Chapter 5 #2
I lasted an hour before I couldn't take it anymore. I caught Jason's eye across the room and gave him a slight nod toward the door. He waited exactly five minutes—long enough to be subtle—before following.
The hallway was empty and quiet, the sounds of the party muffled behind us. I'd barely made it to the alcove near the stairs when I heard his footsteps behind me.
"Hey," he said, breathless.
"Hey." I pulled him into the alcove, pressed him against the wall, and kissed him.
He made a surprised sound that turned into a moan, his hands coming up to grip my shoulders. I kissed him harder, all the longing and frustration of the day pouring into it.
"Missed you," I breathed against his mouth.
"We've been in the same room all day."
"Not close enough." I kissed him again, deeper this time, my hands sliding to his hips. "Not nearly close enough."
"Brent." His voice was shaky, his pupils blown wide behind his glasses. "Someone could see us."
"I know." But I couldn't make myself pull away. Not yet. "One more minute."
"If Rebecca catches us, we'll never hear the end of it."
"Worth it," I murmured against his mouth, and kissed him again until we were both gasping.
When footsteps sounded down the hall, we sprang apart, both breathing hard. Jason's lips were swollen, his hair messed up from my hands. I probably looked just as wrecked.
"Later," I promised.
"Later," he agreed, and the heat in his eyes made my pulse jump.
We returned to the social separately but the promise hung between us for the rest of the evening.
***
When I finally made it back to the suite around ten, Jason was already there. He looked up from his laptop when I came in, and the intensity in his gaze stole my breath.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi." I closed the door behind me and locked it. "Working?"
"Trying to." He closed the laptop. "Failing, mostly. Kept thinking about that hallway."
"Me too." I crossed the room slowly, watching his eyes track my every movement. "Kept thinking about other things too."
"What things?" His voice had gone rough.
"Things like how much I wanted to do this." I sat beside him on the loveseat, close enough that our thighs pressed together. "And this." I cupped his face and kissed him, slow and deep and thorough.
He melted into me with a soft sound, his hands sliding up my chest to my shoulders. We kissed like we had all the time in the world, learning the taste and feel of each other, no longer rushing or hiding.
When I pulled back, his eyes were dark behind his glasses. "Brent."
"Yeah?"
"I want..." He trailed off, and I watched his throat work as he swallowed. "I want more than kissing."
Heat shot straight through me. "How much more?"
"I don't know." His hands were still on my shoulders, fingers flexing. "More. Whatever you want to give me."
I kissed him again, harder this time, and he responded immediately, arching into me. My hands slid under his sweater, finding warm skin, and he gasped against my mouth.
"Is this okay?" I asked, even as my fingers traced the line of his ribs.
"Yes." His head fell back, giving me access to his throat. "God, yes."
I kissed down his neck, feeling his pulse jump under my lips. His hands were in my hair now, holding me close, and the small sounds he was making were driving me crazy. He smelled like cedar soap and coffee and underneath, something that was purely him—warm and slightly sweet.
"Bed," I managed. "We should... bed."
"Which one?" His voice was barely there.
"I don't care. Whichever's closer."
We stumbled to his bed—it was closer to the loveseat—and tumbled onto it together. For a moment we looked at each other, both breathing hard, and then Jason was pulling me down into another kiss.
This time there was no hesitation. His hands pulled at my shirt and I helped him, yanking it over my head and tossing it aside. Then I reached for his sweater, and he lifted his arms to let me remove it.
"Glasses," he said. "Should probably—"
"Leave them." I kissed him again. "I like them."
He laughed against my mouth, and the sound was warm and happy and perfect. Then my hands found his bare skin and he stopped laughing, his breath hitching as I traced the planes of his chest, the subtle dip of his collarbone, the curve of his ribs.
"You're beautiful," I said, because he was. Lean and flushed in the lamplight, his skin warm under my hands, his eyes dark with want behind those glasses.
"You're one to talk." His hands were exploring now too, sliding over my shoulders, my chest, learning me the way I was learning him. His touch was gentle but hungry, tracing muscle and bone like he was memorizing the map of my body.
We kissed and touched until we were both trembling, until the friction of our bodies together wasn't enough. I rolled us so he was on top of me, and he made a low sound in his throat as he settled against me, our hips aligned.
"Brent." His voice was wrecked. "I need—"
"I know." My hands slid to his hips, guiding him into a rhythm. "Me too."
We moved together, finding a pace that had us both gasping. The friction was intense even through our jeans and I knew this wasn't going to last long. Not with the way he was looking at me, not with the sounds he was making, not with how long I'd been wanting this.
The room felt warm, close, filled with the sound of our breathing and the soft creak of the bed. Outside the window, snow was falling—I could see the flakes drifting past in the lamplight—but in here, we were burning.
"Jason." I pulled him down into a kiss. "You feel so good."
"Yeah?" He was breathless, his movements getting less coordinated, more desperate. "Because I'm about to—I can't—"
"Jason." I tightened my grip on his hips. "Look at me."
That did it. He came with my name on his lips, his whole body shuddering against mine, and the sight and sound of it pushed me over the edge right after him.
For a long moment we lay there, tangled together, both breathing hard. Then Jason lifted his head and looked at me, and his smile was bright and wondering and slightly dazed.
"I'm pretty sure that's not in any of your books," he said.
I laughed, breathless. "No. Definitely not part of my usual genre."
"Should be." He was grinning now. "Though coming in our jeans like teenagers probably wouldn't fit the sophisticated thriller aesthetic."
I kissed him softly. "No complaints from me."
"None from me either." He settled against my chest, his glasses slightly askew. "Though we should probably clean up."
"Yeah." I didn't want to move, but we were both a mess "Shower? Together?"
His smile was soft, a little shy despite what we'd just done. "If you want."
We stumbled to the bathroom, stripping off dirty jeans, and the shower was too small but neither of us cared.
We took turns under the spray, washing each other with quiet touches that were more tender than heated.
When we finally made it back to bed, clean and exhausted, Jason curled into my side without hesitation.
"This okay?" he asked.
"More than okay."
He was quiet for a long moment, his breathing evening out. Then he burrowed closer with a contented sigh. "Night, Brent."
"Night, Jason."
I lay awake for a while after he fell asleep, listening to him breathe, feeling the weight of him against my side. My phone was buzzing on the nightstand—probably my agent, probably my publicist, probably everyone who wanted something from me.
But for the first time in months, I didn't care.
All I cared about was the man sleeping in my arms and the feeling that, somehow, I'd stumbled into something real. Something that mattered more than deadlines or expectations or keeping up appearances.
Something worth fighting for.