Crazy as it is, mad as I feel, there’s only one way for us to speak in this moment.
I step out of the elevator and drop my purse to the floor as I walk, reaching back for the zip of my dress and dragging it down. I come to a stop at the foot of the stairs and pull my arms out of the sleeves, letting the lace plummet to the floor and pool on my strappy shoes. I step out of it, everything inside of me thrumming, but everything completely stable as I climb the steps one by one, feeling him close behind me. Following. “Take off your suit,” I murmur, removing my bra and dropping it on the steps.
Naked.
I cast my hungry gaze over my shoulder. He’s halfway up. Bare-chested. His face a masterpiece of craving. His torso a blanket of dense muscle.
He comes to a stop, kicking off his shoes, letting them tumble down the steps to the bottom. Then he starts working his fly, his stare concentrated, burning through me, his lips straight, his cheeks hollow. I return my eyes forward and pick up my feet, taking myself to his bedroom. I push the door open and gaze around. To the wall. To the cabinet. To the bed.
Cold Water Music by Aim is suddenly pouring from the speakers, drenching the space. My shoulders roll, and I swallow.
Talking.
Without talking.
I pad across the carpet and crawl up the sheets, turning onto my back and settling, my legs bent, my heels pressed into the mattress. He appears at the door, pushing his trousers down his thighs, and his eyes fall to between my legs. I slide my hand down my stomach, scissor my fingers, and glide them across my flesh, bowing my back subtly. His trousers and boxers hit the floor. My desire hits the roof. His cock, weeping and hard, juts from his groin proudly. Circling the base with a palm, he draws a slow stroke down his shaft on a loud inhale, and I moan at the sight of him, as well as the slippery friction I’m creating myself, my nerves sizzling. I don’t know what I’m doing. Why I’m doing it. It’s all just happening, and I have no inclination to stop it, or to even take a moment and consider the consequences. Because by doing that, I’ll be kicking off a war between my body and my mind, and I’m truly scared which one will come out the other side in one piece. I’m here. James is here. The insane chemistry is here.
We’re both at its mercy.
My body starts to tense, my fingers hardening, my strokes building in rhythm. And in response, James starts to thrust his fist faster. His expression is firm in its indifference, but his body is communicating, screaming, telling me he’s as desperate as me. As hungry as me.
As broken as me.
I can feel my walls beginning to swell, the pressure building, the blood pumping relentlessly, as I work myself up higher, my view unrivaled, the sight of him doing more than my own touch ever could. His stomach is steel. His face is straining. His biceps bulging.
He’s going to come.
My lips part, and I take my spare hand to my boob, grabbing it roughly, crying out. I begin to writhe on the sheets, my heels sinking deeper into the mattress, my hips starting to thrust up. James hisses through his teeth, taking the doorframe for support, struggling to remain upright, his pumping becoming violent. My eyes climb his body until they reach his face.
And his eyes.
The entrance to the land of freedom.
To another me.
My orgasm hits, and my world explodes around me, my body out of control, shaking, jacking, my cries long and deafening. I remove my touch on a sharp inhale, the sensitivity too much, as I’m riddled with endless stabs of pleasure, the force of them crippling.
James convulses, his shoulders jerking, his bark labored. “Fuck, Beau,” he wheezes, his fingers clawing around the doorjamb, his body folding, as he watches me watching him come undone. He looks like he could collapse at any moment, but I can’t remove my eyes from his to check the stability of his legs. I expect they’re wobbling. I know I am. I’m shaking to my core. Blitzed. Falling apart but together.
He turns into the door, resting his forehead on his arm, breathing erratically. James Kelly post orgasm is a hypnotic sight. James in his magnificent, naked, trembling glory. And I did that. I made him fall apart.
The power I feel in this moment—not helplessness, not dependance, not pain—is as dangerous as the sense of escape he provides.
Full control.
And I haven’t had full control in years. Not of my body, my emotions, or my pain.
I turn my head on the pillow and gaze out of the endless glass, to the world beyond. A world I never thought could be good for me again. A world I thought I couldn’t fit into. But in this glass box, I fit, and it feels good, irrespective of the secrets shrouding us.
“You said you wanted to get to know me,” I say to the dusky skyline, my body still rolling in the aftermath of my release.
“I do.”
“What about other people?” I turn my head, finding him still propped up by the door, his head still buried in the crook of his arm. “Do you want to get to know other people?”
“No.”
“What about fucking them? Do you want to fuck other people?”
Silence.
I don’t know how we arrived at this moment, but it’s time to share some truths. “I saw you,” I say, my voice strong. Unashamed.
More silence, leaving my statement hanging heavy in the air. I don’t need to extend. He knows what I’m talking about.
I watch him using too much effort to stand on his own, pushing his body off the doorjamb. “I know,” he finally says, facing me.
“How?”
He turns, giving me his disfigured back, and walks away, not telling me to follow. But as I’m learning with James, he doesn’t need to speak for me to understand him. I edge to the side of the bed and reach down to unfasten my shoes, kicking them off and following him. He enters his office, and by the time I make it to the threshold, his naked body is propped against one of the windowpanes. He points at the wall of screens. I’m filling them. Every single one of them is the same footage of me. And I’m standing in the doorway to his bedroom watching him fuck that woman. I don’t know if I’m immune to shock now, but I feel nothing. No surprise. No annoyance. He’s known this whole time.
“Why do you do it?” I ask, looking away from the TVs.
“Release. Wildness. The thrill.” He picks up the remote control and points it at the wall, and the images of me standing in the doorway to his bedroom are replaced by images of me sprawled on his bed at the peak of an orgasm. Five minutes ago. “But my past encounters,” he says quietly, “pale compared to what’s on these screens now.” I feel him approaching, and he takes my naked hips, holding me.
“You have cameras everywhere?” I turn my eyes up to the ceiling, scanning, but I see nothing.
“They’re hidden.”
“Why?” Surely if this was a security issue, he’d have them on full display to deter people.
“They’re an eyesore.”
“That’s not the reason,” I reply without thought.
“No, it’s not.” He circles me, putting his imposing, hard body before me, and I tilt my head back to look at him. Now, I am surprised. I don’t know how I knew he wasn’t being honest, but I knew. And that’s adding to the scary that’s building. “But you don’t want to know my secrets,” he reminds me quietly. “You just want this.” His fingertip meets my nipple, and they’re immediately hard for him. I inhale, my knees instantly weak. “Don’t you, Beau?”