As a result, him observing my little shrine, as he called it, felt exposing. So much so I nearly refrained from answering and switched the subject to something else.
But though I didn’t have the courage to bring up that ever-present elephant in the room, the need to be known by him, at least a little bit, was undeniable.
As I responded, I found it easier to keep my attention focused on the alcove instead of looking back at Russell. “Books are an escape. At least the good ones. No matter what your life is like, no matter what’s going on with the people around you or how lonely or sad you feel, you can open the pages and get lost. You can find new worlds, live adventures, or simply discover new friends and families.” I smiled as my gaze settled on my set of Harry Potter novels, complete with Hogwarts bookends. “Sometimes they help you believe in magic. Help you believe that you can change your life, become someone new, start over.”
When I looked back, Russell’s expression was soft. He clearly wasn’t simply looking for something to say. “Do you still need to escape? Is that what you use books for now?”
Interesting question, one I hadn’t really considered. It only took a few heartbeats to find the truth. “No. I’ve made my escape. Lavender Shores was my escape, where I started over. Now books are just a wonderful part of being alive. Even when you don’t have to use them to hide away from your own life, they make each day better, more beautiful.”
Russell studied me, and though there was a slight curve of his lips, he didn’t speak. His thoughts remained hidden.
I took a sip of my red wine before asking, “You don’t like books?”
He shifted uncomfortably and shrugged. I regretted the question, breaking whatever spell had fallen over us. “I don’t know if I like them or not. My only experience with them was in school. Things I had to read, was forced to read. Where I come from… guys didn’t read. They worked. They… did things, you know?”
Turned out, sometimes when turning the page and starting over, you discover that some of the words from previous chapters reappeared. I thought I’d left those insecurities of not being manly enough behind. The ones formed when you had a model-perfect specimen of masculinity as an older brother who was famous in the manliest way possible, and a father who barely counted you as a son. Here I was again. Reminded, in my own home, this time by a man who’d been inside of me, by a man who was another example of masculine perfection, that I didn’t live up to the expectations of my gender.
“I don’t know how long I’ll be here. Maybe we’ll get this Neal thing figured out pretty quick, maybe we won’t.”
I struggled to follow Russell’s meaning. His word seemed out of left field. He cleared his throat in his nervous way and sounded tentative.
“But chances are, I’ll have some time on my hands. There’ve been a lot of times I would’ve liked to escape. Maybe you can….” He shrugged. “Maybe you can point out some books you think I might like. I can give them a try.”
I stared at him, waiting for the punch line.
He hastily started building another fajita. “You don’t have to. It was just a thought.”
My God, he was serious. “Sure. That could be fun.”
Those brown eyes flashed up at me, hopeful. “Really?”
“Yeah. I’m sure we’ve got something downstairs that’ll match you.” On a surprising whim, I motioned toward the alcove. “Or maybe even something up here that you’ll like.”
“Oh. There’s definitely something up here I like.” There was that heat again. Undeniable, direct. And then it was gone, like he’d shocked himself. “I mean… there’s a lot of… books over there. One of them has gotta work.”
“Yeah… I’m sure one will.” Silence fell once more.
By the time I had a second glass of wine, which was more than I normally drank during an entire week, we’d finished dinner, gazes meeting every once in a while and each time flicking away nervously.
The wine had been a mistake. I thought it would ease my nerves, make things less awkward. But instead, it only served to heighten my attraction to him and lower my defenses. Though it was barely nine in the evening and I would normally be curled up in the alcove for the next few hours reading, I gestured toward my bedroom as we finished the dishes. “I’m kind of exhausted. Must be the… stress or something. Would you be offended if I turn in early?” I gestured across the room toward the entertainment center. “Feel free to watch TV or a movie or anything. It won’t keep me up.”
“Oh. Of course not.” There was disappointment on his face and in his voice. Or maybe that was just the wine. Russell took a step toward me. I thought he was going to reach out, thought he was going to touch me. I could feel him trying not to.
Again, maybe just the wine.
“If you need anything in the middle of the night….” He shook his head and took a step back. “Don’t leave the apartment. Don’t even go downstairs to the bookshop.” He held my gaze, all serious business again. “I’m not playing around. I don’t care if you have your new alarm system or not, we’re not taking chances. If you need something downstairs or to go outside for some reason or anything at all, you wake me. You don’t do anything alone that’s not in this apartment. Agreed?”
I nodded. I knew his words should make me feel nervous. Cause me to worry that Neal was thinking about breaking in while we slept. But all I could manage was to mentally finish his initial sentence. Imagining things I might need in the middle of the night. “Okay. I promise.”
We stood there, both tense and unmoving.
All he needed to do was reach out and touch me.
Just one more time. Just once more feel his hands on me, so I could relive those powerful moments that had symbolized my freedom, my escape.
I took a couple of steps back. “Do you need anything before I turn in?”
Another hesitation. “No. I’m okay. I can manage out here on my own.”
Why wasn’t he reaching out and grabbing me, stopping me? We both wanted this. Wine or not, we did. We’d been dancing around it all day.
Why didn’t I?
“Okay, then. Good night. See you in the morning.”
He nodded. “Good night, Jasper. Sleep well and know that you’re safe.”
Proving that two glasses of wine were truly dangerous for me, I nearly replied that I’d be safer with him in my bed. Nearly. Knowing that if I even attempted to speak, those words would most definitely come out, I simply waved and went to bed.
I forced myself to do my nightly routine—washing my face, flossing, brushing my teeth, night cream. Then I hurried from my bathroom into my bed, lest I was tempted to return to the living room.
After a while I heard the TV click on. The volume was so soft I was willing to bet Russell could barely hear it.
Sleep wouldn’t come. Although, I’m not sure I even tried to make it. I could feel him. Could sense him in the next room, sitting on the couch watching TV.
I could join him. Curl up beside him on the couch. Or, like I’d done years ago, straddle him, sink down onto him so he was filling me up, and get lost in his kiss.
The wine might have blurred my brain and judgment, but it unfortunately had no significant impact on my cock. Over an hour ticked by as Russell watched television, and through every moment, my betraying erection screamed at me from beneath the sheets.
When at last the TV clicked off, the soft light glowing from under my door vanishing, I could still feel him. I felt when he walked to the kitchen and got a glass of water, when he checked the lock on the apartment door, and when he disappeared into the bedroom next to mine.
I could feel him in bed. His body calling out to me.
Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe my body was just screaming loud enough for both of us.
Another hour ticked by, and then another.
Sleep didn’t come, stubbornly refusing to even draw close.
Enough time passed that the wine could no longer be blamed for the electricity surging through my body, of the
arousal that only seemed to grow with the knowledge of Russell Wallace sleeping just a few feet away.
I pictured him in the bed. It was all so much worse that I didn’t have to imagine what he might look like. I knew. I knew the muscled expanse of his chest covered in that dark hair. Remembered how his shoulders bunched as his arms went around me. Could practically feel his tree-trunk thighs spreading my legs open as I sank down onto him.
By the time the darkest part of the night arrived, I was on the verge of losing my mind at the constant battle of talking myself into staying exactly where I was.
When my hand finally lowered to give myself relief, it only made me angry.
It wasn’t what I wanted, not even close. And I knew it wouldn’t even help. Even if a self-induced orgasm offered relief, it would be short-lived. Within ten minutes I’d feel the buzz of him again, the call of his sleeping naked body, so close.
I couldn’t take another second.
In final, nearly crazed desperation, I threw the covers from me and got out of bed. As if something had taken control of my body, I hurried from my room and stood in front of his door, my grip paused on the handle.
Just go back to bed. Go back to your own fucking room, crawl into bed, and go the fuck to sleep.
Or go finish the bottle of wine until you pass out.
My hand turned, and there was a soft click of the latch.
He hadn’t locked his door.
Just go back to bed. Even if I didn’t get any sleep, even if I lay on that mattress and tossed and turned for the next few hours, even if I was exhausted in the morning, this moment would pass, and I’d be glad I hadn’t given in to the weakness.
It was what I should do. There was no doubt about it.
If you need anything in the middle of the night…
I started to turn the handle once more, to latch the door, but instead I pushed it open and stepped inside.
Four
Russell
No surge of panic rushed through me when I heard Jasper at the door. I knew it wasn’t Neal or any other intruder. Even so, I was surprised, in the way things that are inevitable can still surprise a person.
After Jasper went to bed, I sat on the couch, selected some movie from Netflix that had been suggested on the main menu, and then barely bothered to look at the screen. After the tense moments over dinner, it was impossible to pretend Jasper wasn’t feeling the same draw toward me that I was experiencing for him. It was simply going to be a matter of white-knuckling it for the sake of being professional.
Staring at his closed bedroom door made me wonder if the merits of being professional were truly worth it. After an hour of that torture, I went to bed. I counted it as a show of extreme willpower that I didn’t knock on his bedroom door, didn’t even pause outside it.
As more hours rolled by with me tossing and turning, that notion of strength seemed nothing more than stupidity.
He was awake on the other side of that wall separating the bedrooms. I knew he was. I could feel him. Hell, chances were if somebody was walking by on the street below, they could feel it too—probably got a stiffy, to boot, from the pheromones the two of us were releasing.
At one point, I got out of bed and made it all the way to my door before I stopped myself. Although, what gave me pause wasn’t thoughts of professionalism or wondering how Harrison would take it if I messed around with his little brother—Jasper was a grown man, and it wasn’t any of Harrison’s business.
What made me stop was that Jasper was in a crisis. He was living under the threat of his crazy ex. I knew of other men in the business, ones who took similar jobs for women dealing with the exact same issue. More than one of them had ended in a night of passion, sometimes several nights of passion. And every time I heard them talk, heard them brag, I couldn’t help but judge them. Find them guilty of taking advantage of a woman in distress.
Would I be any different if I did the same to Jasper? Did it change because he was a man? Or had I misjudged the other cases? Just because a woman was in crisis didn’t mean she was incapable of making her own sexual choices at her discretion.
Ultimately I decided that if I was overthinking it that much, it was better safe than sorry.
But still, Jasper was just so goddamn beautiful. I could imagine him lying there in bed, naked. Couldn’t keep from wondering what that lithe body looked like out of clothes. What he would smell like, what his skin would taste like. How he would sound when I drove into him.
Those thoughts were rolling around in my brain when he stepped into my room. Maybe those very thoughts had called him over.
I didn’t move, pretended to be sleeping, though I cracked my lids slightly to see his shadowy form in the dark.
Jasper made it a little farther than the foot of the bed before he paused.
If I’d felt the subtlety of his desire before, it was like a tidal wave then. And it matched my own.
I’d already cast away any apprehension around professionalism. And if he came to me in the middle of the night, then I didn’t need to concern myself over the fears of taking advantage of him.
He stood there for several moments, his quiet breathing slightly labored, and then started to head out of the room.
Just as he reopened the door, I sat up, the sheets falling to my waist. “You don’t have to leave.”
His silhouette stiffened in the doorway, and then he turned around. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I haven’t been able to sleep.”
A long moment of hesitation followed, filled with more of Jasper’s breathing, or maybe it was mine. “Me neither.”
I started to pull off the sheets and stand, to go to him, but the choice should be his. I needed it to be. Maybe that was already clear since he was in my room, but he’d also been about to leave. “Do you need anything, Jasper?” Even if he required a little prompting, the choice would still be his.
After more hesitation, his hoarse whisper cut through the silence. “You. I need… I want you.”
With that, I did throw off the covers. “Then come take what you need.”
Jasper only paused for a few more seconds, then closed the door, bringing us into nearly full dark once more, the only light a soft glow through the curtains. He padded over and stood beside the bed. “You sure you’re okay with this?”
His question threw me off. As if he was concerned he was the one in the wrong. Like he was taking advantage. I scooted over till I was seated on the edge of the bed and he stood between my naked legs. Even with the barely there light, his pale skin glowed. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of low-strung jersey pajama bottoms, ones that did nothing to hide his erection.
Deciding he’d given me all the permission I needed, I reached out and stroked his smooth chest and down his tight, flat stomach, pausing at the knotted waistband. He shuddered beneath my fingertips. “Yeah. I am so okay with this.”
If I had any guilt in the morning about sleeping with a client, I’d cross that bridge when I got there. It would be worth it.
In reply, Jasper mimicked me and touched my chest tentatively, then sank his fingers in the hair and rubbed across my body.
Lying there in the dark, I’d imagined him on my bed, on his hands and knees. Imagined myself plunging into him over and over until I emptied inside of him. But there was something about Jasper Getty, as he stood there in the dim light, that skin glowing, those lithe, hard muscles beneath my hands. The way he trembled at my touch.
I was moved to worship. Literally.
Sliding off the bed, I went to my knees in front of him, both hands jerking the knot free at his waist and then pulling his pajama bottoms down to his ankles.
His cock was at eye level. Straining mere inches from my face.
I gripped his firm thighs and ran my hands up the sparse soft hair to capture his long thick cock.
Jasper shuddered and gripped one of my shoulders. “Russell, you don’t have to… I was going to….”
I c
ut him off by taking him into my mouth till his erection hit the back of my throat. I shifted angle and took him deeper, down to the root.
His other hand joined the first as he gripped my shoulders, his fingers pressing in when he thrust his hips forward, causing me to gag.
I jerked my head back to suck in a breath.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
He quit talking when I devoured him once more.
As I savored his cock, I roamed my hands over his body, feeling the hard smoothness of him. His ass tightened and clenched as he built a slow thrusting rhythm.
One of his hands slunk up from my shoulders to my neck, and his fingers spread over my jaw and through my beard. His thumb traced my lips as I moved up and down his shaft.
I groaned and adjusted so I could run my tongue over his thumb while I simultaneously stroked his cock.
Jasper made noises that matched my own, and his tangy slickness coated my throat. “Russell. Slow down. I won’t last. I’ve been thinking about this for too many hours. I won’t last.”
I pulled off him instantly. I’d been thinking about it for too many hours as well. And I wanted to be inside of him. Wanted to fuck him.
But then, I looked up. His perfect erection filling my vision, precome spilling from his slit and making its way down his shaft. But beyond that was all that glowing expanse of smooth skin, the swells of his chest, then his beautiful face looking down at me, lips parted as he panted, eyes wide in desire. One of his hands still gripped my shoulder and the other my jaw. And again I was overwhelmed by him. Wanted to worship him—there was no other word for it. Wanted to be on my knees and service his body, be the vessel for his pleasure.
Though shadowed, our gazes met in the dark.
I didn’t know if the desire was truly for his pleasure or my own, but it didn’t matter. “Don’t last. Empty into me. Give me all of you.” Without waiting for a response, I sank back down onto his cock and regained my rhythm instantly.
The Alcove (Lavender Shores Book 7) Page 6