The Stopover (The Miles High Club, #1)(50)

I convulse and shudder deep inside my body as I cling to him. He laps me up like I’m his last supper. He pulls back and unwraps a condom and passes it to me; I slide it on him with a soft kiss to his cock.

With his eyes locked on mine, he lifts my legs around his waist and in one strong movement slides deep into my sex.

We stare at each other as the air is knocked from our lungs.

“So fucking good,” he whispers as our eyes search each other.

He pulls out and then slowly slides back in. My mouth hangs slack at the feeling of his possession.

Nobody fucks me like Jameson Miles . . . nobody.

I can try to deny this emotional attachment all I want, but the physical . . . I just can’t.

He circles deep inside and then slams back in. I cry out as the air is knocked from my lungs. Then he’s riding me—deep, punishing hits—and my bed is hitting the wall so hard it may knock it down.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he moans into my neck.

He lifts one of my legs, and I can’t hold it any longer. My body contracts around his, and he hisses as he comes with me.

We cling to each other as we pant, and I smile up against his cheek as euphoria runs through my blood.

Jameson Miles is my new drug.

And I am his crack whore.

I wake to the gentle breathing beside me, and I roll over and smile. Jameson is flat on his back and asleep. We had an incredible night.

The tender, witty guy was back . . . with no sight of the asshole CEO.

I lean up onto my elbow as I watch him. His dark hair hangs over his forehead, his big red lips are slightly open, and his eyelashes flutter as he sleeps. He has one arm behind his head, and the other is splayed on his stomach.

He’s beautiful—everything about him physically is beautiful. Last night I got a little peek that maybe he’s as beautiful on the inside as well. Stop it.

You’re getting clingy and attached.

Jameson is not the kind of man you get attached to.

He inhales deeply as he wakes, and slowly his eyes open and focus on me. “Hey, beautiful,” he whispers in a husky voice as he cups my face in his hand.

I smile and lean over and kiss him. “Good morning, Jameson.”

“Call me Jay.”

I frown in question.

“My friends call me Jay.”

“So we’re friends?”

He pulls me over his body onto his chest. “No, you’re my fuck bunny.”

I smile as I kiss his chest beneath me.

“What’s planned for today?” he asks.

“Nothing.”

He frowns as if trying to focus his eyes, and he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’ll get my driver to pick us up, and I’ll make us some breakfast at my place.”

I lean up onto my elbow and look down at him. “What’s wrong with here? I’ve got breakfast things you can cook.”

“Nothing. I just feel more comfortable at my place. We will hang there today.”

“I’m more comfortable here, Jameson,” I reply, slightly annoyed.

“What?” He winces. “How could you be?”

I sit up, affronted. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I snap.

He rolls his eyes. “Here we go a-fucking-gain.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You asked that question twice,” he replies dryly. “Do you have to argue about every fucking thing that we do?”

“I’m not arguing. I’m just saying I want to stay here today. Your apartment may be fancy, but it doesn’t impress me.”

He stares at me for a moment.

“And for the record, I don’t argue about everything. I was annoyed that your masseuse is on personal terms to message you the way she did.”

He rolls his eyes and puts the back of his forearm over them. “Here we go.”

“Will you stop saying that?” I snap as I get out of bed and put on my robe. “I was just lying here thinking how gorgeous you are, and then you go and open your big mouth and ruin the whole thing.”

“I’m thinking the same thing,” he snaps as he gets out of bed. “And stop going on about Chloe—it’s not a relationship.”

I stop still. What the hell does he mean by that? “What do you mean, it’s not a relationship? Do you and she have sex?”

He bends and picks up his jeans, ignoring me.

“Jameson.” I put my hands on my hips as I watch him.

He pulls his jeans on and zips them up. “Sometimes.”

“You have sex with her?” I gasp.

“I have a standing appointment on Tuesdays and Thursdays. She doesn’t come for sex, but sometimes it just happens. She’s touching me, I’m oiled up . . . it just happens.”

My mouth falls open. “Did you have sex with her this last week? Since you’ve been with me?”

He rolls his eyes.

“Stop rolling your fucking eyes at me,” I snap.

“No. I didn’t have sex with her this week.”

“Did you have your regular two massages?”

“Yes.”

“So you had someone else’s hands all over your body?” I fume.

“Like you did last night on the dance floor. Stop looking for a fucking fight, Emily. You are pissing me off.”