Chapter 12: Jamie bends over the rough wooden table, his ass red from Adrian's spanking as Adrian pounds into him without lube, their sweat making their bodies slick while the firelight dances over Jamie's stretched hole clinging to Adrian's cock. 'They want to take everything?' Adrian growls, slamming home as Jamie screams, 'Then I'll fill you with everything I've got left.'
The silence in the luxury sedan was heavy, charged. The privacy partition was up, sealing them in a cocoon of muted engine hum and the distant glow of the city shrinking in the rearview mirror. Adrian had said nothing after ushering a stunned, disheveled Jamie from the gala bathroom, through a service exit, and into the waiting car. His grip on Jamie’s hand had been vice-tight, unbreakable.
Jamie stared at the passing darkness, the taste of Adrian still on his lips, the ache of him a deep, tender throb between his legs. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere she can’t find us,” Adrian said, his voice flat. He was scrolling through his phone, firing off terse emails. The CEO, back in command. But his free hand remained wrapped around Jamie’s, his thumb tracing frantic circles on his knuckles.
After an hour, they turned onto an unmarked road, pine trees closing in like sentinels. The cabin was not a cabin in any rustic sense. It was a low-slung, concrete and glass fortress nestled against a mountainside, utterly dark and isolated. Adrian keyed in a code, and lights flickered on inside, revealing a stark, modern interior. The only warmth came from the walls—they were hung, not with expensive art, but with Jamie’s paintings. Dozens of them. Canvases he thought had been lost, sold, or stored away. Vibrant, emotional abstracts from his early twenties, a haunting cityscape series from his bleak period, the more recent, hopeful studies in light. Adrian had them all.
Jamie stopped in the middle of the living room, his heart in his throat. “You… you have all of these?”
“I’ve bought every piece you’ve ever sold that I could track down,” Adrian said quietly, tossing his overcoat onto a sleek sofa. “I couldn’t let them go to strangers.”
The gesture was so immense, so fundamentally Adrian—silent, possessive, overwhelmingly tender—that Jamie felt his defenses, already cracked, finally give way. The fear and the fury and the desperate, clawing want converged into a single, white-hot point.
Adrian was staring at the largest painting, a swirl of stormy blues and a single, piercing streak of gold. “The board meeting is tomorrow at ten. Eleanor will play the recording. It’s over. The merger. The company’s direction. My father’s… legacy.” He spat the last word like a poison.
Jamie crossed the room. He didn’t speak. He put his hands on Adrian’s chest and pushed. Adrian stumbled back a step, surprise flashing in his eyes. Jamie pushed again, harder, until the backs of Adrian’s knees hit the edge of a large, low divan and he collapsed onto it.
“Fuck their legacy,” Jamie said, his voice low and rough. He climbed onto Adrian’s lap, straddling him, crushing their mouths together. This kiss was a battle for dominance, all teeth and clashing tongues. Jamie yanked at Adrian’s bow tie, then the buttons of his shirt, popping a few in his haste. “Fuck their contracts. Fuck their approval.”
Adrian’s hands grabbed Jamie’s hips, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. He broke the kiss, his breath coming in ragged gusts. “Jamie—”
“No.” Jamie silenced him with another bite of a kiss. He ground his ass down against the hard ridge in Adrian’s trousers, feeling his own cock twitch in response. “You said this was real. So be real with me. Stop thinking. Just feel.”
He got off Adrian’s lap, leaving him breathless and disheveled on the divan. In the middle of the room, before the cold, dark fireplace, Jamie slowly, deliberately, removed his clothes. The ruined suit jacket, the denim-colored silk shirt, the trousers and briefs. He stood naked under the recessed lights, exposed not just in body but in spirit, all his jagged edges and hopeful colors on display, just like his paintings on the walls.
Adrian watched, his blue eyes dark with a hunger that had nothing to do with power or strategy. It was pure, unvarnished need.
“Come here,” Adrian commanded, his voice gravel.
“You come get me,” Jamie challenged.
Adrian moved like a predator unleashed. He was off the divan in a fluid motion, closing the distance between them. He didn’t kiss him. He spun Jamie around to face the empty fireplace, bending him forward, hands braced on the cool stone mantel. Adrian’s clothed body pressed against his bare back, the rough wool of his trousers a scratchy contrast to his skin.
“You want it real?” Adrian growled in his ear, one hand fumbling with his own fly. “You want me to stop thinking?” The sound of his zipper was loud in the quiet room. He spit into his palm, a crude, wet sound, and slicked his cock. He didn’t prepare Jamie, didn’t ask. He just positioned the thick, leaking head at his entrance and pushed.
Jamie cried out, a sharp, bitten-off sound as Adrian breached him in one relentless, burning thrust. He was still loose and slick from earlier, but the sudden, brutal fullness stole his breath. Adrian didn’t pause. He set a punishing rhythm immediately, each snap of his hips driving Jamie harder into the mantel.
“This what you wanted?” Adrian panted, his fingers digging into the flesh of Jamie’s hips. “To be fucked like you’re nothing? Like I don’t care?”
“Yes!” Jamie shouted, the word echoing off the hard surfaces. He pushed back against him, taking him deeper. “Show me you don’t care! Fucking ruin me!”
It was a frenzy. Adrian fucked him with a raw, desperate intensity, the slapping of skin and Adrian’s guttural grunts filling the sterile space. Jamie’s mind went blank, whited out by sensation. This wasn’t the calculated seduction of the gallery or the defiant performance of the bathroom. This was a collapse. An avalanche. Adrian was pouring every bit of his fear, his anger, his lost control into the physical act, hammering it into Jamie’s body.
Jamie reached a hand between his own legs, stroking his own cock in time with Adrian’s thrusts. The dual sensation was overwhelming—the deep, almost painful fullness inside him and the friction on his own aching length. He was babbling, a stream of filth and encouragement. “God, yes, right there, you feel so deep, you’re gonna make me come, Adrian, please—”
Adrian’s pace became erratic, harder, deeper. He leaned over, blanketing Jamie’s back, his teeth sinking into the meat of Jamie’s shoulder. “Come for me,” he snarled, his voice broken. “Show me.”
The bite, the command, the relentless pressure against his prostate—it sent Jamie over the edge. He came with a shattered cry, stripes of white hitting the dark stone of the fireplace, his body clenching violently around Adrian’s cock.
The rhythmic squeezing undid Adrian completely. With a ragged groan that was halfway a sob, he buried himself to the hilt and pulsed, heat flooding Jamie’s insides. He stayed there, collapsed over Jamie’s back, his whole weight heavy and grounding as they both shuddered through the aftershocks.
For long minutes, the only sounds were their labored breathing and the faint sizzle of the logs in the gas fireplace Adrian had somehow turned on. Slowly, carefully, Adrian pulled out. Seed dripped down Jamie’s thighs, a warm, undeniable proof of what they’d done.
Adrian turned him around. His face was stripped bare, all the billionaire polish gone. He looked young, haunted, utterly lost. He cupped Jamie’s face, his thumbs wiping at tears Jamie hadn’t even realized he’d shed.
“Jamie,” he whispered, the name a fragile thing.
“I know,” Jamie whispered back. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Adrian’s. The heat from the fire began to seep into his skin.
Later, they lay tangled on the thick rug before the fire. Adrian was naked now, his clothes discarded in a trail to the hearth. Jamie was using his balled-up shirt as a pillow. The panic had receded, replaced by a deep, weary calm.
“We should strategize,” Adrian murmured into Jamie’s hair, his fingers tracing the line of his spine. “Damage control.”
“Fuck damage control.” Jamie shifted, rolling onto his stomach and then sliding up, straddling Adrian’s hips once more. This time, the movement was slow, deliberate. He looked down at Adrian, at the beautiful, worried face he’d known his whole life. “My turn.”
He saw the flicker of surprise, then a dark, eager surrender in Adrian’s eyes. Adrian nodded, once.
Jamie reached for the lubricant they’d found in a bedside drawer—this safehouse was clearly stocked for more than emergencies. He slicked his own fingers, then reached behind himself, prepping his already sore, used hole with two fingers, his eyes locked on Adrian’s. He watched Adrian watch him, watched his lips part, his chest rise and fall faster.
When he was ready, he took the bottle and poured a generous amount into his palm, wrapping his hand around Adrian’s cock, which was already hard again. He stroked him, slowly, coating his length, feeling the powerful weight of him in his hand.
Then, without breaking eye contact, he rose up on his knees, positioned the head at his entrance, and sank down.
It was a different kind of fullness this time. A claiming. He controlled the pace, lowering himself inch by excruciating inch, taking his time, making Adrian feel every bit of it. Adrian’s hands flew to his hips, not to guide, but to anchor himself, his knuckles white.
“Jesus, Jamie,” Adrian choked out, his head falling back.
Jamie set a deep, rolling rhythm, riding him with a fluid grace that made Adrian swear continuously under his breath. The firelight danced over their skin. Jamie placed his hands on Adrian’s chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart under his palms.
“This is the only deal that matters,” Jamie said, his voice steady even as his body trembled with the effort of his movements. “You and me. Fuck their contracts. I’m your only deal now.”
He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the floor on either side of Adrian’s head, and changed the angle. Adrian cried out, his hips bucking up to meet him.
“Say it,” Jamie breathed, his lips brushing Adrian’s. “Who am I?”
“Mine,” Adrian gasped, his eyes wild, his control completely gone. “You’re mine.”
“And you?” Jamie drove down harder, taking him impossibly deep.
“Yours.” The admission was ripped from him, raw and true. “God, Jamie, I’ve always been yours.”
It was the truth they’d spent a lifetime avoiding. It shattered the last pretense. Jamie kissed him, swallowing Adrian’s moans as their climax built together, a shared, inevitable peak. This time, when Jamie came, it was with Adrian’s name on his lips, and Adrian followed him over, his release triggering a wave of tremors that seemed to go on forever.
They lay together in a heap of spent limbs before the fire, the only light in the vast, dark wilderness around them. The world outside—Eleanor, the board, the crumbling empire—felt galaxies away. Here, on the floor, sticky and sore and utterly unraveled, there was only this new, terrifying, and real thing between them.
Just before dawn, as Adrian slept deeply beside him, Jamie carefully extracted himself. He pulled on Adrian’s discarded dress shirt and walked to the wall of windows. The first grey light was creeping over the mountains. His phone, which had been buzzing incessantly, lit up again on the coffee table.
A single, unnamed number. A text preview:
...obtained recording. Board convened for 9 AM. Advise you...
Jamie picked up the phone. He didn’t wake Adrian. He just stared at the message, then out at the looming, silent trees. The sanctuary felt less like a refuge now, and more like the calm before the siege.