Page 46 of Stray for You

WE BARELY PASS THE threshold before Julian is on me. He uses the hand I’m holding to yank me to him and kiss me as we keep stumbling into the room. I don’t get a chance to turn on the lights, but it doesn’t seem like it matters. Julian clearly isn’t interested in my messy IKEA shelf unit where I keep my clothes or the nightstand beside the bed or the laundry I left out on the floor. He parts long enough to note the location of the bed against the wall, and then he gets his mouth right back on mine.

I should complain about this, but all I’ve done since he showed up today is give in. I picked him up at the airport, and we haven’t stopped touching each other since. Even the pretense of making and eating dinner only really delayed the inevitable, and I have no choice but to admit it to myself: I want him.

I want Julian Brooks.

I can’t stop wanting him.

I awaited this trip nervously, unsure if something might have changed between us, unsure if I’d feel nervous or awkward because of our strange history with each other. All of that melted away the moment Julian hopped into my car. Something changes when we’re near each other, like gravity itself has gone strange. Nothing has the right weight. Colors are too bright. Music is too sweet. Everything ismore, but in the most wonderful way imaginable.

He gets me to the edge of the bed and sits me down, thenclimbs into my lap. It’s a bit awkward with us being a similar size, but Julian doesn’t seem to care. He keeps on kissing me, sometimes wandering along my jaw or gnawing at my earlobe, but always returning religiously to my lips.

I tip back, letting his weight fall on top of me. We grind on each other, still fully clothed but obviously hard, and a thrilling, terrifying instinct overtakes me. I roll us over so we’re fully on the bed and he’s on his back. Then, while looking down at him, I palm over his jeans and watch his face contort with desire. He grabs at my jeans as well and attempts to undo them, but I stop him. I have to admit, the beat of confusion that washes over his face brings a particular sort of satisfaction. Since I met him, Julian has always seemed like he had the upper hand on me. He made the rules in high school. He was in charge when he’d tease and push and wait for my inevitable reaction. But here he is on his back in my bed, and for the first time, I feel like the one in control.

I don’t hate it.

I rub over him again, and the look that passes through his face is as much pain as pleasure.

“Are you going to be good?” I say.

It takes a moment before realization dawns. “Yes?” he says.

“Yes, you are,” I say. “Because you want something from me. And I get to decide if you get it.”

The confusion shifts to something warmer and darker, something that melts in his light eyes and blows out his pupils, darkening his gaze.

“That works for me,” he says.

“Does it?” I ask. “Or are you going to be a shithead like you were in high school?”

He chuckles, but it somehow doesn’t ruin the effect.

“Scout’s honor, Cam. Tie my hands up. I don’t care. I’m yours.”

Something about the way he saysI’m yoursdoes things to me that no other sentence has ever done to me. I’ve encountered dirty talkers, but no filthy promise they’ve ever devised compares to Julian putting himself entirely in my hands.

And I kind of like his suggestion about tying him up…

“Stay there,” I say.

Partially, it’s a test. Partially, I’m realizing I’m going to need a couple things if this is going to happen this way. I leave him lying on my bed. Miraculously, he hardly even squirms as I rush around my room grabbing the lube under the bed and the one tie I happen to own, which hangs in the closet. Julian’s eyes go right to the tie when I return.

“I hope you were serious,” I say.

He licks his lips. “I was.”

His voice has lowered and roughened, and it stirs me up all over again. I pull off my shirt, already sweltering within it, then free Julian of his as well. He puts up no resistance when I direct his arms over his head and tie his wrists together. He could lower his arms if he wanted to, but he leaves them that way, lying stretched out on my bed, his lean, toned chest heaving with excitement.

“I like you like this,” I say, looking up at him from under my eyebrows. “You’re much more tolerable.”

“If you want me tolerable, you should have found a sock to stuff in my mouth.”

“But then I wouldn’t get to hear you beg.” I lower down him, kissing his bare torso, stopping at his hips and the erection straining his jeans. “And trust me, you will beg.”

Julian draws a shuddery breath and worries his bottom lip. For once, he has no snappy comeback, no comeback at all. I have silencedtheJulian Brooks, and all it took was a promise of sexual torment.

It’s a promise I intend to keep.

I mouth over his jeans, still not taking them off. Julian dumps his head back and groans, his body swaying toward me. I have the advantage here, however; I push on his hips to force him down and continue my slow, teasing exploration. I nose along him, giving him pressure but no skin-to-skin contact, a ghost of what he actually craves. Julian groans above me, shifting his hips as much as he can while I have control of them.

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