Stray for You (Rainbow Rescue Cat Café #3)

Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

Cameron

WE BARELY PASS THE threshold before Julian is on me. He uses the hand I’m holding to yank me to him and kiss me as we keep stumbling into the room. I don’t get a chance to turn on the lights, but it doesn’t seem like it matters. Julian clearly isn’t interested in my messy IKEA shelf unit where I keep my clothes or the nightstand beside the bed or the laundry I left out on the floor. He parts long enough to note the location of the bed against the wall, and then he gets his mouth right back on mine.

I should complain about this, but all I’ve done since he showed up today is give in. I picked him up at the airport, and we haven’t stopped touching each other since. Even the pretense of making and eating dinner only really delayed the inevitable, and I have no choice but to admit it to myself: I want him.

I want Julian Brooks.

I can’t stop wanting him.

I awaited this trip nervously, unsure if something might have changed between us, unsure if I’d feel nervous or awkward because of our strange history with each other. All of that melted away the moment Julian hopped into my car. Something changes when we’re near each other, like gravity itself has gone strange. Nothing has the right weight. Colors are too bright. Music is too sweet. Everything is more , but in the most wonderful way imaginable.

He gets me to the edge of the bed and sits me down, then climbs into my lap. It’s a bit awkward with us being a similar size, but Julian doesn’t seem to care. He keeps on kissing me, sometimes wandering along my jaw or gnawing at my earlobe, but always returning religiously to my lips.

I tip back, letting his weight fall on top of me. We grind on each other, still fully clothed but obviously hard, and a thrilling, terrifying instinct overtakes me. I roll us over so we’re fully on the bed and he’s on his back. Then, while looking down at him, I palm over his jeans and watch his face contort with desire. He grabs at my jeans as well and attempts to undo them, but I stop him. I have to admit, the beat of confusion that washes over his face brings a particular sort of satisfaction. Since I met him, Julian has always seemed like he had the upper hand on me. He made the rules in high school. He was in charge when he’d tease and push and wait for my inevitable reaction. But here he is on his back in my bed, and for the first time, I feel like the one in control.

I don’t hate it.

I rub over him again, and the look that passes through his face is as much pain as pleasure.

“Are you going to be good?” I say.

It takes a moment before realization dawns. “Yes?” he says.

“Yes, you are,” I say. “Because you want something from me. And I get to decide if you get it.”

The confusion shifts to something warmer and darker, something that melts in his light eyes and blows out his pupils, darkening his gaze.

“That works for me,” he says.

“Does it?” I ask. “Or are you going to be a shithead like you were in high school?”

He chuckles, but it somehow doesn’t ruin the effect.

“Scout’s honor, Cam. Tie my hands up. I don’t care. I’m yours.”

Something about the way he says I’m yours does things to me that no other sentence has ever done to me. I’ve encountered dirty talkers, but no filthy promise they’ve ever devised compares to Julian putting himself entirely in my hands.

And I kind of like his suggestion about tying him up…

“Stay there,” I say.

Partially, it’s a test. Partially, I’m realizing I’m going to need a couple things if this is going to happen this way. I leave him lying on my bed. Miraculously, he hardly even squirms as I rush around my room grabbing the lube under the bed and the one tie I happen to own, which hangs in the closet. Julian’s eyes go right to the tie when I return.

“I hope you were serious,” I say.

He licks his lips. “I was.”

His voice has lowered and roughened, and it stirs me up all over again. I pull off my shirt, already sweltering within it, then free Julian of his as well. He puts up no resistance when I direct his arms over his head and tie his wrists together. He could lower his arms if he wanted to, but he leaves them that way, lying stretched out on my bed, his lean, toned chest heaving with excitement.

“I like you like this,” I say, looking up at him from under my eyebrows. “You’re much more tolerable.”

“If you want me tolerable, you should have found a sock to stuff in my mouth.”

“But then I wouldn’t get to hear you beg.” I lower down him, kissing his bare torso, stopping at his hips and the erection straining his jeans. “And trust me, you will beg.”

Julian draws a shuddery breath and worries his bottom lip. For once, he has no snappy comeback, no comeback at all. I have silenced the Julian Brooks, and all it took was a promise of sexual torment.

It’s a promise I intend to keep.

I mouth over his jeans, still not taking them off. Julian dumps his head back and groans, his body swaying toward me. I have the advantage here, however; I push on his hips to force him down and continue my slow, teasing exploration. I nose along him, giving him pressure but no skin-to-skin contact, a ghost of what he actually craves. Julian groans above me, shifting his hips as much as he can while I have control of them.

“Fuck, you weren’t kidding,” he says, vastly breathier than he was only a moment ago.

I pause to look up at him. “I wasn’t, and I also wasn’t kidding that you’re going to behave. I can and will stop and leave you suffering.”

“I believe you.” He assents too quickly, a frantic note in his voice. “I’m yours, Cam. Whatever you want.”

Christ, this is addicting. That grinning, smug bastard I’ve known since high school is gone, replaced by this groveling, compliant version of Julian. Yet it’s still him, undeniably him. And suddenly it hits me: All of that teasing meant to provoke a response. All these years he was just waiting for me to push him back.

I chuckle, and Julian cranes his head to look up at me.

“What? What is it?” he asks.

I put my hand over his cock where it’s trying to punch through his jeans. Then I squeeze.

Julian’s head drops back down. He groans through gritted teeth, any thought of questioning me swiftly forgotten.

“Darn,” I say. “You were doing so well, but I guess you need to wait a bit longer after all.”

I stop touching him entirely and sit back. Julian’s head pops back up, his lips opening around a complaint he thinks better of voicing. Instead, he merely watches as I undo my own jeans and shimmy them off, then send my briefs to the floor after them. My cock is as hard as his, but unlike him, I can touch myself — and I do. I sit there between his spread legs and languidly stroke myself while Julian’s eyes trace every movement. He looks like a thirsty man watching someone else drink water. His lips part. His breathing deepens. But he doesn’t utter a word.

I thumb the head of my cock and the pre-cum beaded there. I’m every bit as turned on as him, but I’m not going to show it. I simply keep stroking, acting like I would be content to do nothing else for the rest of the night.

Then, at last, it happens.

“Please, Cam,” he gasps. “Holy fuck, you’re going to drive me insane.”

I bite back as much of my smirk as I can, but it’s a losing battle.

“That easy?” I say.

“Yes, God, yes, I’m that easy. I’m so easy. Anything you want, Cam, just please , for the love of Christ, touch me.”

He’s verging toward actual pain, it seems, and I started this whole thing on a whim. It’s not like I have a ton of experience bossing guys around in the bedroom or anything. It just felt right. But I show him mercy, finally peeling his jeans and briefs off and sitting on his thighs while squeezing lube into my palm.

Julian keeps his arms overhead, but when I lean toward him, he loops his bound wrists over my head and pulls me the rest of the way to his mouth. I grab our cocks in my fist as I give him my mouth. He whimpers pathetically, a noise I find especially delicious after spending so long teasing it out of him.

I’m not ready to give up on this yet. I stroke him more slowly than I could, even though that means I’m stroking myself that slowly too. I want harder and faster, but even more than that, I want Julian to writhe and whimper. And he certainly writhes and whimpers. Somewhat freer to move, he rolls his body up against mine, his kisses interrupted by groans. He pushes himself at my hand as much as he can, even with my body pinning him down.

I’m starting to give in. I can feel it in the way my hips move with his, in the way I sway with his body, searching for friction. I pump us harder, my hand trapped between our bodies as we abandon everything but this need that has driven us together against all odds. The fact that this thing overflowing inside me is happening because of Julian, that Julian, barely registers as my body screams for the final push it needs.

I teased Julian for too long. He goes well before me, crying out into my mouth and bucking his body up at me so hard he almost knocks me free. I nestle my head down in the crook of his shoulder and keep on pumping, going fast, trying not to touch him so long it turns painful, chasing after him with blind urgency.

At last it hits, and warmth splatters our torsos, adding to the mess Julian already made. Our bodies are slick with sweat and cum, but for a few moments all we can do is pant and groan and roll our hips at each other as the waning dregs of the high drain out of us.

Finally, I flop atop Julian, limp with pleasure. His bound wrists remain looped behind my head, and he rests his hands on my back. I pant against his neck while holding our softening cocks, enjoying the way our chests press together with every ragged breath.

“Where did you learn that?” Julian says.

“I have no idea.” I’m in no position to lie at a moment like this. “I just … thought of it.”

“Well, I’m damn glad you did. Seeing you like that was hot.”

I shouldn’t like it so much when he says that, but I do. Hell, I shouldn’t have him in my bed for the next week, but I do. None of this should be happening, but it sure is.

I climb out of bed, focusing on getting us cleaned up rather than the confusing mess I’ve created for myself. My thoughts will work themselves out over the next week, I’m sure. Besides, I don’t have much of a choice. When Julian’s involved, it seems like I’m going to do it whether it’s a good idea or not.

“Come to bed,” Julian says, holding out his unbound arms to me.

I go. Because it feels too damn good for me to say no. And for right now, I don’t want to.