The Stopover (The Miles High Club, #1)(55)
“I want you to drop being defensive with me.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are,” I whisper as I hold his hand in mine.
“So are you.”
“I know I am, because I feel like you will walk all over me if I’m not.”
His brow furrows. “I would never walk all over you.”
“Not purposely.”
He clenches his jaw, and I know that’s exactly how it is.
“I just want the guy I met on the plane. The one who let himself go.”
His eyes hold mine. “I don’t know how to be that guy all the time, Em. It’s a very small part of my personality.”
“Then just save that small part for me,” I breathe.
A soft smile crosses his face as he watches me, and he sips his drink. “What was so good about that guy on the plane, anyway?”
“He made me laugh.” I smile as I remember. “And he gave me the best sex of my life.”
“Of your entire life?”
“Uh-huh.”
He smiles, pleased with himself.
“So do we have a deal?” I ask.
“Let me get this straight—you want to have friends with benefits but only with each other?”
“Yes.”
“What happens when I’m at work all the time or away and you’re out and . . .” His voice trails off.
“Then I’ll call you and tell you I need you.”
His eyes hold mine.
“And you’ll talk me through it over the phone, or I’ll wait till you come home.”
He rubs his thumbnail over his bottom lip as he listens, as if fascinated.
“I don’t want to have sex with anyone else, Jameson. I’m not that kind of girl. You are the only one-night stand I’ve ever had.”
He squeezes my hand, pleased with that answer.
“I’ve had sex with four people in my whole life, and you’re one of them.”
He leans onto his hand and smiles dreamily at me.
“What?”
“Do you know how often I think about fucking you?”
I giggle, surprised by that 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.