Page 40 of Somewhere Along The Line
My attention snaps back to James’s face, his eyes darker, intent, his eyebrows furrowed.
“You were sitting on the floor, your back facing the aisle of the train car. I curled myself into a ball, tucking up my knees and settling between your hips. My head was under your collarbone, and you wrapped your arms around my back.”
He stands, and I watch him walk a half circle until he’s directly behind the stool. My heart leaps into my throat as he stops there, draping his arms over my shoulders and hugging me tightly from behind.
“Like this?”
The warmth of his breath on my neck makes my blood hum. “Not quite,” I whisper, turning my face into the crook of his arm. “We were chest-to-chest; I was facing you. Right now, we’re back-to-chest.”
“Is that a problem?”
A whimper escapes my throat as he nudges back my hair and presses his mouth to the delicate skin under my jaw.
“No. It’s… goodness, James…”
He kisses a line from my ear to my collarbone, my head stretching in response to give him more access. It makes me light-headed.
“Focus, Piper. You need to control yourself.”
I strain to remember the question, his body pressed against mine and the words coming out of his mouth an impressive distraction. “No…it’s… not a problem.”
“Good.” His voice is soft in my ear, quiet and familiar, before he gives the lobe a gentle bite. “What else do you remember?”
“You held me there on the train, tracing circles on my back, gripping my sides, encouraging me to breathe, reminding me I’m safe.”
James’s hands echo his movements from that morning, holding my arms tightly within his, his fingers splayed across my ribs.
“Youaresafe.” Breathing deeply, he nuzzles his face into my hair before releasing a contented sigh. “You’re safe with me.” His hands move slowly to the curve of my waist, pressing in gently. “You can be fine or not fine, okay or not okay, but you’ll never be unsafe. Not with me.”
A shaky exhale is all I can muster.
With all the pushing and pulling, teasing and bartering, disagreements and compromises andcompromising situations, I’ve felt a lot of things for and with James Newhouse.
But never once have I felt like he’s reckless with me. He makes me feel like I could collapse into a puddle or explode like a geyser, my heart seeping in every possible direction, and that he’d wait patiently to dam me in.
“Can I touch you?” He says it in a whisper, his tone a mix of tenderness and hunger as he strokes up my sides, slipping under the hem of my shirt. I nod, hoping it’s enough encouragement for his hands to move where I want them.
“I need you to say it.” It’s both dominance and deference, this demand, and it turns my insides molten.
“Yes. Please, James.”
He groans at the sound of his name on my lips, his hands drawing up to my breasts as he sucks gently behind my ear. I’m impatient to bring my mouth to his and my hands to his chest, returning the favor. “Do you want me to turn around? I can turn around.”
“No, I want you right here, exactly like this.” He slips a hand under my bra, twisting my nipple and making it hard, pulling a moan from my throat as he tugs. His head is tucked into the crook of my neck, the stubble on his chin grazing my shoulder every time he exhales, lightly tickling.
He peels off my shirt and then my bra, and both land at my feet. Somehow, he manages to do this while keeping his lips on my skin.
He moves achingly slow, touching and tasting like he's cataloging my body and my response to his touch. We’re working in tandem this way, the arching of my back and my whimpering sighs charting a path he attentively follows.
“Please, James…”
I want all of him—his hands, his mouth, his abs, and what lies lower. I’m frenzied by the need building in my center. If he senses my growing urgency, he doesn’t match it.
His left hand is on my breast, pinching my nipple and rolling it between his fingers as I squirm within his arms. His right hand traces my stomach before ducking beneath the waistband of my skirt and resting on the lace of my panties.
I need him to touch me, to diffuse the tension that’s pulsing through every inch of my body.
“Please what?” he whispers, tapping his thumb once to the most sensitive part of me and sending electricity crackling through my limbs.
