The Stopover (The Miles High Club, #1)(38)

“Like the way you looked at me, the way you tasted under my tongue.” His lips take mine, and our kiss deepens. “I remember how every muscle deep inside you felt when your body rippled around mine.”

I smile up at him in wonder as I run my fingers through his stubble. Please don’t be any more gorgeous. I won’t be able to deal with you at all.

“But it was the way you kissed me that I remember the most.”

My eyes search his. “How did I kiss you?”

“Like you’d been waiting your whole life to kiss me.”

He slides in deep, and my heart constricts. I bring my legs higher. “Maybe I had.”

We stare at each other, his body inside mine, and even though I know that this is just sex and that it means nothing, it feels intimate and special . . . more than it should.

Stop it. Stop overthinking this.

“Are you going to keep jabbering on, or are you going to fuck me?” I tease to lighten the moment.

He chuckles and pulls out and slams into me, knocking the air from my lungs. I cry out.

Oh . . . dear God. I think I just woke the devil.

He pumps me with his knees spread wide, harder and harder, and with every slam he lifts my legs a little higher and a little wider.

He holds himself still and then circles deep inside me. My head tips back to the sky as I lose all coherent thought. “Oh God,” I whimper as his teeth graze my neck. “That’s so good.” He keeps doing the delicious movement as his thumb circles over my clitoris. My body begins to shudder, and he grabs my face and brings it to his.

Our eyes lock as my body arches and writhes beneath him.

“Look at me while you come on my cock,” he commands as he straightens his arms and puts my legs over his shoulders. The change in position deepens him inside of me, and I convulse as he slams into me. His body begins to take mine at piston pace, and I grip his arms as I stare up at him.

“Fuck yeah,” he growls. “Fuck . . . fuck . . .” He tips his head back and cries out as I feel the telling jerk as he comes deep inside me.

We’re wet with perspiration, and he bends and tenderly takes my lips with his.

My heart races out of control as I stare at the ceiling, gasping for air. His head is in my neck, his lips trailing along my collarbone.

What the fuck was that? That wasn’t sex—that was an apocalyptic event.

I’m ruined.

I wake in the darkness; the glow of the New York city lights illuminates through the room. It’s late—or early. About four in the morning, I think. We didn’t shut the drapes before going to sleep.

What a night.

We devoured each other until we had nothing left.

I stare at him as he lies flat on his back in an exhausted sleep. I don’t know what we are to each other, but I do know that he’s my sexual soul mate. Is that even a thing? Our bodies are like animals with each other; neither of us could get enough.

The thirst just couldn’t be quenched. If he were to wake up now, I would be instantly aroused, as I know he would be.

He’s right, this is primal.

I’m thirsty, so I climb out of bed and throw on his robe and make my way out to the kitchen in search of water. We left the lamps on, so the rooms are partially lit. I don’t even remember getting to the bedroom.

I find a glass and pour myself some water from the fridge, and as I look around, my heart drops. What the hell kind of kitchen is this? It’s like a restaurant.

I walk back out to the living room and stare out over the city way down below.

My eyes roam over the apartment, and my heart flutters. This is real money.

Stupid money.

My entire apartment would fit into his bedroom alone. What does a place like this cost? Our clothes are strewn all over the floor, and I pick them up and fold them and put them onto the coffee table. I see something light up on the floor.

I frown and bend to pick up Jameson’s phone. It must have fallen out of his pocket as we were undressing. The screen lights up as a message comes through, and the name Chloe flashes on the screen.

Where are you?

Did your meeting go late?

I stare at the phone. What the fuck?

Who’s Chloe?

Jameson

I wake to the sound of my alarm, and I smile as I stretch; I’m sated and sleepy.

Relaxed for the first time in a long time.

What a night . . . what a woman.

I reach for Emily and frown when I realize she’s not in bed with me. She must be in the bathroom. I doze for another twenty minutes, and eventually when she doesn’t return, I get up. “Emily?” I call as I walk into the bathroom.

It’s empty.

I walk out into the living area. “Emily?” I call.





Silence.


“Where is she?” I look around to see my clothes folded on the coffee table and notice that hers . . . are gone.

“Emily?” I call as I do a 360 of my apartment. “Emily?”

I clench my jaw as my anger begins to escalate. I dial her number as a shade of red clouds my vision. I hear my furious heartbeat in my ears as adrenaline fills my bloodstream.

“Hello,” she answers.

“Where the fuck are you?” I sneer.





Chapter 8

Jameson

“I had to go,” she stammers.