Page 7 of The Devil’s Detail (The Greystone Family: Greystone Brothers #2)

Mr Jameson Bonney

I’m coming apart at the seams. I’ve just been into the most kitsch, twee café and seen the man of my dreams. I could hardly hold a sentence down.

Words were not forming on my lips, they were flying out of my head before they got anywhere near my mouth.

Any coherent thought of any sort was more or less evading me.

Every thought, every feeling I’d had since the club, I’ve been pushing them down.

But they had not gone. Oh, no. On the contrary, they were waiting to come back and clobber me over my head.

It was like a tsunami of feelings, and I was fucking drowning.

Drowning in those eyes as I looked through the window at him.

Muscles to die for. Stubble at, oh God, the perfect length.

Long, straight nose. And a few freckles that skittered like stars across his cheeks.

I’m sure they were a constellation. I’d been looking it up, expecting it to be there in print, because it truly was heavenly.

And it was suffocating, attempting to catch his attention.

Focus on me, be mine . Instead, I practically ran out of the place.

How can a man like me—suave, sophisticated, drop dead fucking gorgeous—become a bumbling idiot in someone’s presence.

How can such a short interaction, a one-night stand for fuck’s sake, leave me feeling like he is the air I breathe, and without him in my life, I will truly suffocate.

I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I disappeared quickly into my car. I would have gone back, if not. Thrown myself at his feet, and revealed all. But I am a wimp, far too scared to do it. Too scared to show my hand, in case he bites it off. I don’t think I’d survive that.

Maybe it’s better to only play the scenarios in my own head.

There we are together. There he is smiling at me.

There, I have removed the blindfold and he is looking into my eyes.

I see the desire spark in them and I am transfixed.

His large hands reach out to caress my chest, moving down my abs to my happy trail. Fingertips running down and down…

Fuck, my breathing is so loud, I have to open my car window to get some air in. And this is LA. It's full of smog, polluted.

I drive like a bat out of hell and dash into my home, throwing my clothes off. Ripping at my T-shirt, kicking my trainers off, dropping my jeans and boxers in one go in the hallway. It’s a good job I live alone. My housekeeper is not around until tomorrow.

Sprinting into the shower, I let the jets of cold water hit my heated skin.

Closing my eyes, I can fantasise about us in the shower at the club.

Me washing every inch of that glorious man.

The hard planes of his body. The muscles running long and smooth on his back.

The scars which caught me off guard, the long jagged slash on his back.

I traced my fingers over them, and he flinched, but did not move away when I commanded him not to. Complete submission. Allowing me to caress them, stroke the parts of him he obviously did not like.

But I loved them. They’re what makes him him.

He’s been out in the world, fought for his country. I wanted to show him how much I loved him for that. I kissed and licked at those fucking scars, telling him with words and actions as much as I could. That they never mattered to me. It made him extra special, more attractive.

Here now, in my mind, I’m kissing them again. I’m on my knees, his cock hard and hot near my face. God, I want it. I can taste it.

My hands are pulling at my rigid, throbbing cock. It’s fucking lonely without his here. I want to kiss him, rub my cock onto his stomach. Let him take me into his mouth.

I remember how it felt when I pulled him off my cock, standing him up and spinning him around. Entering him from behind in the shower. Running my hands along that magnificent torso. I couldn’t get enough. His body pushing back against me, holding me captive. Calling me to go harder, faster.

I can’t breathe.

I shoot cum all over my shower, ropes and ropes pulsing out of me. Then I hang my head, my breathing laboured.

Fuck. I need to get a grip.

Whatever it was that triggered him, drove him outside. I watched him carefully, all over the car park for ages, scouring the area to find me.

But I’m not showing my true self to him. I’m hiding again.

I wander out of my shower, my cock hardening again as I think about him moving into the room at CAshO naked. Unselfconscious, at ease with his body.

Well who wouldn’t be. It’s a work of art.

I’m going to have arm muscles to rival Hercules at this rate. I need to stop focusing on my libido, and put my mind to work.

I’ve got a massive interview for a humongous job in London. If I get this, it will be my biggest job to date. Bring in the money. The publicity for my brand will go interstellar. Maybe a bit of time away will stop me doing anything crazy. Maybe this interview has come at just the right time.