25. James
Chapter 25
James
I ’m wrecked by the time I’ve hauled my gear inside. My muscles scream at me. I’ve been working on a large-scale development in Canary Wharf, and the days have been gruelling.
I manage a weary wave to the lads as they head off down the street, the music from the speakers fading into the night. Regardless of how exhausted I am after a gig, I always have a difficult time sleeping. My ears ring and adrenaline continues to course through my veins long after we finish playing. I’m also fucking ravenous. My stomach gurgles loudly at the mere thought of food, but I decide to freshen up before settling in for the night.
I head straight for the shower, stripping my sweaty top as I go.
As I step under the warm spray and lather up, my mind drifts to the auburn-haired beauty who’s invaded my thoughts for months.
I close my eyes, letting the water beat down on me, and think about the way her body pressed against mine as she pulled up on her tiptoes to kiss me. Her sweet perfume lingers in my senses, I can almost taste it. I think of her plump, glossy lips and the way they barely brushed against mine, her sweet taste leaving me wanting more. God, this woman. I can’t help but ache to finish what we started.
The way Tom barged in made my blood boil—I could’ve throttled him right then and there. The urge to pull her back in and claim her lips was almost unbearable the moment she stepped away. She was going to kiss me. And God help me, I would’ve met her halfway without hesitation. Was she as disappointed as I was?
I have to know what was going through her head. Or am I the only one who can’t seem to let it go?
I reach for a towel, scrubbing myself dry with exaggerated force. I pull on a pair of joggers and a black jumper before heading to the lounge, grabbing my phone and flopping onto the sofa. Opening our text thread, I start typing before I have time to overthink it, my thumbs tapping quickly over the screen. I keep it simple and honest, reading the message back once before hitting send.
Me: I can’t stop thinking about how badly I want that kiss.
I drop the phone beside me and lean back, running my fingers through my damp hair.
There.
It’s sent.
I’ve put it out there, now it’s her move.
I haven’t felt this uneasy about a woman since Abigail.
I don’t usually send messages at this hour, especially not over a simple almost-kiss. My usual approach is straightforward—quick texts for a quick fuck. No strings attached—we each take our pleasure, then go our separate ways. So, what the hell is going on with me? April isn’t someone you treat like a casual hookup. I know this. She’s the kind of woman you take seriously, the kind of woman you date and build something lasting with. She’s smart, interesting, loving, kind, and loyal. She’s got a depth that goes way beyond casual.
But is this something that could last? I’m not sure.
I grunt, frustrated, sinking back into the sofa cushions. If we end up sleeping together, it will change everything. Am I ready for that? I’m not interested in adding her to the list of fleeting encounters in my phone, and I definitely don’t want to start something that might not last if Atlas Veil ends up touring.
But I can’t stop myself, no matter how hard I try.
I’ve thrown everything I have into my music, but she’s always there, tucked away in the recesses of my mind.
Late nights are just part of the gig routine, and I’m used to them now. When I’m unable to sleep, I either tinker with writing music or settle in with a book until sleep claims me. I fix myself some tea and toast, taking a hearty bite, and head back to the sofa, ready to settle in with my book. I’ve just made myself comfortable when the jarring buzz of the doorbell blares through the quiet of my flat, making me jump.
“What the fuck?” I mutter as I walk over to the window and peer out, wondering who would be ringing my buzzer this early in the morning.
And there she is, standing on the stoop, her fingers twisting together nervously. My pulse quickens, and my eyes dart around the flat to ensure it looks halfway decent before I let her in. I hear the dull thud of footsteps as she approaches my door. I swing it open just as her hand is raised, ready to knock.
We both freeze, eyes locked.
Neither of us says a word, but we both know exactly what this means. The air between us thrums with tension.
I clear my throat. “Hey, April,” I say with a low voice.
She hesitates momentarily. “Hey, James,” she replies, quietly.
I step aside and gesture for her to come in. As she moves past me, her eyes sweep the room, as if she’s searching for something. She’s been here before, though only briefly, when Lucas needed to pick something up, so she’s already seen my flat.
“I just boiled the kettle. Can I get you something?” I ask.
She’s standing in the middle of the room, arms wrapped around herself like a protective shield.
“April?”
“You feel this, right?” she asks, whirling to face me, gesturing between us. “I’m not going crazy, am I?”
I blink because I’m caught off guard by her directness. Clenching my jaw, I take a careful, tentative step toward her, as if one wrong move might frighten her off.
“Right?” she repeats, her tone uncertain now.
I hold her eyes. “No, April. You’re not going crazy.”
“Good.” She nods in affirmation, more to herself than me. “Good.”
“April.”
“Yes?”
“Why are you here?”
“What?” She asks, distracted by thoughts.
“Why. Are. You. Here?” I repeat, closing the distance between us.
I take her in as she stands before me. She glows without a hint of makeup, her porcelain skin flawless. Her auburn hair is pulled into a high ponytail, exposing the soft curves of her heart-shaped face and the delicate columns of her throat. In this light, her blue eyes shimmer, catching a silvery fleck I hadn’t noticed before, and her dark, thick lashes flutter, kissing the tops of her cheekbones. My gaze lingers on her plush lips, desperate to taste them.
And before I can stop myself, images flash through my mind—those lips wrapped around my dick, her hair twisted in my fist as she takes me deep into her mouth. I really hope she’s here for the reason I think she is.
“I …,” she starts, then falters.
“You?” I ask, an eyebrow kicking up.
“I want—” She hesitates, breath shaky.
“What do you want, April?”
She lets out a slow breath, squaring her shoulders. “You. I want you, James.”
“Finally,” I growl, stepping closer.
“Wait,” she whispers, raising her hands between us, and I halt.
Her turbulent eyes pierce into mine, and I lift my brows, waiting for her next words.
“Is this a bad idea? What about Lucas?” she asks, her voice so small I almost miss it.
The black cloud hovering over us is suffocating, but the pull towards her is irresistible, and I’m drawn into the impending storm.
Heat thrums between us, and the restraint I’d clung onto snaps.
“Fuck it,” I grit out, grabbing her face in a fierce hold as our mouths crash together.