The Sinful Bond

Breathless

When I get back upstairs, I find James at the sink, sleeves neatly rolled up and the water running.

“I can get those James.” I inform.

“ I insist.” He replies. “Your cooking?”

“Um yeah.” I say nervously, rubbing my forehead. I walk over to the stove and start the steaks, I’m not really sure how to cook steak but James had mentioned he liked it so I’m going to give it a shot. I don’t know why I’m even trying I should have just ordered out.

“Oh and Molly,” I drag my gaze to his, “don’t take the trash out again, I’ll get it.” I’m speechless, since when is James making demands. He clearly hasn’t realized I listen to no one. I turn to meet his eyes again but he’s already turned back around, his back muscles shuffling back and forth in synchronicity.

I load our plates with steak and salad and pour us a a glass of wine, bringing the bottle to the table of course.

“Thank you, for cooking and you look fantastic.” James says smiling into my soul. I shake my head and let out a groan.

Deep down I think I enjoy his educated way of speaking, his complementary approach. I just don’t think I really believe it.

“It’s not a big deal, people have to eat.” I reply, tipping my wine glass all the back, drowning my nerves.

“It’s still appreciated.” He saws away at his steak, pretending to enjoy it but it’s not good. We eat silently, all I can focus on is his heartbeat pumping in his neck, his veins popping out of his forearms.

I pour myself another glass and James clears the table, disappearing into my bathroom. Heat settles in my stomach thinking about him underneath that suit, an ache forming between my legs.

I try to focus my mind elsewhere and turn on the tv, slipping into an oversized Tshirt and underwear and curl up on the couch. Machine guns blast on the television drowned out the sound of the shower running in the other room.

Soon the ache returns, picturing him in my towel dripping water, shaking his hair, putting on his glasses, he’s so f*****g hot in his glasses.

I’m jolted back to reality when the door opens and he walks in, wearing light gray sweatpants and a black muscle shirt. Holy Hell, my insides are going to explode, my stomach swirling like a tsunami, my breath quivering with each step he takes towards me.

He settles in carefully caressing my feet and calves, rubbing in circular motion. I hate that I love it, hate that I crave his touch, It’s not supposed to be like this. I can’t get attached to him, he’s supposed to need me, not the other way around.

I pull my legs away to my chest hugging them, giving him his own space. I watch his brow furrow in confusion like he’s trying to figure out what he’s done wrong, but he remains silent.

I watch his jaw clench tight and his knee begins to bounce, he’s anxious. His palms begin to rub against each other vigorously just like before when he was nervous.

“I’ve been good haven’t I?” He suddenly asks.

“Yes James.” I sighed.

“You never want me to touch you.” He states.

“I’m not big on being touched, that’s why there are roles and rules to this agreement.”

He lets out a small breath, but drops out, this argument is one he will lose.

I get up and head for my bed, my feet feel like they are a thousand pounds. I slink under the silky, black sheets and wait for him to follow but he doesn’t. Is he waiting for permission? Or is he angry at me?

“James! Get the f**k in here.” I yell, and he sulks in around the door.

“Yes?” He asks, hands tucked behind his back.

“Get in bed with me.”

He shuts all the lights off and climbs in, I can hear his shaky breath from behind me, afraid to touch me, afraid to say a word.

I reach back and grab his arm, he stops breathing entirely. I pull him into me, wrapping myself in his big arms like my own personal blanket. He’s stiff at first but soon he melts into me, seeping in to every fiber of my being. Coasting me into a deep, heavy sleep.

I’m jolted awake, hard breathing, sweating and panicking. I gaze at the alarm clock on the bedside table it’s only 3 o’clock. Nightmares of the past seep into my dreams hence my love for coke.

When I’m sleeping I’m a child again, a child who can’t escape her wrath. The belt buckle slashing me over and over again, and I’m helpless.

I can’t calm the shaking and the ringing in my ears, suddenly James’s voice comes into focus,

“Molly, it’s okay. I’m right here.” He says, wrapping himself around me, peppering kiss up my side. Carefully caressing my long hair. Soothing my deep, embedded trauma with a simple touch.

“How can I make it better?” He whispered in my ear. Fire ignites low in my belly and the ache for him swells. My heart begins to pound hard and fast again as he trails his fingers ever so gently on the inside of my thigh.

Trailing kisses over the scars on my stomach, he’s the only man I’ve ever let see or touch them.

He gently pushes me back down into the bed, and lifts my oversized tee up exposing my chest. He props himself over me, staring deep into my eyes,

“Tell me baby.” He begs. He knows I love it when he begs. I try to speak but I can’t find any words. He proceeds to kiss and bite my neck and shoulders bringing a gasp to my lips.

My body reacts, grinding into him pulling him to my lips. Kissing him until we are both breathless.

He pulls away from my lips and takes one of my breast into his mouth, causing my back to arch and heat to pool between my legs. He makes his way down my belly and slide my panties down my legs, kissing from the top of my feet up.

He wastes no time for me to argue before slamming his face between my legs, send shock waves through my entire body. I rock my hips to his rhythm, I hear him releasing small whimpers which he knows send me over the edge.

Picking up his place he slides in two of his fingers. I feel the pressure building from my toes up, I lock my legs tighter around him and he looses it, slamming into me as fast as he can, never moving his mouth from me, his eyes never leaving mine.

He likes this, he wants to watch me fall apart, and I’m spent, black dots form in my vision, fireworks explode in my stomach and i shake uncontrollably gripping the back of his head so hard my fingers ache.

James redresses me and slides back under the covers with me, resting his head on my belly. He’s waiting for me to pet him, he does this every time. He needs this, so I do it, stroking his wavy locks until he’s sound asleep. Like a good Jamesy Boy.

I’m coming to realize he needs this arrangement just as much as I do. His need is just simply different. How much can he handle before I destroy him?