Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
CALEB
Jesse was silent on the cab ride to the townhouse. He was locked down tight, not even a hint of his emotions leaking across our bond.
But I didn’t need the mate bond to know how he felt. The blast of anger he’d sent my way in Sterling’s office had been hot enough to singe my eyebrows.
Jesse was pissed off, and I couldn’t blame him. I’d agreed to keep my mouth shut and then did the opposite. Way to go, me. I’d be lucky if he ever trusted me again.
The cabbie dropped us a couple streets from the townhouse. The rain came down in sheets now, and Jesse and I fell into a jog without speaking. By the time we reached home, my hair was plastered to my head and the back of my neck had turned into a small river.
Jesse let me in first. Two steps into the foyer, I rounded on him.
“I’m sorry about—” My sentence ended in a grunt as he planted a palm in the center of my chest and pushed me against the wall.
Then his tongue was in my mouth and his big body was crowding mine.
He pinned me in place, his hand splayed over my chest while he stroked and sucked.
Pressing harder on my chest, he nipped my lower lip before going deep again.
Confusion and desire swirled in my head. My brain was like a circuit board frying, sparks and smoke filling my skull. Jesse was angry, but he tongue-fucked my mouth like I was a bag of cotton candy.
My mind couldn’t process it, but my dick handled it just fine. I slid my hands into Jesse’s hair and rocked my hips against his, grinding our erections together. Lust fired hot in my veins, and I deepened the kiss, tasting rain on his lips.
He pulled back and stared down at me with eyes the color of whiskey. “Are you ready for me?”
My hole clenched in anticipation. “I could be,” I managed, sounding like I’d eaten sandpaper for dinner.
He stepped back, taking his body heat with him. His face was inscrutable, his emotions still firmly tucked behind whatever wall he’d conjured in his head to keep me out. “Then go upstairs,” he said. “Come find me when you’re finished.”
My dick had no complaints. My stomach remembered how annoyed he’d been since Sterling’s office. “You don’t want to talk about what happened?”
He didn’t move. He just stood there, pinning me without touching me. Then, slowly, his eyes lightened to champagne. Between one breath and the next, his wolf stared down at me.
The slightest smile curved Jesse’s lips. “We’ll talk,” he said softly.
Oh…shit. The circuit board in my head burned hotter, wires melting and turning to goo. But my dick, which apparently possessed zero sense of self-preservation, perked up like a dog hearing the rattle of its leash.
“Okay,” I said, my voice all fluttery and pathetic. Jesus, I sounded like Blaine.
The memory of the secretary’s silver collar was seared into my brain like someone had branded it there. I’d wondered if Sterling was gay, but he was clearly bi. And if I had to guess, Blaine had wanted to be tied up in those red ropes instead of filing paperwork and emptying trashcans.
Jesse gave me a knowing look like he’d read my mind. “Be quick about it,” he said, then turned and stalked toward the kitchen.
I leaned against the wall, my head spinning a little.
Dick drunk. What the fuck was he planning?
Maybe Sterling had given him ideas, and he was on his way to find rope and a crop.
He’d tied me up before. Maybe he’d bind me and edge me until I earned his forgiveness.
He might leave me hanging all night, so to speak, my orgasm dangling like a prize I couldn’t quite reach.
He was really fucking good at rushing me right to the brink only to haul me back. Ad nauseam.
God, this was going to suck. Why couldn’t I have minded my own business in Sterling’s office? And where did that arrogant asshole get off calling me a himbo?
He’d claimed he heard it around. So who the fuck had told him that? Stefanos? I tried to imagine the slight, elegant Greek elder using that kind of slang.
Nah. Himbo wasn’t Stefanos’s style. He’d call me a “rapscallion” or something. Or maybe a classic like “fucking idiot.”
The sound of running water drifted from the kitchen. Cupping a hand over my aching erection, I rushed for the stairs.
In the bathroom, I prepped and showered with the speed of a Formula One pit crew.
Towel slung around my hips, I stood in front of the closet debating what to wear.
Naked was probably too on the nose. Plus, Jesse definitely liked watching me strip.
I could make a show out of that. Get him nice and worked up so he forgot about “talking” and skipped straight to making me come.
Yeah, a strip tease could be a nice little diversion.
Going wolfy had beefed me up far more than football ever had.
My abs were washboard-tight, and my ass was begging for someone to bounce quarters off it.
Or crowns, I guessed. Jesse paid for everything with his phone, and my grasp on British currency was as good as my knowledge of the Bible verses my parents had tried to make me memorize.
Settling for lounge pants, navy bikinis, and a thin gray T-shirt that groped my chest, I headed back downstairs with my cock leading the way like the hood ornament on a Rolls-Royce.
Real fucking smooth, Lawson. Jesus Christ.
Jesse sat on the leather sofa in the living room, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee. He’d dimmed the lights to almost nothing, but the shades were open, letting in light from the street. The storm the weather woman promised had arrived. Thunder boomed, and rain lashed the windows.
Jesse’s eyes were two golden orbs that cut through the shadows. He’d changed his wet clothes, but I swore he hadn’t been upstairs. I would have felt him. Knowing his Type A meticulous ass, he’d stashed spare clothing around the townhouse for spontaneous fucking. Not that I was complaining.
I hovered in the doorway, waiting for him to speak. He didn’t, and the patter of rain continued, water running down the glass around us.
Swallowing, I folded my arms.
No, too aggressive.
I unfolded them and shoved my hands in my pockets. “About earlier—”
“Take off your clothes,” he said.
Okay.
More blood pumped to my dick. I pulled my shirt over my head, my skin tight and my guts all twisted and shivery.
The combination of desire and humiliation had confused me back when I was new to Jesse’s games.
I hadn’t understood why I craved them—why I wanted to be embarrassed and angry.
I’d only known that he made me come like a mountaintop getting fracked off its foundation.
But I understood it now. Submissive was the official word, despite the denial I’d lobbed at Sterling. That arrogant fuck.
Jesse watched as I tossed my T-shirt away and shucked my pants. Kicking them aside, I straightened, hands loose at my sides, my bikini underwear the size of a cocktail napkin. Heat flashing through me, I let Jesse look.
And I looked good. My skin was always smooth and sun-kissed. Not even the English rain could steal my tan. I’d never had much body hair and these days I kept my junk manscaped to a slutty little patch I knew Jesse liked.
Glowing golden eyes roamed my body, cataloging my chest and abs. My dick and thighs. Jesse perused like he had all the time in the world. Which he did, of course. We both knew who controlled the clock.
My cock swelled, and damp spread over the fabric covering my tip. Right on cue, Jesse focused there.
“I like your new panties, college boy.”
Okay, then. RIP Caleb Lawson.
Some hot, shameful part of me wanted to cover my groin. A bigger part of me wanted to stay just like I was, exposed and leaking, my shame on display. Like a dog turned loose on a sunny day, it wanted to race over the grass and roll around in it.
My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, which was suddenly doing an impression of Death Valley. Swallowing hard, I tried for “thank you” and ended up giving a halfhearted grunt.
Jesse stared at my dick with glowing eyes, and I envisioned the damp patch spreading like a movie on fast forward. “You’re making a mess.”
“Yes, sir,” I rasped.
Finally, he met my eyes. “Take them off. Show me how messy you are.”
A blast furnace went off in my face, my skin so hot it was a miracle the rain slicking the windows outside didn’t turn to steam.
I hooked my thumbs in the waistband and took my time pushing them down my legs, and I might have let my dick swing a little as I stepped out of them.
Straightening, I stood there with my erection pointing at Jesse like it wanted to shake his hand.
“Turn around,” he said.
My heart thudded in my ears, a whole drum solo pounding in my skull. Skin prickling, I obeyed.
Silence held. The rain splashed watery shadows over the living room. More thunder boomed in the distance.
“Show me your hole,” Jesse said.
My breath caught. Goddamn, he was skipping the warmup and going straight to filthy motherfucker.
Eyes on the window in front of me, I reached back and grasped a cheek in each hand.
A curious awareness settled over me, my body suddenly hyper-sensitive.
I felt every groove in the floorboards under my toes.
Every current of warm air from the heating vents.
Each of my fingers pressed into my cheeks.
Dragging in a breath, I pulled my ass apart. More air teased my opening, which puckered tight. That hot, shivering humiliation burrowed deeper under my skin. Jesse had seen every part of me. Hell, he’d tasted every part of me, his tongue going on all sorts of adventures in Caleb Land.
But this was different. Debasing and almost clinical.
My ears burned. A fine layer of sweat formed on my shoulders.
And my dick bobbed in front of me, precum smothering the tip.
So, yeah, if my cock was a barometer of how much I was into this, I was really fucking into this. Shock of the century right there.