“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?”