The Stopover (The Miles High Club, #1)(57)

The man’s a god.

I doze for the next hour and wake as Jameson walks into the bedroom. He’s wet with perspiration and breathing heavily, and I sit up on my elbows as I watch him. “Where the hell did you run to, Antarctica?”

He chuckles and shakes his head, still out of breath.

“You must really run hard, huh?”

He nods as he puts his hands on his hips. “The harder I run, the better the effects.”

“Effects on what?” I frown.

“My stress levels.” He disappears into the bathroom and turns the shower on.

Oh, this is news. He has stress issues? Well, I guess he would. His workload is huge, after all.

“Are you getting in?” he calls.

“Yes,” I call as I amble in. He’s in the shower, and the water is running over his head. His breathing is slowly returning to normal. I get in, and he wraps me in his arms and kisses me softly.

“Good morning,” I whisper.

“Good morning, my Em.” His lips dust mine.

I smile goofily up at him.

“What?”

“I like it when you call me that.”

“You do?” He smiles.

“Your princess Em.” I bat my eyelashes to prove my point.

He chuckles as he picks up the soap and begins to wash me. “I have no doubt that underneath all that snarky Ms. Foster act is a pure sweetheart.”

“I haven’t been snarky once,” I gasp.

He smiles down at me as he tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “And look how beautiful you are.”

I giggle and lean against his chest. He washes my back, my shoulders, my breasts, and then down my legs. I watch him as he concentrates on his task. Then he moves down to my sex, and his eyes come to mine while he touches me there.

Our eyes are locked, but this doesn’t feel sexual. It feels intimate.

I stare into his big blue eyes, and I swear this isn’t the same man who runs Miles Media. The man with me now is sweet and tender. Everything Jameson Miles is not.

“Let me wash you.” I take the soap from him and lather my hands together and roam them over his broad chest and muscular shoulders and biceps, then down his rippled abs to his groin, and I clench my insides while I wash him there. He leans down and kisses my temple softly, as if knowing I’m holding myself back from pouncing on him. We need to stop having sex all the time; it’s getting ridiculous.

The sexual attraction is so strong that neither of us can get our fill of each other.

“You’ve turned me into a complete sex maniac,” I whisper.

He smiles down at me as his lips dust mine. “I think you already suffered that affliction before we met—if our first night was anything to go by.”

“I’ve never been like this before.”

“Like what?”

“You bring something out in me that no other man has.” My eyes search his. “You’re different from anyone I’ve ever been with.”

The water falls over us, and I don’t know why I just told him that. I can feel myself getting attached, and I don’t know how to stop blurting things out. I’m going to ruin everything.

Stop talking, fool.

He takes my face in his hands and kisses me. His tongue swipes through my open mouth, and it’s deep, erotic, tender, and goddamn . . . so fucking perfect that I can’t even deal. “I’m taking you back to bed,” he murmurs darkly.

“Please,” I whimper.

We get out, and he dries us both and then leads me back to bed and lays me down and spreads my legs open.

I watch as he rolls a condom on and lies down on top of me. We stare at each other as he holds himself up on his elbows, and his body finds that place between my legs. I grab his behind, but he stops me from pulling him in.

“I want it slow,” he breathes.

Oh God, my insides begin to ripple in excitement. “I want you.”

His lips take mine, and our kiss becomes frantic as his body slides in slow and deep. My back arches off the bed in pleasure at his possession.

I moan loudly, and his eyes roll back in pleasure.

For twenty minutes, we slowly appreciate each other’s bodies; he’s gentle and loving and so, so deep inside me. His open mouth roams from my collarbone, up my neck, and across my jaw to my lips.

“Fuck, Emily,” he whispers. “You turn me inside out, baby.”

If I could reply, I would, but I’m too busy in making-love heaven here.

Being fucked hard by Jameson Miles is hot as hell, but being made love to by Jameson Miles is life changing. I’ll never be the same.

Where the hell does a girl go after sex like this?

It builds inside me, and I begin to quiver, but instead of getting harder like he normally does, he stops still. “Take it,” he whispers.

“What?”

“Stay still, and take it from me. Clench your orgasm in.”

My eyes search his. Holy mother fuck. I can’t deal with how hot this man is.

“Fuck me,” he whispers. “Don’t move a muscle, except for here.” He flexes his dick, and I feel it deep inside. “I want you to show me, just me . . . how you feel.”

“Oh God,” I moan.

“Come on,” he coaches.

I clench, and he smiles darkly. “Harder.”