Page 4 of The Devil’s Detail (The Greystone Family: Greystone Brothers #2)
Jackson
“I've already set it up, stop harassing me.”
My sister is on the phone again, nagging at me to speak to her good friend Carter Maywood. Hollywood A-lister and global icon.
“Where are you? It sounds busy.” Her curious tone comes down the line, and I know she’ll be asking to FaceTime next to see where I am exactly.
“Shopping. I’m just in a fancy perfume place. I’ll buy you some of that perfume you like if you want. Text me the name.” Not sure why I told her that, but the next sentence comes as I knew it would, so a good job I wasn’t lying.
“FaceTime me,” she demands.
I click off the phone and call her back as she demanded.
“Wow, that’s the fancy store. Who are you shopping for, Jax?” Her eyebrows are doing crazy things. If I didn’t know she was trying to look curious, and not just being overly nosy, I’d think she was having a stroke.
“A friend,” I answer ambiguously. “And it’s none of your business.”
The fact that I have systematically been to every fancy perfume store in LA is a secret I am keeping to myself.
If she or anyone else in my family knows I’ve been hunting a scent that is haunting my dreams, and on occasion daytime thoughts…
Well, I’d never hear the last of it. I’m definitely fixated.
“Well, she’ll be a lucky lady to get a gift from there.
Ohh, there’s mine behind you. The black bottle.
” She’s pointing in earnest, and I spin around and smile at the assistant, indicating the largest bottle on the shelf.
“I’ll let you go, but let me know when you give it to her, and tell me her reaction.
And please see Carter. Kasey said he’s acting weird. ” She tuts at that.
“They’re all weird. A-listers are a breed of their own,” I say laughing. “You should know, your sons are rocking that title.” I pause then put her out of her misery. “I’m meeting Carter tomorrow, at the Daisy Cafe.”
She looks confused. “The cute little place up the beach from your place and Kell’s?”
“I know it’s an out of the way place, but he suggested it. So I just agreed.” I shrug, who knows the mind of a Hollywood leading man. “I’ll bring your perfume when I come to Scotland. Let me know any signs of the baby and I’m coming straight over.”
She smiles at me. “I don't think it will be long. If I get another week I’ll be lucky.” She rubs her stomach lovingly. “Speak later, Jackson. Love you, brother.”
“Love you, Evie. Kiss the twins for me.”
I hang up and focus on the task in hand.
For days I have searched every perfumery in Los Angeles. Oud, Cardamom, and an array of spices. The instant the woman in front of me pulls out a tester bottle… Jackpot!
She informs me it’s sold here in very small numbers.
The cost is eye-watering as it’s shipped in from the UK to order.
Jameson Bonney was British, so he probably bought it over there.
Even still, I try using various techniques to get a look at the list of purchases here, but no joy—the list is as exclusive as the scent itself.
Back in my office, I sit at my desk and mull over my afternoon antics. Another dead end. Who the hell chases a scent?
I’ve talked myself into and out of trying to contact Jameson Bonney via CAshO. Because at the end of the day, is it worth it? Was it all a dream? Have I blown up the encounter to epic proportions, embellishing it in my own mind?
But the scent I can still catch is on my hands.
I bring them to my nose and breathe in deeply. It’s as if my mind has been hypnotised and this scent is the trigger. I’m there, back there, right where I want to be.
I’m trying not to look around the room. My head is bowed, my hair on point, stubble at just the right length. I look fucking amazing, and I know it.
Listening intently to the instructions being given out at a rapid rate of knots by the club administrator, I appear cool as a fucking cucumber. But my body is starting to burn. The bespoke suit that fits me like a glove starts to feel too tight. The finest white shirt clings to my cut torso.
The more he intones, the more my mind is zinging around at crazy speeds.
Wow, what sort of mind conjures this shit up?
Blindfolds so I can’t see him, but he can see me.
Is it reckless? A little. But, why is he so bothered?
We signed an NDA. And then another, more stringent, NDA.
I smile salaciously when the admin guy tells me the blindfold stays on at all times. It will not be taken off. Ever.
I chuckle as I contemplate my options. How deliciously dangerous it might be for them to be able to read me with their full complement of senses, yet I can only read them by my hands.
That, when this is all over, they will be out in the world, would know me if they saw me again, yet I would never know them.
How fantastically dark that would be. What I could do with that sort of information.
A deliriously dangerous game indeed, and I am all in.
The devil that lurks inside of me wants out to play, and this man is handing me a pass.
Is holding the keys to a type of pleasure hell I know I love.
Can do what he wants, do what I want, no holds barred.
The only caveat that I won’t be able to see him? Oh yeah, baby, I am all in.
I come out of my daydream, trying to calm my breathing. My office doesn’t seem big enough today. I feel like I’m coming out of my skin. Maybe I need to take a shower. Give the spray a chance to cool and calm me.
I slip into my bathroom and remove my work clothes—suit again, shirt again. I am nothing at work if not a creature of habit.
The scent fills the room, rising up from my clothes like steam, triggered by the heat of my body. My mind runs rampant. Turning off the light, the room snaps pitch black. The only sound is my panting breath.
Fuck. This is ridiculous. A one-night stand should not have me twisted into bits. But how could it not?
His voice comes at me from the darkness—low, husky—and I imagine his instructions as I unbutton my suit trousers. How his hand glided down my fly. How he teased my cock out. The soft tender touches, and the debauched gropes and unrestrained groans.
I’m there again, happy to submit, happy to hand over all control. And in return—pleasure, all mine. I gloried in it. Performed for him like a puppet on a string.
My body is lighting up the darkness in this room. I can feel his large fingers grasping for my huge erection. Hard and fast, my hips thrusting into his palm. Fucking make it hurt. I love the pain, desire it, chase it.
My growls are like a wild animal is loose in here. My fingers down the crack of my arse. They’re his—his tongue stiff, his cock huge. And the bite of it, the pain and pleasure of it.
My mind disintegrates and I chase the orgasm I know is only seconds away.
I want it again. I want him again. I want the mystique, the power he still wields, and weirdly, the care.
So fucking intimate. Not care I have ever taken of any of my partners.
It was embarrassingly tender at times. I know I would never open myself up to that level of intimacy.
Maybe it was the blindfold. Maybe because I couldn’t see him, he was strangely freed, unfettered, all of his inhibitions unleashed in every aspect of his personality. He told me so, if I think about it.
“You know this is not ordinary, don’t you Mr Stone. You know that this, now between us, is extraordinary.”
So cool, yet the heat behind the words was scorching. Seared on my mind, branding my brain forever.
And now, in my own shower, head down to my chin, my cock raw with the aggression I’ve subjected it to, I shoot cum into the spray and mist of the water pounding against my heated flesh. With each groan, I’m trying to drown out reality.
Because he’s not here. As fantastical as this scenario in my shower is, he is not here. And he is not coming. I am alone.