The Stopover (The Miles High Club, #1)(67)

“Sure.”

He disappears into the bedroom, and I walk back down the hall. “Jameson is just taking a quick shower. He will only be a few minutes.”

“Okay, thanks.” Matthew smiles.

I walk back out into the kitchen and stir the vegetables I have cooking. Maybe I should have stayed at my place tonight. He didn’t seem too pleased to see me.

Ten minutes later warm hands come around my waist from behind, and Jameson’s lips find my temple. “Hey, babe,” he whispers softly.

I turn to find him with a white towel around his waist. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah, I’m just really tired.” He exhales heavily. “The last thing I feel like is a fucking massage,” he whispers as he holds his cheek to mine.

“You’ll feel much better after it,” I say. “Massage, dinner, and bed.”

He rolls his eyes and trudges up the hall.

I smile as I listen. Every time Jameson inhales, he gives a slight snore. I’m sitting on the couch in my pajamas watching a movie, and he’s lying with his head on my lap, fast asleep.

This feels strangely . . . normal.

He wasn’t joking when he said he was tired. He’s more than tired—he’s exhausted.

I think it’s more mental exhaustion than physical, and I can’t imagine what he deals with at work every day. He’s had the pressure of running Miles Media from such a young age. Even in his youth, he would have been coached for this role. But Jameson Miles the CEO is a mere mortal, and I feel a protective urge roll over me.

I mindlessly run my fingers through his hair and enjoy this close time with him.

I don’t imagine many people see him so relaxed. “Jay,” I whisper softly.

He frowns in his sleep.

“Jay, bedtime, baby,” I whisper.

He inhales as he stretches and blinks, as if not knowing where he is.

I run my fingers through his hair. “Bedtime.” I smile softly.

I get up and turn off the lights and the television, and then he takes my hand and leads me down the hall to his bedroom. He brushes his teeth and gets into bed.

A few moments later, once I’m ready, I climb into bed beside him, and he pulls me into his arms. “Good night, sweetheart,” he whispers as he kisses my forehead. We lie cheek to cheek. There’s a closeness between us that I haven’t felt before.

“Good night.” I snuggle against his chest.

This night has been nonsexual . . . and normal . . . and weirdly intimate.

I may be addicted.

I wake to the feeling of strong hands holding my inner thighs apart. Jameson’s head is between my legs, and his thick tongue swipes through my sex. My head throws back, and my hands go to the back of his head. My body is pumping with arousal, so I know he’s been at it awhile. “Oh God,” I moan. “Good morning, Jay.”

He turns his head and kisses my inner thigh. “Morning.”

He bites my clitoris, and I close my eyes. Good God. He’s awake now and in all his glory. He continues to suck as waves of pleasure start to pulse through me. He pushes three thick fingers aggressively into my sex, and I wince. This is Jameson’s specialty—finger fucking me with such force that I orgasm before we even have sex.

I’ve never been with a man who can pleasure me in so many different ways.

He begins to ride me, his whole hand centered on the task. My legs are back to the mattress, and God. “Oh God . . . so good,” I breathe. The sound of my wet arousal echoes through the silent room as he works me.

This man is insane. Ten minutes ago I was dead asleep.

He bends and nips my clitoris, and I convulse as I come in a rush. My body lurches forward, and he pushes me back down. “Shh,” he whispers as he calms me. “Again,” he chants as his eyes hold mine.

“No.” I sit up in a rush and grab his shoulder and pull him up over me. We kiss as we fall back to the mattress, and my leg wraps around his waist.

Hell, what a way to wake up.

Our kiss turns frantic, and I feel his cock nudge my opening, and then he pauses.

“It’s okay. I’m on the pill,” I breathe as I hold his face to mine.

He closes his eyes for a split second, and then, as if unable to relax without a condom, he drags himself off me and goes to the bedside. I watch as he tears one open and rolls it on.

Then he’s back on me. He slides home deep in one swift movement. I cry out as my sex begins to spasm around his thick muscle. “Hold it,” he growls.

Fuck . . . how are you supposed to hold it? Like that’s a thing.

He looks down at me. His olive skin has a sheen of perspiration, his blue eyes are beaming, and I smile in wonder at the perfect specimen in front of me . . . inside me.

He widens his legs and goes up unto his knees and then lifts my legs in front of him by my ankles and begins to pump me—thick, heavy hits—and his jaw hangs slack as he watches the place our bodies meet.

I can see every muscle in his torso contract as he pushes forward. Goddamn . . . watching Jameson Miles fuck is the world’s best porn. He picks up the pace, and his body goes into overdrive. I scrunch the blankets beneath me as I feel myself build.

The sound of our bodies slapping together echoes through the room. His eyes close in ecstasy, and he moans as his body really goes to town. “I’m close,” I whimper.