Page 62 of The Refusal

“Please.”

“Janus.”

Seconds tick by with my mouth open, his gaze moving from one eye to the other, narrowing as he gives one more twist of his fingers, and my whole body jerks as I come, forehead thudding forward into his shoulder. My eyes flutter closed but not before I see how his are fixed on me wide and wild. And then he’s swearing up a storm as his movements stutter and his ass tightens under my hands. My head slumps back and I see his face contort as he jerks, his cock pulsing inside me, shudders moving through his body, and something about the sweet pressure of it all—along with the dying pulses of my own release—makes tears leak out of the corners of my eyes. I can hardly breathe. Janus sinks into me, forehead buried in my neck, slippery as his shoulders curl over. Shakily, he presses his lips into my collarbone.

“Fuck, I’m ruined,” he mumbles into my skin, and a giggle rises up as he trails his nose up my throat. My fingertips skate over his back, relishing the sweat and the muscle definition, as all the oxygen is sucked out the room and quiet settles over us like a blanket of snow. The room comes back slowly: the muted hum of the air conditioning, the cotton sheets at my back, and I’m drifting when he groans, grabs the base of the condom, and moves, lips ghosting across mine as he mumbles, “I’ll be back.”

Next thing I know he’s curling in behind me, arm snaking around my waist and warm breath floating through my hair. There are dim noises in the distance, a door closing down the hall, the distant rumble of voices. His heart a solid thunk-thunk against my back.

“That was amazing,” I mumble, squeezing his hand on my stomach.

“It was,” he says quietly, kissing my hair. “I wish we could lie here forever.”

And this brings me back to earth with a bump. “What time do we have to be in the office?”

Janus lifts his head, looking at the digital clock on the nightstand. “In about two hours, I reckon we can laze here for a while yet.”

I sigh, snuggling back into him, and he hardens slightly behind me; it makes me smile into the pillow. I half-turn my head as he grunts, burying his face in my nape, his hand gripping my hip to keep me still.

“Stop turning me on, woman,” he grumbles.

Grinning outright at the bedside table, I flip over to face him. He groans, putting both hands over his eyes.

“Don’t show me your breasts.”

I’ve never been with a guy who likes my body as much as he seems to.

“How am I going to keep my hands off you all day, now I know what these are like?” His hands come down and he cups one breast, eyes tracking his thumb as he rubs it over my nipple. “All these amazing freckles—the pattern is so perfect.”

I’ve never liked my freckly skin, but I’m seeing it with new eyes. He draws me into him and I rest my head on his pecs, feeling the hard muscle under my cheek as his chest rises on a deep inhale.

“I’ve never had sex like that before, Jo,” he says, and I snort. He pulls back and tips my head to meet his gaze, brows drawn tight. “What?” and the firm command of his voice sends a hot thrill through me, but as his eyes wander over my face, hesitation creeps into his expression.

“It was good for you?” His voice slips a little, and my heart is like a bird in my chest. This vulnerable side of him is killing me. I want to trust him with my soft side, too, trust him witheverything.

“Good?” I grin. “I think it was a bit better than that. I’ve never done anything like that either. I don’t know what happened, it all just exploded.”

Some of the confident, smirking Janus reappears in his face. “Move into my suite with me? I want to sleep curled around you for four days straight.”

My stomach dips—whether from thrill or anxiety, I can’t tell.

“Just sleeping? Really?” I say.

He grins as I make small circles on his chest. When I look up at him, his warm brown eyes are still fixed on me, and I take a deep breath, gaze returning to the smooth skin in front of me.

“I feel like I owe you an explanation. I feel like I’ve been so reluctant—”

“You don’t owe me anything, Jo. I understand that I’m—”

But I just shake my head at him. It’s me, not him.

“I want to explain…” I raise my head to look at him. “I was badly bullied at school. It started out small as these things do, you know: people tripping you up in the corridor, pulling your hair as you walk past, taking your textbooks. Small things. Things I could ignore.” I take another breath, looking at my freckly hand on his smooth chest. “Then a gang latched on to how much fun it was to try and catch me before and after school, and they started following me home. A neighbor told my dad how nice it was to see me walking home with my friends. What irony. But I couldn’tconfidein my dad; he’s this quiet, peaceful man, and he struggled on his own after my mom died.” I swallow it all down. “I didn’t want to drag him into something so ugly.”

When I look back at Janus his smile has completely disappeared, and his voice is a harsh rasp when he asks, “What did they do?”

“Oh, all sorts of things: setting fire to my hair, cutting holes in my clothes, putting food down my neck—” My voice thins out.

Janus is completely still. “Sonofabitch.”

---