18. First Day of My Life

CHAPTER 18

FIRST DAY OF MY LIFE

? brIGHT EYES

In a haze, I find only three words. So, I yell them out. "Please don't stop!"

His mouth takes hold of my nipple and he swirls his tongue. Before I can say his name again, he's biting down and I scream as I ride his hand. He's going above and beyond to make up for edging me at the bar. His teeth graze my breast and my back snaps hard while the most beautiful fireworks fill my vision.

When I open my eyes, he's licking his fingers clean with a smile of satisfaction. When he's done, he grabs my face and the kisses are long and lazy, neither of us in a hurry for them to end. Eventually, his mouth wanders again, this time finding my pulse point and sucking it while I recover beneath him.

"You okay, Angel?" His low, deep voice has me vibrating with even more pleasure. I nod, not sure if I remember how words work yet. "Can I get you anything?"

I shake my head, and he lays his forehead against my shoulder. I melt into him, letting my fingers slide under his hoodie and trace drowsy shapes over his warm skin. His heart slows as his breathing becomes more rhythmic than chaotic, the softness of my touch over his muscles making him relax against me. There's no way he doesn't notice my body go stiff when I trace over a large patch of rough skin and jagged scars along his side. I don't need to see them to get a sense of how terribly painful this must have been.

"Jamie?"

"Later," he whispers as his hands continue exploring all of me. His touch is equal parts therapeutic and sexual to me. Each time I tense or jerk away, he stills there against my skin, allowing me to breathe through it. Later will inevitably come for me, too. For now, we're just brushing the surface; enjoying the rush of a new…whatever this is.

"Should, uhm, should we talk about that?" I pry my fingers from him and pull my robe back up over my shoulders. "I mean, what we…what you…"

He stops leaving marks along my neck and looks at me, that deep, heartbreaking sadness back in his eyes. "Shit, was that not?—"

"What?! No, it was… I mean… that was…"

We both sigh with relief, followed immediately by laughter. It's a sensation fueled by euphoria, genuine and beautiful. I brush his fluffy hair from his beautiful eyes. Even now, when he's happy, I can still see the sorrow hiding inside him. Could it be the scars or something deeper?

"You're pretty when you laugh like that." His fingers trace over my face, like he's mapping me out for future reference, which he could be. He is an artist. A shiver runs through me as I think of myself being painted in some weird mural someday. It makes me wonder if he does this with all the women who scream his name while they lose themselves to him. It's possible he has a collection of sketches or paintings of all his conquests.

" Pretty ? I can handle pretty."

"Pretty is all I've got right now. I can't think of anything but you."

"Are we, uhm, are we really doing this?"

He glances around the room before he returns his focus back at me. "What? Standing in your kitchen trying to figure out how I'm here with an incredible woman like you?"

"Technically? I'm sitting, you're standing." I'm also blushing—hard.

"Barely," he grins, moving closer for another series of slow, languid kisses. This time, he breaks the kiss, sliding his nose along mine. "You're so soft and warm, I can't stop touching you."

"Oh, moving up the scale from pretty now?" I hook my fingers into the sweatpants. "My turn to hear you scream, pretty boy."

"No." He lets go of my face and grabs my wrists, pulling them away from him.

"What, really?"

"Really," his voice is a growl as the hunger reaches his eyes again. I can see that he's horny, and for a split second I worry that I've done something wrong. But the butterflies in my stomach are at it again as I realize this man is insatiable and I'm the meal he plans to devour. "I want to take you apart a thousand times before breakfast, and another thousand before lunch. I want to study every noise you make and every curve of your body until you're all that I know."

"What about you? Don't I get to do anything to you?" He doesn't answer and I worry again that I've crossed a line I didn't even know existed. Hundreds of possibilities start flooding my brain and he must see what's happening. "I mean, most guys, that's kind of all they want. Some women, too. And this is the second time you've turned me down when I tried to get into your pants."

"That's because I'm not done with you yet, Angel."

"James, if there's something wrong?—"

"I just…fuck this is going to sound so damn stupid. I don't want to…I don't want to fuck this up. I don't want you to think I'm only here to get laid." His thumb runs over my bottom lip. "I want to make you happy. Show you how badly I want you…and this."

"This?" I slide my hand between his legs and he groans, his head dropping to my shoulder when my fingers dance over his cock. Christ, he's big. "What is this ?"

"What do you want it to be?" He mumbles against my skin.

Unsure how what to say, I continue to tease him while my free hand plays in his hair. "Well, I guess?—"

"You don't need to answer that right now," he says, raising his head up to let me see the worry in his eyes. "And you don't even have to put a label on anything. You can always tell me to stop or back off, and I will."

"That's the thing—I don't want you to back off or stop. I want you to let me have my turn." I squeeze gently. His fingers dig into my hips in response while another moan escapes him. "When do I get to take you apart?"

"Soon. I promise. Angel, I want to take my time with you, and when you can't take it anymore, I want to do it all over again. I want to worship you like you deserve to be worshipped."

I cup his face and bring it to mine. "Okay, how about we have breakfast on the beach? We can get the photos done, and after that, we'll take each other apart all damn night. Since you don't want to rush things anyhow."

Hunger morphs to worry, and back to familiar sadness. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, James," I assure him. "I can absolutely respect taking our time to figure this out. I'm just a little surprised to know that you are a pleasure dom. I thought Dani would have picked that out of you and told me already."

"A what? Is that bad?" His shoulders drop, and his brows knit together in confusion and worry. "Are you trying to find a nice way to tell me that wasn't good for you?"

"It basically means you get off on getting your partner off," I explain, biting my bottom lip. "As far as what we did? It was really good. Unexpected, but impressive."

"Pleasure dom, huh? And impressive?" he kisses me deeply, leaving me breathless once again. "I'll take that, for now, so long as I get to keep kissing you."

My fingers play in the hair at the back of his neck and he moans deep against my ear before he buries his head against my neck. I've found a spot that makes him purr like a damn cat. I'll remember that for later.

It's a few hours of him distracting me from getting ready every chance he has, and me teasing him as far as he'll let me go. I finally get us out of the apartment and we leave for Venice Beach. We talk about music and work, keeping the topics light-hearted and fun. He holds my hand the whole way there, bringing it up to his lips at each red light and kissing my knuckles.

I blush every time.

For wanting to take it slow, I have a sneaky suspicion that he'd drive me to Vegas right now if he could. I don't know how to handle this kind of attention, because this isn't how my relationships go. Dani called the cops on one of my exes. My mom or stepdad have scared a few away. Mostly, though, they've been a trail of short-term hookups. That's not even counting the jerks my mom tries to set me up with.

I'm so used to pushing people away that my brain is struggling with the idea of having something more. I'm not sure how to handle a legitimate relationship, but James seems more than willing to give me the time I need to figure it out. It's scaring the shit out of me.

He parks the Jeep closer to the beach than I realized you could, and I'm surprised by the number of open spaces around, but it's still early for LA. There's a restaurant nearby with a crazy aesthetic and a cow's ass sticking out of the front, it looks like the perfect place to nurse a hangover, which neither of us have. We order and find a table in a corner. We share our food and his hand doesn't leave my thigh the entire time we're there.

While talking about the photos from yesterday, I reach over and snag a piece of bacon off his plate. He laughs as I pop it in my mouth and I stare at him. I glance down and realize both plates are empty and I've been picking his clean of crumbs.

"Shit, I'm sorry!" I'm mortified, but he's smiling at me. "You must think I'm?—"

"Beautiful?"

"That wasn't the word I would use."

"I would, and did. If you're still hungry, I can get you something else. What do you want?"

"Hell no, that was…I shouldn't have done that." I can hear my mother's voice in the back of my head and I wish she'd go away.

He doesn't argue, simply leans over and kisses me softly between every few words. "On the way back to your place…we're going to a grocery store…and I'm buying one of everything you like." He squeezes my knee. "You're going to need it, because I can't stop thinking about how good you taste, and how much I want to devour you all night long. I'll mark every inch of you as mine. Every. Single. Inch."

He walks his fingers up my thigh at the last few words, then dips his hand between my legs. I stare forward, utterly dumbfounded. The ache in my core makes me want more, but my brain keeps screaming that we're in public. I wonder if I fell in the shower this morning and hit my head. Maybe I died. He teases me, his fingers pushing against me, making my hips rock as my body desperately cries out to let him touch me. Then he stops and stands up.

"Ready to go, darlin'?"

A shiver runs down my spine as I blink myself back to reality. As we walk, James snaps pictures here and there, both for the client and for himself. He's being sneaky about it, but I know some of them are of me. I don't mind because I can't stop thinking about what he said; the heat between my legs is still begging for him. It's strange, when you're this turned on, every alleyway looks less like a dingy hot mess and more like an opportunity.

"Hey, I'll catch up. I need to swap this out."

"Swap it—holy shit, is that film?"

"Yeah, yeah. I know. It's dumb. Film gives it a more authentic look—to me anyhow. More of an artistic edge to it instead of that perfectly crisp digital shot. There's a unique beauty in the imperfections that digital can't replicate."

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Make me feel really dumb and really turned on simultaneously by saying a bunch of smart, artsy words." He puts the camera down and takes hold of my hips, and I wrap my hands around his neck. I've barely touched him, but I can feel how turned on he is. I can hear it too in those soft little moans that sneak out of him.

"Yeah, well, you can talk me under the table in computer programs and design."

"That's all tech speak. ‘Artistic edge' and ‘Beauty in imperfections?' That's poetic!" He blushes and drops his head to refocus on changing the film. The way his fingers move so masterfully, I'm sure he could do it blindfolded. No wonder he shattered me so completely a few hours ago.

I need to get my mind out of the gutter. It's my job to keep us on task and I'm failing. All I can think about is this morning. His lips. His hands and how they played along my skin. He steps behind me, holding the camera out so I'll take it. His hands hold my hips tight as he kisses below my ear, whispering, "Show me what you can do, my perfect Angel."

He talks me through the settings and I hold the camera up and try to focus as he presses against me. Through the viewfinder, I catch our reflection. He has us lined up in front of a vibrant, happy mural with a shop window in the middle. Warmth spreads through my belly when I realize he wants a picture of us. Together. I shake the butterflies off and try again to focus.

"You're a sappy one, aren't you?"

"Nostalgic for parts of the past I never experienced, I guess. Besides, now, when I go home again, I can spend hours developing pictures of you." He laughs. "Jesus, I suck at this whole flirting thing."

"You do go from dirty to Shakespeare to stalker a little too quickly." He pinches my ass and I squeal and smack his arm. "So wait, you were being serious? You develop these? Like you do the whole red light in the darkroom situation?"

"Yep." He holds up the second camera. "This one is digital, and to be completely honest, I still don't have the best relationship with her yet. She's excellent for things like client work and as a backup, but I'm too old school for her sometimes. I have a darkroom behind the house. It's one of my sanctuaries."

"That sounds impressive. I should set up a sanctuary in my place, but what would I even put there? Smutty romance novels and my computer?"

"If that's how you find your inner Zen, yeah. I have a friend who plays these horror video games to relax, and he has an entire room in his apartment with LED lights and everything."

"Oh, that sounds cool—I could totally do that. Not the horror video games, though. I love horror, but fuck those games."

"Yeah, we tell him he's a psychopath for finding that shit relaxing." He messes with the camera again and I'm reasonably sure it's because he's afraid to make eye contact with me sometimes, and I wish I knew why. "We could set you up an area for your sanctuary, but we'd need to fix your place first."

"Fix it how? What's so bad about my place?"

"Well, we need to hang that Rent artwork for starters. After that, add some stuff to make it more you—like you have in your office. Make it seem less like an IKEA catalog before you start forming some underground club you're not allowed to talk about."

"I have no plans to blow up a city, thank you. Was that for reference, or do you have issues with IKEA?" He picks me up and I yelp as he spins me around.

"It's boring, You're not."

"Yeah, well. I kind of hate the apartment sometimes. Maybe the sanctuary idea would help?"

"It's a Los Angeles secret." He puts me down, but doesn't let me go. "It's how people who have lived here their whole lives can still put up with a city like her. You have to have somewhere to go and remind yourself who you are and what you're doing. Otherwise, she's likely to chew you up and spit you out somewhere near Oklahoma with a splitting headache and no clue how you got there."

I laugh at the visual. "Oh, my god."

"Too much?"

"Honestly, not enough. I like the way you talk; it's…different."

"I listened a lot as a kid." His smile fades and he busies himself. He's doing it again, doing anything he can with his hands to distract himself from meeting my eyes.

"I'm sorry." I'm such an ass, stepping on every emotional land mine he's buried away.

"It's okay. I, uhm, I stopped speaking when I was five and didn't start again till I was around fourteen." He stops and looks up the street, but he's not really here. I wonder if this is part of the later he talked about when I found his scars, but I don't ask. "Went through some stuff and kind of shut down."

It's not the right time to ask him what happened and I'm not even sure I want to. We're not there yet. It's also not my place to ask about what kind of trauma a five-year-old experienced to go non-verbal for nearly a decade. He'll share when he can, if he wants to. "Can I ask what got you talking again?"

His eyes finally meet mine, and there's a slight pull at the corners of his mouth. Too many people want to talk about what caused the trauma because that's where the good gossip is. The recovery? If it works, everyone forgets about you. I want to know what helped him, how he survived, and I'm betting not a lot of people ask that.

"Kid in my class, Coop. He was new, recently moved here from Canada with his dad and his kid brother. He wasn't happy about the divorce and the move, so he was acting out. Some kids started shit with me on the playground, and he clocked them. They were going to throw him out of the school, and, well, someone had to speak up for him. Literally."

"Holy shit, that's kind of awesome of him. And you!"

"Yeah, he grew up around hockey, so he's got a hell of a left hook. We've been best friends since."

"Wait…Coop? Canadian? Hockey?! I mean, the odds are astronomical, but please tell me you're not best friends with Chase fucking Cooper. You're not, right?"

"Well, if I tell you I'm not, I'd be lying."

"FUCK! You've seen my office, too. Oh god!" I cover my face while embarrassment floods my body.

"Yeah, well, just so I'm not alone under the bus, he's friends with Dani, too. Personally, I would never stand in line for more than five minutes for the guy's autograph."

"Wait, I thought you were friends?"

"Yeah, if he makes me stand in line, I'll kick his ass. Well, that and if he knew you waited in a four-hour line, he'd apologize to you for about a year."

"Huh, so the brooding artist is besties with an A-list, legit Hollywood celebrity. That's kind of cool. I'm not freaking out or anything." I laugh at how unbelievable this all is. It's like the world tilted oddly on its axis or something and nothing has been normal since running out to get coffee in the middle of a Thursday. "Guess that's what you meant about contacts in the business, huh?"

I take off my shoes and let my feet sink into the sand. It's an odd sensation against my skin. I always think of beach sand as warm, but this morning the sun hasn't touched it yet. I'm surprised by the chill. I wiggle my toes and watch James take off his shoes and shove both pairs into his bag.

"Coop was the only person besides my dad who ever tried to stand up for me. He talked for me, and when he wasn't, he gave me my space. He still does when I need it. Freaks people out sometimes because he and I can have an entire conversation without a word."

"I can do that with my sister, but ours is a twin thing, I think. Do you write, too?"

"Sometimes. It's not my favorite medium because I'm one of those people who doesn't think words are enough to really get an idea across. Some people can, but I can't seem to get them to be as deep and meaningful." He watches me wiggle my toes as my smile grows to a giggle into a laugh. It's freeing.

"Okay, when was the last time you came to the beach? Was it at least this century?" James is quick enough to catch the face I make on camera—so I stick my tongue out at him.

"Jerk," I push him playfully and he tucks his cameras into his bag. "The night my sister and I moved here, we drove across the country. We wanted to end our trip by saying we literally traveled coast to coast. So, I guess that would be almost fifteen years now."

"So you come to the beach on your first day in California, and it takes you fifteen years before you find yourself back on a beach? You do know that's kind of what we're known for, right? Beaches and sunshine? Alright." He sighs heavily and holds out his hand. I stare at it for a moment. "We definitely have to do this."

"Do wha—" He's leading me down the beach in a full run, headed right for the water. I should let go, but I don't want to. Instead, I scream and laugh like an idiot the whole way. He stops for a split second to drop our things in the sand, spins around, and lifts me into the air.

He runs into the water and the sting of cold hits us instantly. It's positively freezing. We both shout as the first wave hits us, pulling us along as he jumps into it, but he doesn't let go. He's in up to his chest and holding me up higher as he goes deeper.

I should be mad because I'm freezing, but I don't care. With each wave that hits us, I feel less and less of the chokehold life has had on me for nearly twenty years. I feel genuine happiness. I look down into his eyes as I slip into the water and our shivering lips meet.

Fuck, he's pretty. Why can't I stop laughing?