Page 95 of The Refusal

We stumble into Janus’s apartment hands grabbing, feet sliding on the shiny floor. He bumps into a side table and swears, steadying it with an outstretched hand as the other one slides under my T-shirt, tickling up my ribs. His thumb rubs slowly over my nipple, and shivers spread all the way down my spine and between my legs. His other hand laces through mine, trapping it against the wall by my shoulder. A low rumble gusts against my collarbone, and he mumbles something indistinct which sounds a lot like “mine.” A sweet ache runs through me at the thought he might belong to me, too. I want to give him everything my body can do, every bit of pleasure. Is this what love is? This burning need to hand over as much as you possibly can to someone else? I’ve never been held like this, hand and hips pinned, and I push back as his mouth latches firmly on to my throat.

His head comes up, giving me a half smile as he keeps me stationary. “I want everyone to see this tomorrow.” He bends his head and hovers, going back in to lick where he’s sucked my skin so hard.

“I want to put marks all over you,” he says.

But then he seems to change his mind, stepping back and letting go of my hand, folding his arms and looking me up and down. The move makes his pecs and biceps pop out, and all I want is his T-shirt off, so I can admire him properly.

As if reading my thoughts, he says, “Top off.”

“So mark me,” I say, peeling it over my head and leaning back against the wall.

He steps into me with his hands on the wall at either side of my head, gaze never wavering from my breasts, a pulse thrumming at the base of his throat as he stares at me like I’m his next meal.

I nod at his chest. “Yours, too.”

The T-shirt I’ve been admiring all day is over his head in seconds. His skin is tight, muscles defined, and his half-naked torso is as shocking as the first time I saw it. I put my hands out, watching my fingers trail his smooth chest, stiff brown nipples, the curve where his biceps meet his shoulder. Is he mine now? I’m almost sure he’s grinding his teeth.

Heat climbs in his cheeks, eyes closing for a beat, as his head comes forward, and he bumps my nipple with his nose before taking it into his mouth and hardening it under his tongue. When he moves to the other breast, I grab his hair to pull him up, leaning into him and rubbing myself against him. He groans bending to suck across my shoulder.

“I’m going to mark you all over, Jo.”

This second statement comes out like a threat. I saw glimpses of this growly, demanding side of him in Hong Kong, when he wanted to give me every bit of pleasure he could as he ordered me around—as if I’d unleashed something inside. I want to give him permission.

“Just order me to do it,” I whisper.

He pulls back, groaning, eyes meeting mine as he understands what I’m saying.

“I want you to enjoy it, too.” His eyes flicker away, color high on his face.

“I do. I love it.” And the admission slides out of me shakily as I press my face into his neck, slippery between my legs. I want to hand over all control to him.

“Is it a bad thing? I don’t want to be a controlling asshole,” he mumbles into my hair.

I stretch up to kiss his jaw, his cheek. “You have my permission to be a domineering asshole in bed with me.” Running my hand down his arm, I capture his hand in mine. “Stop overthinking it, Janus. I love it.”

“I want to pin you down,” he growls out, and something about that idea has me reaching for the buttons of his jeans.

Before I can process what’s happening, he slides two warm palms over my bottom and lifts me up, my legs dangling as he walks across the swirling rug and I try to get them around his waist, letting out a squeak as he dumps me on the couch. The pictures on the wall are illuminated by a few dim lights and Manhattan floats like a twinkling blanket outside the wide expanse of windows.

“Face the wall,” he grunts, and I roll up onto my knees, facing into the soft cushions. There’s a rustle as he shucks his clothes and I can’t resist peering round, my breath coming out in a whoosh as I take in the toned abs, muscle-bound thighs, the outline of his erection in his boxers. He positions his legs between mine and presses in to kiss my lips, hand reaching around me to find my zipper and, for a too brief moment, the shape of him is hard against me. His mouth works my shoulder as he unfastens me.

“It’s been too long since we did this,” he murmurs. “I already have trouble lasting with you.” He laughs through a half groan, and I lift each knee in turn, so he can peel the fabric down and off. His large palm and long fingers are on my ass and between my thighs, sliding through my wetness, teeth sinking into where my muscle meets the top of my arm and working his way across to the back of my neck, as my head bends forward. A small shift, and he straightens behind me, the faint rustle of boxers coming off, and I reach around with my hand, trying to get to touch his shaft before the rubber covers him up. When I grasp him, pre-come leaks over my hand and I dance my thumb all over him as he shifts closer.

“Jesus. Fuck, hold on.” He gasps, resting his head on my back and looking down between us. Foil grazes my back as he tears the condom open with his teeth, and his length slips out of my hand as he moves to stroke the latex down. Suddenly his weight comes right back into me as he leans forward, and I’m pinned to the cushions, breath leaving my body on a sharp exhale.

“Ohyeah, Jo.” The hot words gusting over my ear send goose bumps all the way down my back. The soft hair of his stomach tickles as he places my palms on either side of us on the back of the couch, fingers winding through mine.

“So turned on right now,” he mutters, and he pats my hands, telling me wordlessly to leave them where they are, before he eases back a little. Air rushes into my lungs as his hand snakes in at my waist, brushing over my mound, delving deeper. I widen my legs and his slide outward, opening me up, and I’m pushing back, desperate for the stretch I know is coming. His cock brushes over my folds, so I tilt my pelvis, and he dips to find my entrance as he guides the tip inside.

“Ohfuck.Fuck.”

He powers me back against the sofa thrusting sharply as I lift my hips, hardly able to take the sudden invasion, lungs collapsing with the force of it. Pulling back, he does it again and the hard pressure of his hand on my mound pushing his forefingers into my clit makes me whimper. His other hand grips mine tightly on the back of the sofa, fingers digging in for purchase. Then he’s pulling out and thumping back in, driving me forward every damn time, slamming into me over and over again, sweat and heat making his chest slide against my back.

“Christ.”

His teeth sink sharp into my shoulder and I’m going to have marks later, and some dark part of me is awake and alive, thrilled at how he’s let loose, and I cut free, arching back and letting my head thud back against his chest.

“Take it,” he mumbles, fingers sliding messily over where I’m soaked and slippery and I’m gasping for air, unable to do anything except lean into where his hand is making everything tighten and pulse. In complete contrast to his thrusts, his touch is light and sloppy, and it tingles all the way down my legs as my toes curl against the back of his calves.

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