Page 36 of Bad Behavior

“Here,” Jameson says, surprising me by being right beside me. He sits down on the bed, making it creak under his weight, and hands me a huge glass of water. “Drink as much as you can. Your body is running a little warm because of the drugs, and you don’t want to get dehydrated.”

I take the glass, drinking it down in several lengthy swallows. “Mmm. It’s good.”

“Want more?”

“Nah, not right now,” I say. I set the glass down on the floor, then I sit up. “I want you to rub my shoulders, though.”

He looks at me, gauging how serious I am. Or maybe he’s trying to tell how high I am, I can’t tell.

“I’ll be good, I promise,” I beg. “I just want to feel touch right now.”

Relenting, he sighs. “Okay. Turn around.”

He spins his finger. I hurry to do as he says. I really do want to be touched right now, so bad that I have goosebumps breaking out all over my arms, neck, and even my neckline.

His warm hands finally land on my shoulders, rubbing them so intensely that I actually moan out loud. He pauses, lifting his hands off of my skin, but I scoot backward towards him. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

Jameson starts to rub my shoulders again, the pressure delightfully hard. I stay quiet, but it’s a struggle not to get loud as hell. He works out all the little knots in my shoulders, and then moves to my neck.

Oh. My. God. Has anything ever felt so wonderful? I can’t believe that it has.

I close my eyes, listening to the music, which seems to swell and grow. As he massages me, I slowly drift to one side and back, so that I’m pretty much lying down on his lap. But I do it stealthily, so that I’m there before he even notices how close we are.

He tires, and pets my hair instead of massaging me. That’s a-okay by me, though. When I think about it, I am living my dream right now. All those teenaged fantasies… all the times that I thought about him while I was using my vibrator… all the moments where I called out his name in this very bed, alone and growing lonelier by the moment?

Yeah, they pale in comparison to having him here with me, in any capacity. Having Jameson in this room is fucking fantastic, and that’s a fact.

Eventually I open my eyes, glancing up at him. I look at his short, dark hair, at his gorgeous black-brown eyes, at his strong jawline with two days worth of stubble. I realize with a shock that he’s been gazing at me, something dark in his eyes. Lust, longing… or both maybe?

Maybe that’s just what I am wishing to be there. But I will him to do that thing he does, for his gaze to drop to my mouth once more.

Then… he looks at my mouth, subconsciously biting his lush lower lip. I can’t stop myself from moving my head upward, seeking his lips with my own. He bends slightly, bowing his head. I feel the warmth of his breath fanning across my lips.

He’s actually going to do it, I realize.

He closes the distance, touching his lips to mine.

And it’s like heaven. His mouth is so much warmer than it ever was in my fantasies, even though this kiss is very light. Exploring, tentative.

I open my mouth a little, letting my tongue find his, stroking it ever so gently. Then he surprises me. He growls, a sound of frustration.

I know that feeling all too well, where Jameson is concerned. So I sit up, push him back into the pillows, and begin anew. This time, we’re face to face, our eyes fluttering closed as our mouths open to each other. I put my hands onto the lapels of his leather jacket, clutching them.

I feel his hands on my waist, his touch unbearably light. I feel like he isn’t committing to kissing me, and that’s just not acceptable. So I nip his lower lip, inviting him to play harder.

After all, that is what I want. I want the whole package, the guts and the glory.

When you look at Jameson, you see this bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks. You can just tell that he likes it rough, that he leaves bruises and bite marks in his wake. You can guess that after a good long night, with the right person under his command, he would leave the bedroom with scratch marks and hickies and god knows what else.

War wounds.

So I bite him, just to see what kind of reaction I get. He growls into my mouth, his hand coming up to sink into the hair behind my head. He controls me like a puppet, moving my head just so, giving himself complete access to my mouth. He leans forward, his kiss turning harsher, almost punishing me.

With his free hand, he cups my face, the gesture at once tender and yet still dominant. My breath grows into shallow pants of excitement.

I’m his. I’m finally, finally his.

I have never felt anything quite like the way he touches me. I need this.

---