John Grey is well into his third drink when the need to succumb to reckless desire takes hold. Tossing back the last of his whisky, he raises the empty glass and signals to the barman. Drinks secure in his grasp, he makes his way across the dimly lit bar with its bass-driven music too loud; the smell of sweaty, cigarette-laced, dry-humping bodies mingling with spilt beer.
His eyes find their target amidst the chaos as he weaves his way to the dark corner; a small table with a sole occupant.
Known only as Red Jamie, the man is a veritable beast. He drew respect and no small amount of fear when he crossed a threshold, his shoulders and height filling the frame of any doorway. As if his sheer size weren't enough, it was his, for lack of a better word, aura. You could feel the invisible wall he had erected around him and only the drunkest of fools dared scale it. It wasn't a mistake made twice.
So, what the hell is John thinking, when he slides his black leather-clad arse into the seat across from Red Jamie and plonks a bottle of Scotch in the center of the table?
He sure as hell isn't thinking about self-preservation when he spends his nights covered in his own sweat and semen, gasping out the name of the giant warrior who haunts him day and night. John's therapist would claim he is on a suicide mission if he knew what John was currently up to. One does not trifle with Red Jamie and one certainly does not presume to do what John is about to do.
Full of liquid courage and raging desperation, John pours two shots, slides one across the small table as he shotguns the other back without it ever touching his tongue. Finally, he lifts his gaze to meet the blue fire that awaits him.
"That's no way to drink."
Momentarily struck dumb, John can only stare as he soaks in the sensation of that voice. Christ. That fucking voice is like the low rumble of distant thunder and John is helpless against the vibration it sends skittering across his neural highway. The second thought to hit him is that his cock is about to make a jail-break from his pants.
Blinking rapidly in a vain attempt to clear his vision and will himself to sobriety, John gapes at the man. "What?" he asks in his posh English lilt.
Nodding toward the untouched glass before him, Jamie rumbles again, "That is no way to abuse Scotch." With a delicacy that is wildly at odds with the sheer enormity of his hand, he lifts the small glass to his lips. Taking a deep, appreciative sniff, James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser aka Red Jamie proceeds to turn taking a shot into a sexual act. The amber liquid slides past those full, lush lips to be savored and caressed across his tongue until it glides down his throat. The satisfied sigh that follows slams through John, leaving him lightheaded and hard as stone.
Setting the now empty glass on the table, Jamie's hand settles on John's wrist, his long fingers forming an iron shackle, squeezing until John begins to squirm.
"What the fuck do ye want?" Jamie snarls, his blue eyes sizzling through John, any hint of humor replaced with an icy chill that reminds John of watching a window frost over.
Desire avalanches through him. This is it. This is what he is after. The raw power within this man that is dancing along the knife-edge of control. "You," John whispers. The grip around his wrist loosens for a split second but it gives John the opportunity to twist his arm within the grasp. His fingertips stroke the silken skin at the pulse point of Jamie's wrist. "I'm here for you."
For the briefest moment, John catches a glimpse of those blue eyes widening as a flicker of something like fear darts through them before they darken in what can only be murderous rage. Now it is John who is, without a doubt, experiencing fear.
Before he could draw his next breath, John is being yanked to his feet as Jamie rises. Pulled up on his tiptoes, his face mere inches from Red Jamie's, John has a moment akin to his life flashing before his eyes. 'And this is how I die,' He reaches to trace the fingertips of his free hand across the stubble roughened cheek; fluttering over those sensuous lips that are pulled up in a snarl.
Without a word, Jamie drags John through the bar, not bothering to weave around the other patrons when he bulldozes his way through the crowd. The hand wrapping around John's wrist as he pulls John along behind him.
John barely manages to keep himself upright, knowing without a doubt that if he loses his footing, Jamie won't bother to pick him up. Once outside, John is flung against the stone wall with both of his wrists bound in one giant hand and pinned to the wall over his head.
"Who are ye?" Red Jamie towers over him, his hips pressed into John's navel, feet planted either side of John's, his long powerful legs effectively trapping him. The heat radiating from his body warms John to his bones and he can't help rocking his hips forward and up, just barely biting back a moan of pleasure.
"John," he whispers. "My name is John." Staring up at the face above him, his eyes rover over the square, stubbled jaw, the broken scar across one prominent cheekbone before settling on that mouth. Dear God, that beautiful, wide, full mouth that John must feel. He thinks he'll die if he doesn't kiss this man. So, he does just that. Stretching up on his toes, John captures Jamie’s lips with his own.
Wrenching away on a curse, Jamie wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, swiping the sensation of John away. Quaking with desire, terror and blind lust, John recognizes that life as he knew it may well end this night. One way or another, everything was about the change.
As he watches the myriad of emotions play over Jamie’s face, John suddenly has the feeling that he now knows what a gazelle feels when it realizes a cheetah is about to pounce. The brilliant eyes of the most marvelous shade of crystal blue are pinning him to the wall with their feral intensity. Jamie’s face, both heartbreakingly beautiful yet the very epitome of masculinity, has shifted from shock and hardened. His wide luscious mouth curls up in a vicious sneer as he rakes his eyes over John.
“’tis like that, aye? Yer lookin’ for somethin’ rough to get ye off?” Pinned against the bricks, John whimpers when he feels the sheer enormity of Jamie’s body flush against his own.
“Yes,” he whispers, wriggling, straining to get closer.
A harsh laugh that is devoid of humor echoes through the alleyway before John is whirled around, his face scraping against the cold bricks. His fingers scramble against the mortar and edges for purchase, bracing himself.
“All right then, have ye a condom?” Rough hands grope through John’s pockets, searching for that small measure of protection. Two fingers worm their way into his front pocket, pausing over the ridge that gave away John’s own arousal, tracing along the edge as though taking stock of him before plucking the foil packet free.
John shudders, whimpers. Listens to his own labored breaths as he gasps for air. The hands, God they were huge, make short work of his belt, button and zipper to yank his pants down to his knees, his erection bouncing free. The cool air washes over him and John can only imagine how he looks with his arse bared to the night. A mountain of a man behind him, preparing to take him. Another shudder over takes him at the image and he grabs the base of his cock to stave off his impending orgasm.
The sound of a zipper. Foil being torn. Silence.
A thick finger, wet and twisting, flickers across his opening. Probing. Breaching and retreating. Before he can catch his next breath, John’s hips are being pulled back as the blunt head of Jamie’s cock forces its way inside.
Without hesitation, the hands anchored around his hips continue to draw him back until John’s arse finally, my God finally, comes to rest against Jamie’s pelvis. He has never been filled like this. His entire body is throbbing with his heartbeat, pulsing and heaving around the cock that has invaded him. If he could draw breath, he would scream his lungs dry, but he can’t manage more than a croak.
John feels the massive chest against him tremble with a low chuckle and he whimpers when Jamie withdraws until only the broad head remains. Whining now, completely shameless in his need, John arches back in a desperate bid to impale himself once more. Jamie is motionless, his hands still grasping John’s hips, leaving bruises.
Just as John is about to weep with the want, Jamie roars to life behind him. A step closer, a violent snap of hips and he is fucking John with a ruthlessness that leaves no doubt about who is in charge.
Hips batter wildly against hips. Steam begins to rise from them in the cool night air. Only the slap of skin against skin can be heard. Both men are silent. John having lost all ability to control the most basic bodily functions. Jamie locked in a fierce and silent fury as he brutally fucks the man before him.
The force of Jamie’s strokes knock John off balance, his boots slipping on the gravel and his legs give way. The rhythm is barely interrupted before both men are on their knees. Growling low in his chest, Jamie grasps John by the nape of his neck, shoving his face down to the ground. Rocks dig into his cheek while long fingers grip and flex, restricting the flow of blood to his brain. John’s already blurred vision glitters with bursts like starlight and he vaguely wonders if he is going to faint.
A sense of disembodiment over takes him. He’s never felt anything like this in his life, being completely overcome, overpowered and simply put: taken. His body is no longer his own and he writhes on the monstrous cock that is rending him apart with each feral thrust. With a sudden surge, his climax slams through him, catching him unaware until he is choking on his screams. Spilling himself all over the ground before him, clenching around the immeasurable length and width inside him. He can’t even gather his wits enough to take himself in hand, helpless against the onslaught that is Red Jamie.
A low litany of curses reach his ears as he feels Jamie begin to swell and throb, his cadence faltering into a mindless hammering before he stills and pulses in time with his hoarse gasps. Pulling John back against him with each spasm, burying himself deeper.
The vise around the back of his neck eases, fingers that were imprisoning him now taking up a slight circular motion before pulling away. The heat of Jamie’s body hovering over him disappears along with the hand on his hip. Bereft of support, John collapses over on his side to the ground, weak as a newborn kitten. He watches through heavy eyes as Jamie stumbles to his feet and tucks himself back in his jeans.
John knows he should do likewise but all he can manage is to simply breathe. Tremors still run through him periodically, his system completely shocked by what just occurred.
Desperate to do it again.
“C’mon man, ye canna be layin about here all night. Up with ye.” With a suddenness that makes his head swim, John finds himself pulled upright. His pants are yanked back up over his bare arse, tucked and zipped before he fully comprehends what is happening.
“Yer a wee fool, lettin a stranger take ye like this,” Jamie chastises as he guides him down the alley, away from the bar.
Stumbling, with legs still quivering, John nods. “Probably.”
The pair continue on in silence, the hand on John’s shoulder warm and steady, and he draws some comfort from it. Now that the lust has been sated, John’s brain cells start firing back to life and he glances around, not recognizing the street they are walking down.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Home,” Jamie murmurs, “I intend to have ye in my bed.”