“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.
He begins to moan as he slams me onto his body, the look on his face one of sheer ecstasy.
I tip my head back as a freight train of an orgasm comes shuddering deep within me.
“Oh fuck,” he cries out as he holds himself deep inside me. I feel the telling jerk as his body empties itself in mine.
His eyes search mine, and in slow motion, he reaches up and cups my face and brings my lips down to his.
We kiss, and it’s slow, tender, and intimate—nothing like the detached version we talked about.
He’s right here with me. I know he is.
“You are so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against my lips as he pulls me close.
I lie down on his chest and smile against his skin as his arms wrap around me. I can feel his heart beating hard against mine, and I feel so safe and cherished.
I know this is supposed to be friends with benefits. But it’s not . . . it’s more.
What kind of more I just don’t know.
I feel a hand on my behind, and it gives me a sturdy pat. “Come on.”
I screw up my face and roll toward him. “What?”
“Up you get.”
“Huh?” I stretch and open my eyes. The drapes are pulled, and sunshine is beaming through the huge windows. I look around, half-asleep. “What time is it?”
“It’s eight. Get up. We’re going for a run around Central Park.”
“Who is?” I frown. He’s in a towel and freshly showered.
“Me and you.”
I scratch my head in confusion. “You had a shower to go for a run?”
“I smelled like sex.” He smirks as he leans down and kisses me on the lips.
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.”