Broken (8 page)

“She’s the girl I saw you with in the village?”

“Yeah. She’s my best friend.”

“How stereotypical of you,” he says, his tone the lightest I’ve heard all night.

“Not really. It’s not like we sit up all night discussing fashion and guy’s arses…not when she’s more interested in football and girls.”

“You don’t like football?”

“I like the shorts. My interest stops there.”

James smiles, only a little, but there’s a glint in his eyes that makes me think it’s genuine. “So, what do you like to do when you
are
alone?”

I say the first things that come into my head. “I listen to music, write, read, binge on Netflix.”

“What kind of books do you enjoy?”

Wow.
We appear to be having an actual, two sided conversation. Not just an exchange of innuendos and insults.

“Anything. Everything. I have my favourites – Andrea Moore, JD Simmons, Paul L McLean, but I like to try unknowns, too.”

“You like JD Simmons?”

“Oh yeah. I’ve read every one of his. I have to say, when I handed you his contract I had a bit of a moment. Maybe I’ll bump into him one day when he comes into the building.” Not that I’d know who he was. I stalk
all
of my favourite authors online but if JD Simmons owns any social media accounts, I haven’t been able to find them yet. Guess he doesn’t need them. Self-promotion isn’t necessary when your name alone is enough to propel you onto the bestseller lists.

“He never comes into the office,” James says, making me sag in disappointment.

“But you’ve met him I assume?”

“Yes.” A smug grin twists his lips and I suspect he’s trying to make me jealous.

It works. “Well if you ever need an assistant next time you have a meeting, maybe give me a shout.” Damn, just the idea makes me giddy. My favourite writers are like royalty to me. Rock stars. Although I know it’s not likely to happen, the thought of getting to meet one of my idols was one of the many driving forces behind my application to Holden House.

“I’ll bear that in mind,” he replies, but something in his expression makes me think he’s placating me. “So why marketing? With your passion for reading, I think you’d be better suited to submissions.”

“It was the only opening you had.”

A smile so small it’s barely noticeable teases his lips. “Guess I should’ve known that.”

“What about you? What do
you
like to do?”

I don’t expect him to answer. Not honestly, at least. He’s always so careful not to reveal too much about himself. Sometimes I get the feeling
nobody
really knows who James Holden is.

“I read, too. I work. I run. I surround myself with music as often as possible.”

They’re not life altering revelations but they’re genuine, intriguing. Bizarrely, I almost feel a little closer to him. For the first time I admit to myself that I don’t actually hate him. I never have. If anything, I hated
myself
for giving into him so easily the first time we met. Rightly or wrongly, I’m ashamed of the way I behaved that night, but I can’t blame James, no matter how much I want to. He didn’t force me into anything. He didn’t even encourage me. He didn’t need to. I wanted it. Wanted
him
. And as I sit here inhaling shallow breaths, goosebumps mottling my skin every time I look at him, I think I still do.

“Going off the playlist in your car, you have very eclectic taste.”

His smile grows a little wider. It’s mesmerising. He should do it more often. “I like different songs for different reasons, play certain songs for certain moods.”

I want to ask for more details but I’m not confident enough. I don’t know him, not the
real
him, but I possess a tiny flicker of hope that maybe I’m starting to. I don’t know why I make my next move. That’s a feeling I’m beginning to get used to. Maybe it’s because he looks so lost, so alone, so in need of someone to touch him, connect with him. Maybe it’s because he’s so close but not close enough. Perhaps it’s because I can barely breathe through the urge to feel his skin against mine, to absorb some of the hidden pain that haunts his beautiful face.

Or maybe, it’s simply because I
want
to.

I start by placing a tentative palm on his thigh, slowly, carefully, smoothing it up and down. He stares down at my touch, his body frozen and expression beguiled. Warily, I move my hand upwards, gliding the pads of my fingers just barely under the hem of his vest, grazing his taut stomach.

Unexpectedly, he grabs my wrist, paralysing me. I wonder if I’ve gone too far, but he guides my hand lower and presses it over his hard cock through his pants. I grip it through the material and he arches his back against the sofa, groaning into the air. Feeling bold, I scoot closer and lean over him, hovering my lips just inches from his.

I look straight into his eyes, searching them, trying to discover who he is. I see confusion, lust, maybe even
fear
, then he closes them and fixes his mouth to mine. He drives his tongue between my lips, his designer beard scratching my face, and in an instant all traces of delicacy have gone. I’m back with the guy I met in the bathroom that night, now, as he grabs my shoulders and shoves me lower, breaking our kiss.

My mouth waters as he tugs on his pants, his prominent cock springing free, begging for attention, as he pushes them down his legs.

“Wow,” the word falls out of my mouth when I see his strong, athletic legs, the flesh embracing his muscles adorned with more, exquisite artwork. I can’t see an inch of bare skin as I scan them up and down. His tattoos are vibrant, captivating. They contain every shade and depth of colour. “They’re…”
Stunning, beautiful, mesmerising…
“Magnificent.”

I look up at him and he’s watching me, his expression curious as he studies my face. I keep my gaze on him as I slip off the sofa and kneel on the floor. Idly, I wonder how many other men there have been, right here in this position, but I force the thought away. The only thing I care about is that
I’m
here, right now, my mouth so close to his twitching cock I can already taste it.

Curling my fingers around his thick base, I tug gently, retracting his foreskin before licking my way around the deep ridge. He has a cute little freckle on the end of his tip. I kiss it, then drag his whole length into my mouth.

“Fuck that feels good,” he moans, and satisfaction balloons in my chest.

I kiss and lick up and down his shaft, finishing each teasing stroke by circling his moist tip with my tongue. Every gasp, every groan that drips from his mouth makes me feel like a god. Growing impatient, he grabs a fistful of my hair and pushes my head until I have no choice but to swallow him all the way to the back of my throat.

He’s in control now. He directs the speed at which I take him in and out of my mouth over, and over again. He’s too thick, too much, and it makes me gag and splutter but I don’t stop. My mouth slams down on him repeatedly, so forceful I need to support myself by placing my hands on his open thighs.

“That’s it,” he practically growls. “Suck it, Theodore. Suck it
hard
.”

After what feels like hours, James lifts my head, staring straight into my eyes. My jaw aches. I’m breathless. I miss the taste of his salty pre-cum on my tongue. He crooks his finger and I rise to him immediately, desperate to taste his mouth again. His pants are still hooked around his ankles and as I crawl up onto the sofa, he kicks them off.

“You’re good at that,” he whispers against my jaw, before kissing his way down my neck while he un-pops the buttons on my shirt.

My head tips back and I close my eyes, focusing on every touch, every lick of his warm tongue. My heart hammers fiercely in my chest and my breath comes in short, fast pants when his hand sneaks into my waistband and brushes against my dick. “Oh, God…”

“These need to come off,” he says, kissing along the muscles of my chest.

I raise my arse off the sofa and push my jeans and boxers down, kicking them off and onto the floor. He uses both hands to roll my open shirt over my shoulders and I shrug all the way out of it before locking my lips onto his. His right hand flies to my cock and he wraps it in his fist, squeezing and relaxing his fingers as he strokes it roughly up and down.

His kiss is urgent, desperate, and I can’t breathe through the intense pleasure ripping through my dick, so I pull away. I peck at his neck, digging my fingers into his broad back. I’m naked, but James is still wearing his vest. I want,
need
to feel his flesh against mine, so I pinch the hem of his top and start to pull.

He stops me, abandoning my aching cock and grabbing both of my hands. “Bend over the couch,” he says, his tone firm, demanding.

I don’t hesitate to do as he asks. I never do. I stand up and walk to the side of the sofa, using the arm to support my weight.

He leans over me from behind and kisses the back of my neck. “Don’t move,” he orders, so of course, I don’t.

I stare after him as he strides across the room, admiring the way his glorious arse flexes with each step before he disappears through one of the pine doors. He returns a few seconds later with a pump-dispensing bottle of lube and as my eyes dart to his impressive erection, I notice it’s already wrapped in a condom. He strokes it up and down a few times as he walks closer and I can’t wait to feel him stretch me. He positions himself at my back, and I swallow hard when I hear him pump the bottle of lube.

“Wider,” he says, wedging one hand between my legs.

My response is automatic. I adjust my feet and arch my back, completely exposing myself to him. Using his fingers, he spreads the cold lube along the crevice between my arse cheeks, making me gasp, and then he massages my hole before plunging two fingers straight inside.

“Holy
fuck
,” I moan, my hips thrusting against his hand of their own accord.

“So tight,” he whispers, his chest pressed to my back as he nuzzles my neck. “Has anyone been here since me?”

“N-no.” The word stutters as he fucks me roughly with his skilled fingers.

Pulling his fingers out of my body, he speaks right into my ear. “Good answer.”

I sag, breathless and already grieving the loss of him in my arse. I don’t miss him for long. Seconds later, he pushes into me, slowly at first, and a throaty sigh escapes his throat.

“Oh yeah,” he breathes, plunging all the way inside and hitting a spot that makes me cry out.

He doesn’t allow me much time to acclimatise to the intrusion, and his deep, powerful thrusts burn in the most delicious of ways. “Fuck, don’t stop,” I say. “Don’t ever fucking stop.”

He pants and grunts with every buck of his hips. “You like that, huh? You like me pounding your tight arse?”

“Y-yes. Oh,
fuck
, yes.”

“Take your dick, Theodore. Wank yourself off for me.”

The way my name sounds on his tongue resonates through my entire body. I can’t even begin to understand why but he has complete control over me and, I don’t only allow it, I fucking
love
it.

Removing one of my hands from the arm of the sofa, I reach for my dick, gripping it firmly at the base. I’ve barely touched it but I already feel the pressure of an impending orgasm swelling in the base of my spine. As my fist tugs at my weeping cock, James’ heavy balls slap against my flesh as he grinds into me. He uses so much force, my arm starts to tremble, struggling to support my weight.

“I’ve got you,” he says, gripping both of my hips and holding me in place.

Three small words and yet they’re enough to make my dick throb in my hand, my balls pulling up into my body as spurts of hot cum spill out over my fingers. “Ah
shit
,” I hiss. “Fuck, James….”

He continues to pound me, not giving me a second to catch my breath. “Christ, I fucking
love
you saying my name as you come.”

I massage my load into my cock and suck my bottom lip between my teeth. I know it’s about to end, evident by the harsh growls erupting from James’ throat, but I don’t want it to. I wish I could stay here, relishing the feeling of his cock assaulting my hole, forever.

“I’m gonna come, Theodore,” he spits. I didn’t think it was possible but he rocks into me even faster, deeper,
harder
. “Gonna come so fucking hard.”

And, fuck, he does. He slams into me one last time and collapses onto my back, his vest damp against my skin, and I lose my grip on the sofa and fall forward.

His breath is hot as it blankets the back of my neck and I crane my head to face him, reaching behind and stroking the side of his face with my fingers. “And
you’re
good at that,” I say, smiling.

He returns my smile, only his looks forced. He pulls out of me quickly, and then stalks off, to what I assume is the bathroom, without looking back.

I stand up, feeling somewhat deflated that he left without a single word, even though he’s only in the fucking bathroom. How pathetic is that?