Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
Scarlett
I t’s been two weeks since JB arrived, and it’s been far from easy.
First of all, I’m used to it just being me in this self-contained living space. The kitchen is on the lower floor, totally sealed off from the rest of that level, with a private entrance. On the upper floor there are two bedrooms, a bathroom and a general living space. A door on this floor gives me access to Velvet’s, which automatically locks and, except for one key that Smoke has, I’m the only one who can move freely between the two domains.
So, having someone invading my privacy is driving me insane.
Secondly. He has the ability to irritate the fuck out of me.
It’s not so bad in the evenings because I spend most of my time downstairs, front of house in Velvet’s. But if the evenings are quiet, I usually take advantage of the time to study. However, I have found this near impossible when the larger-than-life JB takes up valuable space in the living area, which doubles up as my office. With his current confinement, he has taken to books. Not that it’s a bad thing, but he has this annoying habit of verbalizing his reactions to the storyline. The sniggers, huffs and tutting are both irritating and distracting in equal measure. Not to mention that he seems to suck all the oxygen out of the room, which has me cursing furiously under my breath, while taking the back stairs, fleeing out through the kitchen until I’m outside breathing in the clean air and regaining a modicum of composure.
Thirdly. He’s an outrageous flirt.
The way he comes up close when it’s totally unnecessary.
For example, he sneaks his hand around me to reach into the refrigerator to grab something at the exact time that I’m there checking out what groceries we need.
When I find time to catch a movie, and I’m sitting cozy on the sofa, he comes in looking so fucking hot in his jeans and a tight T-shirt that it should be illegal. He drops into the seat beside me, close enough that our thighs are touching, when there’s a perfectly good, and comfortable, armchair that he could make use of. The body heat he radiates is off the charts. I end up giving up on the movie due to being too hot, too distracted with my level of annoyance at boiling point, my heart racing, and urgently needing to put some distance between me and his irritating ass.
And then there’s the number of times I’ve caught him watching me.
If I’m perfectly honest, sometimes it’s JB catching me watching him, but that’s only because I’m still trying to work him out. The way he bats his ridiculously long eyelashes—that should be outlawed on men—staring at me with eyes that I swear are trying their darndest to undress me, is shameful. That scandalous smile of his plays on his lips and, Jesus, it makes me, dare I say, nervous.
For someone who faces numerous men every day, who come into Velvet’s with only one thing on their mind—sex—you’d think I’d be immune to his salacious advances.
But when it comes to him, my heart races, my face turns pink, and my body reacts like a horny teenager desperate to pop her cherry on prom night. Overall, I find his attention incredibly… flattering? But I’m also acutely aware that it’s wrong, so irritatingly wrong.
It’s three in the morning, and tonight has been a crazy busy night in Velvet’s. The poor girls have been inundated with horny men because of the influx of additional labor from neighboring towns, brought in to speed up the construction of a new skyscraper in downtown Reno. I’m exhausted while waiting for the last of the clients to go so I can retire, grab a hot bath and much-needed sleep.
I leave the girls to take care of locking up, slip through the door and back into my space. The sound of footsteps coming up from the kitchen takes me by surprise, as it’s late for JB to still be up. Maybe he woke and needed a drink or snack, but as I’m tired and not in the mood for his flirty banter, I step back into the shadow of the large ceiling-to-floor bookcase until he’s back in his room.
What I don’t expect to see is him dressed in sweatpants, T-shirt and sneakers. He’s hardly the shy type and doesn’t usually think twice about walking around in tight shorts or boxers.
Where the hell has he been?
I watch as he disappears down the hallway towards his room. I slip off my shoes so I can tiptoe behind him unheard. The door to my bedroom is first. His, at the opposite end of the hallway. But when I see that the light is on in the bathroom between our bedrooms, and the door ajar, my curiosity gets the better of me.
With my back against the wall, I twist my upper body just enough so I can peek through the opening of the door. If it weren’t for the discarded clothes on the floor, you wouldn’t think anyone was in there. It’s so quiet. JB’s naked body comes into view as he swings open the door of the shower cubicle. Shame immediately hits me at my voyeuristic moment, and I pull back sharply, my head banging against the wall. Fortunately, the noise of the water being turned on and gushing out from the shower head disguises it.
Insanity takes over, along with my questionable inquisitive need to see what exactly has been hiding underneath JB’s well-kept clothing. I poke my head around again to peek through the gap, and I’m met with the side view of JB with his hand outstretched against the tiled wall in front of him, his nearside leg forward as he leans under the water spray. And might I say, HOLY CRAP.
With his head dipped downwards, long wet tendrils of hair—no longer in a quiff and flattened to his head by the cascade of water that flows over him—hang over his forehead, veiling his eyes, the tips brushing the bridge of his nose. His free hand, spread flat on his chest, moves slowly down across the plains of his abdomen, skimming each ridge and indent until it slips past his navel and vanishes between his legs.
The way his arm moves, biceps contracting, it’s clear that he’s got a firm hold of his cock and is stroking it. Any doubt of that is quickly quashed when he straightens up, pulling back his leg that was previously violating the perfect view. The water droplets and light condensation on the glass do nothing to hide the impressive outline of his firm, hard cock as he caresses and pumps it. His chest rises and falls quickly with every sharp intake of breath.
I need to look away before I get caught, but my heart races along with the rush of arousal that surges through me to my very core, making it impossible. The pull, the beauty of it, I can’t turn away from the majestic sight of a soaked, very hard JB jerking himself off.
With a deep guttural groan, JB’s head rocks backwards, ribbons of cum spurting from his cock and dripping down his fingers. My fingers itch, and I’m desperate to slip into my underwear to ease my frustration. But instead, I let my gaze rake over his body one more time so I can store it away in my memory bank for when I’m alone and able to take from it what I need. Only when I get past the abs, and up his pecs to his face, he’s looking me right in the eye, wearing a smirk on his face that tells me I’ve clearly been busted.
Johny B
However comfortable this place is, and for that aspect of the stay, I can’t complain. But hell, I’m going stir-crazy. I’m not allowed to go into Velvet’s, and with Scarlett spending most evenings downstairs, I get fucking lonely. The times we’ve spent in the same space, whether kitchen or living room, it’s not long before she’s taking herself off somewhere else. I seem to irritate the fuck out of her.
Back home, if I wasn’t tied up with club business or spending time with my brothers in the clubhouse, I’d be out there burning off my excess energy by hitting the asphalt. Yeah, I run. It’s what keeps me sane and out of trouble. Once my heart is pumping and near exhaustion, I’d call one of the many females that’s more than happy for a late-night hookup, fuck any remaining energy out of me, so I could eventually catch a few hours deep sleep.
So, I’ve taken to sneaking out the door that leads out of Scarlett’s private living quarters, under the veil of darkness. Dressed in dark clothing, hood pulled over my head and running sneakers, I take a route away from Velvet’s that will minimize any chances or raise suspicion; so far, I’ve managed to stifle my hyperactivity. Except when I get back, I’m unable to finish with a fuck, so while washing away the sweat that has built up on my skin, I grip my cock and stroke and tug at it while my head is full of images of Scarlett and those curves she hides beneath her clothing.
Don’t ask me how, but I could sense her watching me. Maybe it was the way my skin felt heated, hypersensitive as I let the water run over it, washing away the soap suds. All it did was make me take my time stroking myself, putting on a show, just for her. Knowing that her eyes were on me made my cock harder than ever and it took all my resolve not to blow my load in record time. While her eyes were on me, I let myself image that it was her delicate hands, her fingers wrapped around my shaft, the softness of her palm sliding against my skin. It being her thumb stroking over the engorged head. When I could hold back no longer, I let my head fall back, the sound of my pleasure slipping from my lips as my sticky cum paints the tiles and drips from my fingers. With that, I lilted my head, piercing her with my eyes, a knowing smile on my lips so that she was fully aware I had caught her in the act.
My sexy little spy.