by Swan, T L
I wrap my arms around him and hold him down.
He pulls from my grip. “Come on.”
“I have no stuff here. What shoes would I wear?”
“What size are you?”
“Eight.”
“Hmm.” He puts his hands on his hips and thinks. “Well, you can wear some of mine.”
“I’ll fall over and break my neck, Jameson.”
“Hmm, okay.” He disappears into the walk-in closet and comes out in black Nike shorts and a blue Nike T-shirt.
I smirk when I see him.
“What?”
“Are you sponsored by Nike today or something?”
He looks down at himself and smiles. “No, it just happens to be comfortable.”
“Like this bed.” I smile sleepily as I snuggle back under the covers.
He sits down to put his shoes on, and I watch him for a moment. “So how does this work?” I ask.
“How does what work?”
“Well . . .” I pause as I try to articulate what I want to say without sounding needy. “I’ve never done this casual thing before.” I shrug shyly. “How do we navigate this? When do we see each other?”
“Well . . .” He bends to tie his shoe. “We just play it by ear, I guess.”
I frown. But what if he didn’t call? I’d be waiting all week. Oh, I don’t like the sound of that. “I think I would prefer set days.”
He frowns. “How many days?”
I shrug. Shit, did that sound clingy? I’ll play it down. “One day a week.”
“I want to see you more than once a week,” he scoffs.
“You do?”
He smiles, knowing exactly what I’m doing. He stands and then leans down and kisses me. “Yes, three times a week.”
I try to hide my smile. “What days?”
“Do we have to have set days?”
“I kind of do.”
“Why?”
I shrug as I twist the blanket between my fingers, embarrassed by my neediness.
He puts his finger under my chin and brings my face to his. “Why, Emily?”
“Because I hate waiting around, and then we know not to plan anything else on our days.”
“Okay.” He puts his hands on his hips. “When do you want to see me?”
“Maybe twice through the week and once on weekends.” I hesitate as I watch for his cues. “But only a few hours each time, of course.”
“No.”
Shit. I’m going too far with my demands here.
“Two full nights through the week and one full night and half a day on the weekend.”
I smile. “Half a day.”
“Yes, starting today. I want my half day this morning.”
“Today? Why today?”
“I’m going to go for a run while you go back to sleep. Then I’m coming home, and we are going to shower, and then I’m making you breakfast.”
I smile softly. That sounds really good.
“And then we’re going to come back to bed, and I’m going to fuck you stupid again to get me through another few days without you.” He cups my face in his hand. “Okay?” he asks.
He’s really quite swoony when he’s being nice. I nod as I try to control my goofy smile.
He closes the drapes and then lays me back down and tucks me in and kisses me softly on my temple. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” he whispers.
I close my eyes and smile into my pillow, and I hear him leave the apartment.
I roll onto my back and look up at the fancy ceiling.
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.”
I clench again, and his lip curls in excitement. “That’s it, baby.” His eyes close in ecstasy. “Milk me, and show me who it belongs to.”
Something snaps inside me when I hear him say that his cock belongs to me. I bring my legs up and wrap them around his waist and begin to clench in a rhythm.
He hisses in approval.
“So . . . good,” I whisper as we stare at each other. “So . . . fucking good.”
To the outside world it would look like we are just cuddling as we lie perfectly still, but inside, every wall I’ve ever built up is being demolished, clench by clench.
He begins to moan, and it sounds too good—I can’t hold it. I clench as hard as I can, and we both cry out as an orgasm tears between us.
And then he kisses me, and it’s sweet and tender, and I feel emotion run between us.
I hold him close, cheek to cheek, as I hang on to him for dear life.
“You’re so fucking perfect, Emily,” he whispers.
I run my fingers through his stubble. “It’s you who’s perfect.” I kiss him softly. “You should stop it immediately.”
“Why is that?” He smiles.
“I think I may be addicted.”
He chuckles and rolls onto his back and pulls me over him. “No, I want you addicted.”
I laugh. “Why would you want me addicted?”
“Because I am, and I don’t want to be in this alone.” His eyes search mine, and I feel my heart free-fall from my chest.
“You’re not in this alone, Jay.”
“Good.” He kisses my temple as he seems to relax.
We lie together in a tangled mess, and he dozes back to sleep. My mind begins to go into overdrive.
I have feelings for him—I know I do. In just two days, I’ve developed feelings for him. How is this going to end?
I’m totally screwed.
An hour later, I wake to the smell of bacon cooking, and I smile up at the ceiling. I don’t know what this alternate universe is, but I like it. I throw on a robe I found hanging in the bathroom and make my way out into the living area. I turn the corner and see a glass wall with a view over New York and Central Park. Over-the-top wealth and luxury hit me in the face, and I stop still on the spot. I can’t get my head around the fact that this is all his.
This money is his money.
My eyes roam over the beautiful floors, gorgeous rugs and furnishings, then to the fireplace and up to the huge gilded mirror above it. I’ve never even seen an apartment like this in a magazine, let alone been in one. I feel so out of place.
“Hey, there you are.” He smiles as he comes around the corner and sees me.
I give him a lopsided smile.
He frowns as he sees my face. “What’s wrong?”
I twist my hands in front of me nervously. “Your apartment freaks me out.”
“Why?”
I shrug, embarrassed by my slummy standards. “It’s so fancy. I feel like I don’t belong here.”
He takes me in his arms. “What does that mean?”
I shrug.
“Is that why you didn’t want to come here last weekend?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“Explain to me why?”
“When I’m here, I’m reminded of how much we don’t have in common.”
“And that bothers you?”
I nod shyly.
He frowns, as if trying to understand. “You’re the first woman who’s ever had a problem with my money.”
“It’s a turnoff to me.”
“Turnoff?” he splutters.
“I would prefer you to be poor, actually.” I smile, knowing how ridiculous that sounds.
He chuckles. “Well, that makes one of us.” He leads me into the kitchen, and I see a breakfast of bacon and eggs on sourdough bread with a side of avocado.
“Yum.” I smile as I take a seat.
“I’ll have you know that I’m an excellent breakfast chef.” He sits down beside me, looking very pleased with himself.
My smile fades, and I pick up my knife and fork. That’s because he cooks so many breakfasts.
Stop it.
I take my first mouthful. I wonder how many women have sat here just like this and eaten his cooking after having amazing sex all night.
For Christ’s sake, stop it.
“What are you doing today?” I ask to take my mind off my negative thoughts.
“Playing golf with my brothers this afternoon, and then I’ll probably have dinner with them and my parents. They go back to London this week sometime.” He sips his coffee. “You?”
I smile as I imagine the four of them playing golf. “I have to food shop. I’ll go for a walk and then write some bogus news stories.”
He stops eating. “You don’t have to work on the weekend, you know.”
“I know. I just like to be ahead of schedule in case something comes up.”
He nods and goes back to his breakfast. “Are you going out tonight?” he asks casually.
I’m not, but I don’t want him to think I’m at home pining over him. “Yes, I am.”
His eyes come to me, and his jaw ticks as if he’s angered. “Where are you going?”
“Out to dinner with Molly and Aaron.”
“Who’s Aaron?”
“My friend I work with, the one who sits next to me. He’s gay.”
“Oh.” He cuts into his toast, mollified for the moment.
I watch him for a moment as he eats in silence. “Would it bother you if I were going clubbing?”
He sips his coffee, stalling for his answer. “Well, if your performance from last weekend is anything to go by, yes, it would.”
I smile softly.
“What?”
“Nothing.” I shrug; I like that it bothers him.
He rubs his hand up my bare thigh and leans over to kiss my cheek. “I’m not sharing you. I don’t want you dancing with anybody.”
I smile and rub my hands through his stubble as I look into his big blue eyes. “Good, then I won’t.”
An hour later, the limo pulls up in front of my apartment.
Jameson picks up my hand and kisses the back of it as his eyes hold mine. “Until Tuesday.”
I smile softly at the beautiful man in front of me. “Until Tuesday.”
I kiss him softly on the lips. The driver opens the car door, and I walk up to the front door of my building and turn and wave. The car waits for me to go inside and then pulls out slowly and drives down the street.
I exhale heavily as I anticipate spending the rest of my weekend alone.
Damn it, Tuesday is so far away.
I lie in a state of deep relaxation on my couch. Rebelling against Jameson, I did in fact order Uber Eats for one, and yes, I put the chain on my door, just in case.
My phone dances across the table, and the name Aaron lights up the screen.
“Hello.” I smirk. Damn, this man makes me laugh.
“Oh . . . my fuck,” he stammers. “I just hacked Paul’s email, and he’s meeting a guy at a club tonight.”
I sit up. “What?”
“Yes, and it
gets worse.”
“How can it possibly?”
“He’s been on Grindr.”
“Oh my God, are you kidding me?” I gasp. “He’s on Grindr?”
“Yes, get dressed. We are going down there to bust a move.”
“What?” I shriek.
“You heard me. Put on something sexy. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
“But . . .”
The phone clicks as he hangs up. Oh shit. Damn it, I don’t want to go out tonight.
My phone rings again, and the name Molly lights up the screen.
“I know,” I answer, knowing that Aaron would have called her too.
“He’s on fucking Grindr?” she shrieks.
“I know.”
“You do me a favor. Tonight when you see Paul’s pencil dick, you grind it to a pulp with your fucking shoe.”
I giggle. “I’m hoping not to see it, Moll.”
“I can’t believe this shit,” she snaps in outrage.
“I know.”
“Aaron is way too good for him.”
“I know. Are you coming on our bust-a-move mission?”
“I can’t. I’ve got the kids. Wear a GoPro strapped to your head so I can see what happens.”
“Can’t you drop the kids with their dad?” I ask. “This is an emergency.”
“No. He’s on a date with a whore bag.”
I giggle again. “Honestly, so much shit going on around here.”
“I know,” she snaps. “Okay, I’m calling you every hour. Answer your phone.” She hangs up.
An hour later, Aaron leads me through the nightclub by the hand as he scans the club. It’s small and dark, and the music is the dance-club type. The beat is tantric.
“Do you see him?” I call.
“Nope.” He narrows his eyes as he looks around.
“What are you going to do if you do see him?” I ask.
“End it.”
“Why don’t you just end it anyway?” I frown.
“I need proof.”
“The email is the proof, Aaron,” I huff.
“I knew he was up to something,” he fumes. “That fucking asshole has spent the last week in my bed, and he’s trolling Grindr for sex.”
“Were you in a relationship, like full-on?”
“No, he said he didn’t want a boyfriend but that he wanted to have sex with me only.”
I frown. That sounds very familiar. “So you’ve been monogamous with him all along?”
