history reads like a political telenovela. The developer has run out of money more than once. Pope Pius IX donated a stone that was later destroyed by anti-Catholic lunatics, so I’m pretty sure this place is damned. It was the tallest building in the world until the Eiffel Tower was built. Thanks for that, France,” I joke. I know I’m talking too much, but Blake just laughs. He seems enthralled by the facts I keep jumbled up in my brain. Who knew he’d be so captivated by American history?

  We walk up to the front doors. Judging by the barricaded entrance, I’d say it’s very clearly closed. I turn to my lover.

  “Blake, the renovations won’t be done until next year. Were you hoping that if we stand here long enough, the doors would magically open?” I ask with humor.

  “Oh, ye of little faith,” he says as an armed guard appears from the lobby and walks to the front doors. He nods at Blake, and my lover nods in return. Then miraculously, the guard unlocks the door, waving us in as Blake escorts me through the entrance.

  “I appreciate what you’re doing, but I’ve been here more than once. I came here as often as I could during my internship last summer since I knew it was closing,” I disclose. Somehow, admitting this out loud makes me feel like more of a nerd than I already am.

  The guard leads us toward the elevator but then detours and badges us through a hidden security door. The hallway beyond the doorway is narrow but pristine. Its white walls direct us deeper through the obelisk. The guard leads us to the end of the hall to another closed door. Blake turns to me, his grin wider than ever.

  “There’s a collection here that I thought you’d like to see,” he says as the guard ushers us through.

  The moment we walk into the chamber, I can smell history in the air. In college, I authored a paper on the importance of shared knowledge, and the special collections library let me hold their 250-year-old copy of the Encyclopedia Britannica. I was terrified, but they let me handle the book as the scents of paper, glue, and ink melded together. I’ll never forget that day. I was a witness to history, just like I am here and now.

  “Oh my god,” is all I manage to say as I cautiously approach the displays.

  “I wanted to surprise you,” Blake says simply, standing behind me and watching me process these precious artifacts.

  I place my
hand on the first display case. Inside is a handwritten letter to Martha Washington. The author tells her how much he misses her and how he can’t wait to see her and the children again. The letter writer is, of course, George Washington himself.

  “How? How did you do this?” I ask, stunned. I move to the next display, which houses pages from Indian treaties by Benjamin Franklin. Blake comes behind me and slips an arm around my waist.

  “There are perks that come with being part of the DC elite inner circle,” he informs me. “You know, insider access to national monuments and such.”

  My head starts spinning, and I’m overwhelmed. Suddenly, I can’t shut up because of nerves. “Did you know that Benjamin Franklin compared these treaties to stage plays? They were one of the only platforms Native Americans had to express their views on trade, land, resources, and war alliances with white colonials. This is incredible,” I jabber away until Blake turns to me and cups my face.

  “Slow down, Chase. You’re talking a mile a minute,” he says, although judging by the glint in his eye, he loves my enthusiasm.

  “It’s not every day that I come face to face with centuries-old American artifacts,” I protest as my eyes shift around the room.

  He lets go of me, and I grab his hand to keep myself from bouncing off the walls. His cheek dimples as he looks at me.

  “Not even Ben Franklin could keep up with you, and I hear he was a chatty Kathy,” he claims mischievously. He squeezes my hand; instantly, my thoughts still somewhat. It’s funny how one gentle touch can change everything. My lover’s eyes dance.

  “Are you ready for the big reveal?” he asks. My mouth opens.

  “The big … what?” I manage in a choked voice. “I thought this was the big reveal.” What else could he have hiding up his sleeve?

  The billionaire pulls me into him, and my heartbeat pounds under my chest.