The Stopover (The Miles High Club #1) - T L Swan Page 0,62
statement. “How often?”
“All the time. I’m like a starstruck eighteen-year-old.”
“You wouldn’t know it.”
“Why?”
“You acted like you hated me all week. You can be so cold when you want to be.”
He sits up in his chair and straightens his back. “I don’t like to be challenged for the sake of it, Emily. You fought with me last weekend just to prove a point. It angered me.”
“No. I fought with you last weekend because I wanted to spend the day at my apartment, and you just assumed that your place was better than mine. Your money doesn’t impress me, Jameson. I don’t care for your fancy apartment. Mine is just as good.”
He rolls his eyes. “Are we going to fight now about why we fought?”
I smile. He’s right; this is ridiculous. “No. No more fighting.” I pick up his hand and cup it around my face. “We’re going to have dinner, and then we’re going to go back to your place, and then I’m going to ride your cock . . . just the way you like it,” I whisper.
He inhales sharply as his eyes flicker with excitement. “You fucking turn me on.”
I put my thumb into my mouth and suck it in slow motion, our eyes locked. “As your dedicated fuck bunny, Mr. Miles, I take my job very seriously,” I whisper darkly. “Your wish is my command, sir.”
He gives me a slow, sexy smile. “Now you’re talking.”
Two hours later
Lathered with a sheen of perspiration, I rock forward onto his cock. Jameson is sitting with his back against his headboard. One hand is on my hip, the other cupping my breast.
He’s so big that I can feel every inch of him deep inside my body. He took me hard and fast the first time, me on my knees and him behind me. I watched us in the mirror. Every muscle in his torso contracted as he pumped me, and his dark eyes held mine.
It was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
His hand has a strong grip on my hip bone as he rocks me back and forward with force. Our eyes are locked, and this is one of those moments where neither of us speaks—it’s perfect without words.
He grabs a handful of my hair and drags me down to him; his lips take mine, and we kiss. His tongue is sliding into my mouth at just the right angle.
“Legs up,” he whispers as he lifts my knees to a squatting position.
My face falters.
“What?”
“Be careful.”
“I won’t hurt you—you know that.” He kisses me again with just the right amount of suction; my body knows who’s in control here. Jameson Miles may have given me control of drink ordering, but it’s glaringly obvious he will never give me control in the bedroom.
Not that I want him to; what he does is sheer perfection.
He begins to lift me, slowly and carefully at first, and we go at a controlled speed. He looks up at me in awe.
“Oh,” I moan. “So . . . good,” I whimper.
His eyes roll back in his head as he lifts me higher and slams me down harder. My hands are on his broad shoulders, and I feel the muscles contract beneath me.
He begins to moan as he slams me onto his body, the look on his face one of sheer ecstasy.
I tip my head back as a freight train of an orgasm comes shuddering deep within me.
“Oh fuck,” he cries out as he holds himself deep inside me. I feel the telling jerk as his body empties itself in mine.
His eyes search mine, and in slow motion, he reaches up and cups my face and brings my lips down to his.
We kiss, and it’s slow, tender, and intimate—nothing like the detached version we talked about.
He’s right here with me. I know he is.
“You are so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against my lips as he pulls me close.
I lie down on his chest and smile against his skin as his arms wrap around me. I can feel his heart beating hard against mine, and I feel so safe and cherished.
I know this is supposed to be friends with benefits. But it’s not . . . it’s more.
What kind of more I just don’t know.
I feel a hand on my behind, and it gives me a sturdy pat. “Come on.”
I screw up my face and roll toward him. “What?”
“Up you get.”
“Huh?” I stretch and open my eyes. The drapes are pulled, and sunshine is beaming through the huge windows. I look