CHAPTER 50
Brynn
Tallinn, Estonia
Night Thirty-Five Off Grid
The closet door shut behind us with a soft click, swallowing the noise of the dining hall. The space was narrow, lined with coats and handbags, the air cold from the draft that slipped in every time staff passed through.
Jameson scanned the shelves quickly, methodical even in the dim light. “Her coat should be here.”
I moved beside him, fingers brushing fabric until I found the heavy black leather. “This one.”
He nodded once, already reaching for the matching handbag tucked beside it.
We barely unzipped it before the sound hit us.
A steady, decisive heel strike sounded as they moved toward the door.
Jameson froze.
I didn’t.
I shoved the handbag back onto the shelf, not perfectly, not carefully, just far enough that it wasn’t in my hand when the door opened.
“Pick me up,” I whispered.
His head snapped toward me. “Brynn.”
“Now.”
The footsteps were too close. Whoever it was would open the door in seconds.
“Put me against the wall,” I breathed. “Like we’re... just do it.”
He didn’t waste another second.
His hands gripped my waist, lifting me effortlessly, my back hitting the wall of coats with a soft thud. His body came in close, shielding mine, his face angled down toward my neck.
The door opened.
A soft, amused sound slipped into the room.
“Well,” a woman said. “I was only coming in for my cigarettes, but this is far better entertainment than a smoke.”
Jesus.
It’s her.
Jameson went rigid beneath me.
I didn’t let him stay that way.
I let out a startled, breathy laugh and turned my head toward her. “Oh, God, sorry. We didn’t think anyone would come in.”
Tomar waved a hand, leaning against the doorframe like she had all the time in the world. “Please. Don’t apologize.”
Her gaze moved past my shoulder.
Not to Jameson.
Not to my dress.
To the shelf.
My pulse kicked once, hard.
The handbag sat on the shelf behind my shoulder, close enough for her to notice, close enough for me to hate myself for not shoving it farther.
Tomar leaned against the doorframe, one brow lifting. “You know, people who get caught in private rooms usually scramble to straighten themselves out. Yet here you are, still as statues.” She waved her fingers slightly. “Unless you’re comfortable with an audience?”
I gave her a breathless laugh, shaking my head. “No, no audience required. Just sneaking away for a little relief.” I slid my hand up the back of Jameson’s neck, threading my fingers into his hair, pulling just enough to muss it.
Tomar exhaled, her smile widening. “I haven’t had this much eye candy in ages. Don’t stop on my account.”
Jameson made a low sound, not intimate, but a growl of frustration buried in my shoulder. He angled his face deeper into the crook of my neck, hiding himself completely.
I used the movement to slip his glasses off and shove them into his jacket pocket.
Tomar tilted her head. “Shy, is he?”
“Oh no, he’s just frustrated because I told him I’m in charge tonight.” I looked at Tomar with a conspiratorial shrug. “He’s not a fan of that.”
Her eyes glinted. “How delightful. I used to have one of those.”
It hit harder than it should have. A small, stupid sting right beneath my ribs.
I looked down at him before I could stop myself. Our eyes met.
He shook his head, the tiniest movement, but unmistakable.
Not her.
Not about her.
Not anymore.
The hurt flickered and went out.
He pressed his forehead briefly to my shoulder, a silent, steadying reassurance only I could feel.
And just like that, the moment passed.
Tomar shifted, reaching past us toward the shelf. Her fingers closed around the small handbag I had barely replaced before her entrance. She drew it toward her with unhurried elegance, as if we weren’t pinned against the wall in front of her.
For one terrible second, I thought she might open it.
Instead, she held it loosely at her side, watching us over the curve of Jameson’s shoulder.
“Do you mind,” she said lightly, “if I smoke?”
She flicked open a slim silver cigarette case with a practiced snap, the metal catching the dim light.
I shook my head. “Of course not.”
She made a thankful gesture that also somehow seemed to say proceed.
I forced a breathy laugh. “We’ll... try not to disappoint.”
I gripped Jameson’s hair again, fingers tightening in the dark strands, deliberately mussing them further until they fell wild across his forehead.
I knew it had to be driving him insane, but the less he looked like himself, the better.
I tugged his head back just enough to expose the line of his throat, then guided him lower, pressing his face into the curve of my neck and chest.
Tomar exhaled a slow stream of smoke. “Mmm. Don’t be shy on my account.”
The trap snapped shut around us so quietly I almost admired it.
Almost.
“Lower,” I whispered, loud enough for her to hear, my voice edged with command.
His mouth moved hot against my skin. With a subtle shift of his fingers, he slipped one side of the delicate black lace aside and freed my breast, closing his mouth over me in one hungry pull.
His other hand pushed the opposite side down, exposing me fully before his thumb dragged over my nipple in a slow, deliberate stroke.
The wet heat of his mouth and the rough sweep of his thumb tore a gasp from me.
I kept my fingers twisted tight in his hair, holding him there, his face safely buried against me.
Tomar murmured, “Now that’s a lovely view. Such beautiful breasts. You’re a lucky man.”
I rocked against him, breath ragged, then leaned close to his ear so only he could hear the next command before speaking it loud enough for her. “I want your fingers inside me.”
Jameson froze for a split second.
I tightened my fingers in his hair.
Please.
His hand slid slowly from my knee, up my thigh, deliberate and performative, disappearing through the high slit of my lace gown. When his fingers found bare skin and realized I wasn’t wearing anything underneath, he let out a deep, feral growl against my breast that vibrated straight through me.
There was nothing performative about that.
That part was only for me.
Tomar gave a soft, appreciative hum.
I looked down at him, voice husky. “This isn’t his thing, but he knew exhibitionism was on my bucket list. I’m sure I’ll pay for it deliciously tomorrow.”
My voice pitched strongly as he slid two fingers into me without warning, curling them perfectly.
I dragged in a breath. “But God, he knows how to worship when I tell him to.”
Tomar chuckled, low and smoky. “Lucky girl. Most men forget how good it feels to be told exactly what to do.”
Her gaze moved over us with lazy amusement, but there was nothing lazy in her eyes.
I slid my free hand between us, teasing my own nipple as Jameson’s mouth moved back to my other breast and his fingers worked me with devastating skill. A genuine, needy moan tore from my throat.
The heat between us snapped.
I yanked his mouth up to mine, kissing him hard and deep, tongues sliding, teeth nipping.
My hands dropped to his belt, unbuckling it with frantic precision.
I had him in my palm in seconds, hot and hard and ready.
He didn’t hesitate. He shoved my dress higher, gripped my hips, and pushed into me in one powerful stroke.
My back slammed against the wall of coats with the force of it. I threw my head back, a loud, satisfying moan ripping from my lips as he buried himself deep.
Tomar froze, her cigarette forgotten between her fingers.
For the first time since she walked in, her smile faltered.
Only a little.
Only enough to tell me we’d surprised her.
“Well,” she breathed, voice gone rough. “Fuck. That was far better than I expected.”
Jameson didn’t stop. He moved inside me again, hard, deep, relentless, each stroke driving me back against the coats. I clung to him, legs wrapped tight around his waist, moaning openly now.
Tomar straightened, still staring. “I need to leave before I forget I only came here for cigarettes.” She reached forward, slipping a sleek black card over Jameson’s shoulder and into my hand while he continued moving inside me.
“If you ever want an audience by invitation... or a participant... please don’t hesitate to call. ”
She lingered for one last heated second, the cigarette burning untouched between her fingers.
Then she slipped out of the closet, the door clicking shut behind her.
The second we were alone, Jameson stopped.
For one breath, neither of us moved.
His forehead dropped against mine, his breathing rough, his body still locked inside me. His hand flexed once against my hip, like he was fighting the instinct to take what the moment had already turned into.
“Brynn,” he said, voice wrecked.
“I know. I’m sorry. She pushed, and I panicked.”
His eyes searched mine in the low light.
His grip loosened against my hips. He drew one slow breath, then another, forcing himself back under control.
“No.” His jaw tightened. “I should have recognized what she was doing sooner.”
“She was testing us.”
“She was always calculated.” His thumb moved once against my waist. “I just wasn’t usually the person she aimed it at.”
The admission seemed to cost him something.
“I’m sorry you had to compensate for that,” he said.
I tightened my legs around him. “But if you’re about to stop now, I’m going to be furious.”
His grip changed. Both hands locked beneath my thighs, lifting me higher, holding me tighter, pinning me to the wall of coats as he drove into me harder and deeper. My head fell forward, lips parting on a broken moan.
Sounds spilled out of me, low and needy, each one vibrating against his neck as he moved in me again and again.
Every deep thrust pulled another helpless “ohh” from my lips, the sound growing longer and more desperate until it melted into a shaky, satisfied whimper.
“I can feel how close you are,” he growled against my ear, voice rough and low. “Let go, Brynn.”
I reached between us, fingers finding that aching point, rubbing tight, frantic circles as he kept moving inside me.
My release rushed up fast and violent. My mouth opened on a scream that never fully escaped.
He crushed his lips to mine at the last second, swallowing the loud, shattering cry as I climaxed hard around him.
I moaned into his mouth, the sound vibrating between us while my body clenched and trembled, wave after wave ripping through me as he kept thrusting, riding me through it.
“Fuck, Brynn,” he rasped, burying himself deep one final time.
His whole body tensed, then shuddered hard as he joined me with a low, guttural groan that I felt in my chest. He kept rocking into me through every aftershock until he was spent.