Rough [02] - Roughhousing by Laura Baumbach Page B

with hot water and dish soap.
    Stifling a huge yawn, James blushed and rubbed his eyes. “Guess maybe I will go on ahead."
    "Good idea. Before you fall down.” Bram gestured toward the front staircase. “I'll be right up. This'll only take a second."
    "'Kay.” James hesitated then added, “And ... thanks."
    He paused in his task and looked James in the eye. “You don't need to thank me, Jamie. I'm just glad you're safe and, well, here. With me.” The tension seemed to drain out of James at that.
    Without another word, James turned and hurried out of the room. Bram could hear his footsteps on the staircase, then lost track of him as the spacious house swallowed him up. He washed, rinsed, and dried the dishes before turning off the lights and going up to bed, making sure James had sufficient time to himself.
    Only the dim bedside lamp was on when Bram entered the room. He swiftly discarded his clothes, hung them up, and slid under the covers naked. Resting on his side, facing James’ back, Bram made himself comfortable. One hand lightly touched James’ side in reassurance before Bram settled down to sleep.
    Just as he was beginning to drift off, James shifted back and curled into the curve of his body. Wordlessly, Bram draped his arm over James and anchored his lover against his chest. Burying his nose in the dark, silky curls tickling his cheek, Bram fell asleep wondering what tomorrow would bring them.
    * * * *
    The bedroom was shrouded in hazy gray, a jigsaw puzzle of charcoal and black. Eyes wide open, James jerked upright in bed. Chest heaving and breath shallow and labored, he frantically scanned the surrounding semi-familiar shadows looking for signs of what had awakened him.
    Abruptly, loud, tapping sounds forced his gaze to the window on his side of the bed. Long, quivering fingers of the branches from the oak growing along the house danced erratically on the glass, keeping beat with the gusts of violent wind that had kicked up during the night.
    Heart bouncing off his ribs, James cringed and gasped when a warm, possessive hand gripped his arm.
    "Take it easy, baby. It's just me.” Bram's sleep roughened voice rumbled against his side. Bram eased James back down to the mattress and threw one stout arm over James’ chest. “Go back to sleep, Jamie. Just the wind. Nobody here but us, baby, just us."
    The leaden weight of Bram's arm held James pinned to the bed, its mass awkward and oddly stifling, but James still took a huge amount of comfort in it. Bram seemed to always be protecting or sheltering him from something. Even in his sleep Bram knew James needed him and he was there.
    James had the sudden urge to tell Bram the truth about his fears about moving in, but the man was already fast asleep. Light snores ruffled James’ hair, tickling the side of his face.
    Concentrating, he willed himself to take slow, deep breaths. By the time he was breathing normally again, his heart had stopped pounding and the sweat had dried on his chest. The scratching at the window faded to a mild annoyance and James slipped into a fitful sleep.
     

Chapter Eight
    The room was still dark. This time it was a firm touch that pulled James out of sleep and into the gray shadows of the morning gloom. A strong hand moved over his skin leaving a trail of warmth everywhere it touched. Bram's rich, earthy scent teased his senses, evoking visions of sweaty, straining muscles and passionate, hungry kisses. Sleep fell away like a discarded cloak as his lips were claimed and Bram's weight settled over him.
    James could only make out the outline of his lover, but his memories supplied the details of intense blue eyes and rippling pecs and abs. Seemingly on their own, his fingertips explored Bram's chest and arms, reaffirming his mental image of his powerful lover, adding the texture of fine hairs and curved, solid flesh.
    Soft but demanding lips kissed his mouth, urging him to open it to them. James surrendered to the kisses, moaning into