Page 22 of A Series of Rooms
For a while, he had kept a close eye. Jonah watched him watching him, but he credited the attention to his newcomer status. It made sense, he supposed, that he would want to know if the new kid was going to be a problem. Jonah had no intention of being one. His plan was to lay low and avoid interactions of any kind, which was made all the simpler by having his own room. It was secluded from the rest, situated in the downstairs hallway, the only resident dorm on the ground floor. He had thought that was a good thing, once. Then he’d learned that the isolation was an intentional move.
Jonah had only been in the house for a week when Shepard came into his room with a threat disguised as an offer. He must have possessed the predator instinct forscoping out the perfect opportunity, catching Jonah at his lowest and weakest. Never before had he found himself in such a perilous position, desperate and terrified, with no one in his corner. Ross Shepard had known that. He smelled blood in the water, and he struck.
By the time Jonah had realized just how far beneath the surface he’d been pulled, he was too deep to swim out of it. It had only been a steady sink from there.
Jonah was accustomed to the lack of privacy, but he still stiffened at the sound of the bathroom door opening and closing behind him. The rest of the guys were out on a highway cleanup assignment—one that Jonah was conveniently excused from, for a meeting with a caseworker who didn’t actually exist. It was in these windows of time where Shepard found ways to slip, undetected, into Jonah’s space.
He tensed but refused to turn around. Feigning ignorance would only delay the inevitable, but if that was all Jonah had, he would cling to those few seconds.
Shepard came to a stop just outside his stall. Jonah felt his gaze on his back like jagged fingernails, scraping down, drawing blood.
“Another overnight request.” His voice made Jonah jump despite himself. “Seems like someone has a happy customer.”
Jonah pushed his face under the cold spray, hoping for the sharp bite to ground him, but his skin was nearly numb to it by then. All he got was a dull ache.
“Think it will be a regular thing?”
“I don’t know,” Jonah said honestly.
Shepard clicked his tongue. “Not very confident, are we?”
Jonah cut off the spray, dropping them into an echoey silence. When he reached for the towel hanging on the hook, Shepard snatched it away, holding it just out of reach. Jonah bit down on his cheek until he tasted blood.
“Come and get it,” Shepard whispered.
Shivering and exposed, Jonah stood with his arms wrapped around him for a few endless moments, his eyes fixed on the grimy tile beneath his feet. As he forced himself to take a step forward, the bathroom door opened again. Both heads turned in the direction of the noise to find Shepard’s hired muscle peeking in.
“What?” Shepard snapped.
“Traffic’s backed up on 90,” Marcus said. “We need to head out early.”
“Right now?”
Marcus checked his watch. “ETA is already pushed twenty minutes.”
Jonah curled his body toward the wall for some semblance of coverage. He expected Marcus to close the door and leave them to it, but he stood there long enough for Shepard to give in and take a step back.
“You heard the man.” He threw the towel at Jonah, who scrambled to catch it before it hit the wet floor. “Get dressed.”
He left, brushing past Marcus, who stood there a few seconds longer. He kept his eyes averted when he said, “I’ll be in the car.”
CHAPTER 8
Jonah
The thump of the bass was so heavy it reverberated through Jonah’s ribcage, his heart beating in time with the music like he was a part of it. A red light pulsed from the ceiling, feeding him glimpses of the room; a sea of sweaty bodies through a hazy, neon glow, drinks raised and spilling over tangles of limbs. The borrowed shirt clung to him like a second skin, tight mesh cropped at the midriff. Jonah remembered feeling self-conscious when he put it on, but he couldn’t remember why.
Around the room, eyes followed him, watched him, entranced by the movement of his body as he lost himself in the warmth of the alcohol and the safety of the low lighting. There was no one in particular who stood out, just a sea of blurred faces that churned with unified desire. Jonah had never been looked at like that before. Their attention, distant and anonymous, was intoxicating.
Hands found his waist from behind. Familiar chapped lips dragged over his neck. He let his head fall back against Dominic’sshoulder, hips and legs and torsos moving together like one body. A laugh bubbled out of Jonah. It all just felt so good.
For the first time in his life, Jonah felt alive.
Sweat covered every inch of his body, hair clinging to his face in sticky, wet clumps, but Dominic didn’t seem to mind, because he was just as hot and sticky in the most appealing way. Of everyone who looked at Jonah tonight like they wanted a taste, he only had eyes for one. Overtaken by a rush of desire and affection, Jonah pushed his hips back against him, rewarded with the graze of teeth over his neck.
“You feel so good,” Dom murmured against his ear, making goosebumps erupt over his flesh. He spun Jonah so that they faced each other, capturing him in an eager kiss. Jonah wound his arms around Dominic’s neck, only in part to steady his weight as the room spun around them.
“I feel good,” Jonah echoed. He could almost make out the sound of Dom’s laughter over the noise.
