Lost In Us (Lost 1)

you want it," he commands. I take his hand from my hip and place it on my damp sex, more aware of my body than ever. And then he starts moving his blessed fingers around in little circles, my nails digging deep in his thigh as my orgasm starts building, making me shake and shudder until relief comes in an explosion that shatters my entire body when he calls my name.

A burst of laughter awakes me from my near unconscious state. I open my eyes, immediately regretting it. Light. Not a lot of it, but enough to hurt my eyes. The source must be somewhere on the bedside table on the other side of the bed, where James lies, visibly less disheveled than me. And amused.

"What's so funny?" I ask weakly, wondering if I did something wrong earlier.

"This is absolutely the last time I'm going out in public with you when all I want is to make love to you. I've never lost my head like this in public, except at some frat parties, but they don't count."

There are several things about his sentence that make my stomach flip. First, the lovemaking thing. Surely only two people in a relationship talk about lovemaking. It's sex for the rest of us, isn't it? Then there's the never before thing. Of all the hotties he's been with, can there really be a never before for him?

He kisses my forehead and gets up, announcing, "I need a shower. If you want something to wear, take anything from the closet. But I wouldn't mind seeing you run around naked." He winks and slips into the bathroom.

I sit up on an elbow and, for the first time, take in the room. Everything from the white leather bed to the satin sheets covering me and the sleek, gray carpet on the floor reminds me of those storefronts for home decor where the price isn't even listed because it would give passersby without a limitless credit card a heart attack.

The masterpiece, though, is the glass wall directly opposite the bed, through which the entire city is visible. I get up and walk to the window, admiring the dazzling lights of this never-sleeping city.

It's only when I get goose bumps all over my body that I realize I really do need something to wear. His closet is three times the size of mine, and I begin to randomly open doors, until I find the one I want, with towels and bathrobes. I start taking one of the bathrobes off the hanger, when I notice the shelf above has five folded velvet robes, similar to what Dani was wearing when I first met her, only more masculine. I rise on my toes and reach for the black velvet, but the shelf is so high I can barely touch the soft fabric. I pull at it as best as I can and next thing I know, all five robes land on my head and then drop to the floor with a thump.

Of course they do. I sigh and bend to pick them, when I notice something in between the black and gray velvet. A picture. James is in it. A much younger James, probably no more than eighteen years old. Next to him is a girl whose beauty takes my breath away; chocolate brown curls that frame her perfect face and large, round blue eyes looking at James adoringly.

Two words are written in careful handwriting on the back of the photo. Always, Lara. I stare at them for a few seconds, then put the photo and four of the robes back on the shelf as best I can.

Just in time too, because James opens the door of the bathroom, declaring proudly, "I'm a completely new person."

"I need to become one, too, or your robe will pay the price for my laziness," I say, forcing myself to smile and attempting to get past him—he's blocking the doorway to the bathroom.

He grabs me by the waist and gives me a quick kiss, then moves out of my way.

"I still think you shouldn't be wearing that," I hear him say before I close the door.

The shower has always been my favorite place to cool my head. And right now, this is exactly what I need. But no amount of water and minty shampoo can erase the burning question from my mind. Who is Lara, and where is she now? I can take a guess as to who she is… or was at least: James's girlfriend. I can also guess where she is now. Or rather, where she isn’t. She's not here. Not with James. Her always, like Michael's, turned out to be temporary after all. I wonder if she's the reason behind James's chronic commitment phobia and obvious disdain for his school years. Must be, but instead of feeling jealous or upset, I have a strange sense of elation. Because this means he can commit. If he can forget her, which clearly hasn't happened so far.

When I get out of the shower, James is nowhere to be found. I wrap the oversized robe tightly around me and head out of the bedroom, guessing my way through the penthouse. I find him in the living room, wearing shorts and a black T-shirt, staring outside through yet another glass wall, holding a glass of orange juice. He's talking on the phone.

"No, if it's in the garage in the morning it's fine. I don't need it now. Good evening to you too, Daniel."

"I always thought being an entrepreneur was all about ramen noodles and living in shared apartments."

He looks up at me and smirks. "It is in the beginning. If it's still like that after a few years, you don't know what you're doing."

"I'm sure you avoided that dreadful beginning, no?" I ask sardonically. "Isn't that the purpose of a trust fund?"

"Judgmental much?" He raises an eyebrow, but doesn't seem upset in the slightest.

"I'm just being realistic."

He stares at me intently for a few seconds, then empties his glass and says, "I busted my entire trust fund in college."

My jaw drops. "Are you serious?"

"My father was even less impressed than you are," he says with a wink.

"I bet. How on earth did you manage that?"

"I was something of an expert at spending exorbitant amounts of money. Luckily, running out of them taught me quickly how to make money, too. I sold my first company after two years." He raises his empty glass. "Something to drink?"

"Orange juice is fine," I say, still stunned.

We move to the kitchen, which is separated from the living room by a glass wall, and looks like it's never been used, with the exception of the fridge. When he opens it, I have a vision of what my own fridge would look like if I weren't living with Jess—full of unhealthy drinks and takeout boxes.