Jameson
“Hmm, not bad,” Christopher murmurs as an attractive redhead walks past us.
We both watch her as she saunters over to the bar. She’s wearing a tight black dress, and she has a perfectly rounded ass. I scrunch my nose up in distaste. “Average.”
“She is not average.” His eyes drop to her behind and stay firmly fixed. “Far from it, actually.”
“Not doing it for me.” I sigh against my glass as I look around the crowded club. It’s a rarity that a woman catches my attention these days, with the exception of Little Miss Snarky. I can’t get enough of her . . . even if she is completely unmanageable.
Our exchange in my office on Monday runs through my mind, and I exhale heavily.
She’s so fucking difficult.
It would help if I could keep my mouth shut when I see her. For some reason, she has me blurting out demands and grabbing her by the hair; it’s as if my body takes on a need of its own and completely leaves my brain out of the equation.
Every time Emily leaves my office in a huff, I kick myself for handling her the wrong way.
I know women; I know how they think, and I can usually get them to do whatever I want. Her . . . not so much.
Christopher licks his lips as he watches the redhead. “I’m going in.” He strides across the club and says something to her as she stands at the bar, and in slow motion, she smiles up at him.
I smirk and sip my drink as I watch him in action. He loves women—all women. It seems to be a family trait; we’re all wired the same way.
Something’s changed for me lately, though. My appetite for variety has waned. Something’s off, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. I glance over to Tristan and Elliot as they talk to two girls in the lounge. The women are being all animated and laughing on cue at everything that comes out of the boys’ mouths.
Bimbos.
I sip my drink as I look around the room. “Hey,” Tristan says as he comes to stand beside me. “Look who’s here.”
“Who?” I mutter, uninterested.
“Cream-colored dress, hair down, and looking absolutely fucking sensational.”
I frown as I look over to where he is gesturing.
It’s her. Emily is here.
A broad smile crosses my face. “Well, well. The night just got interesting.”
Tristan chuckles. “That’s if you don’t kill each other first.” He slaps me on the back. “I’m going to the bar.”
“Yeah, okay.” She’s with two women I’ve never seen before, although they do look vaguely familiar; they might be from work. They’re talking and laughing. Emily is wearing a tight cream-colored dress with long sleeves and a plunging neckline. I can see every curve on her delicious body, and my cock swells in appreciation. Her hair is down, and she pulls it over to one side as she talks, and I see the curve of her bare neck; my stomach clenches in excitement.
Fuck . . . she’s hot.
I’ve never had such an intense physical reaction to a woman like this before. I just can’t get enough of her body. The more I have her, the more I want her. If only she didn’t have the snarkiest damn attitude I’ve ever seen.
Maybe that’s the appeal?
Most women fall at my feet; she seems determined to push me away. Hmm. That’s something to think about. If the truth be known, I should stay away from her. She works for me, she’s a firecracker, and who knows what she will do if we fight again. I smirk. I already know that we will fight again—the writing is on the wall. She has a way of pissing me off like no other.
A song comes on that she obviously likes, and she starts to dance on the spot. Her ass slowly moves to the tantric beat, and I stand and stare, transfixed by the goddess in front of me.
She has no idea how fucking sexy she is.
“New York sour,” Tristan says as he hands me my drink.
“Thanks.” I take it from him.
“You know, the way you’re looking at her is illegal in some countries, right?”
I watch her hips roll, and I imagine them over me doing the same thing. I inhale sharply as my arousal starts to thump between my legs. “Have you ever been so physically attracted to someone that you lose the ability to think around them?”
“No. Thank fuck,” Tristan replies as he watches her dance. “Although with that ass, I can imagine—”
“Don’t even fucking look at her ass, or I will sit you on yours,” I say, cutting him off.
He chuckles. “Look at you getting all territorial.” He sips his drink as mischief fills his face. “She did want to report to me with that story, you know.”
I look at him flatly. “And you report to me, fucker. Go near her, and you will fucking die.”
He throws his head back and laughs out loud.
A blond man walks over to her and says something, and she smiles up at him.
“Oh, look out,” Tristan teases. “Competition is on the horizon.”
I watch as uneasiness begins to swirl.
His hands go to her thighs, and I clench my jaw. I sip my drink as I watch.
He says something, and she laughs out loud before he takes her hand and leads her to the dance floor.
Are you fucking kidding me?
Tristan turns and laughs when he sees my face. “Well, this is about to get interesting.”
The blond slides his hands down to her behind, and she lifts his hands back to her waist.
I watch as the sky turns red. Get your fucking hands off her. He says something, and she laughs out loud.
I swallow the lump in my throat.
So this is what she’s here for, is it? To pick up a man. Fury begins to fill me.
“Looks like your territory is about to be stolen.” Tristan smirks.
“Shut the fuck up, Tris, before I knock you out,” I snap as my eyes stay glued to them.
The blond leans down and kisses her neck. Something inside me snaps, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m on the dance floor beside them.
“Fuck off,” I growl.
Emily turns to me, and her face instantly drops. “Jameson,” she stammers.
My arm goes around her waist, and I pull her from his grip. “She’s here with me.”
Oh my God, what the hell is Jameson doing here? I step back from the blond god, and he grabs me and pulls me back toward him. “Don’t,” he snaps.
“Don’t you,” Jameson growls. He pulls me out of the guy’s arms and holds me against his chest. “I said she’s with me,” he repeats.
The guy stares at me, and I nod softly. I don’t want any trouble, and I just want this guy to disappear. “I’m with him,” I whisper.
With one last look between Jameson and me, he turns and storms off toward the bar. I turn my attention to Jameson Miles, the infuriating prick, and I pull out of his arms. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“What do you think you’re fucking doing?” he growls.
“Don’t you swear at me.”
“You came here to pick up a man?”
I put my hands on my hips in outrage. “I came here to dance. What are you doing here?”
“I’m here with my brothers.”
“So go back to your brothers and ruin their fun,” I huff. I go to turn, and he grabs my arms and pulls me to the side of the dance floor and pushes me up against the wall.
His body covers mine, and I can feel his hard erection up against my stomach. We stare at each other, and instantly the air between us changes.
“Don’t,” I whisper up at him.
“Don’t what?”
“Hypnotize me with that magical dick.”
He gives me a cheeky wink. “You’ve got that the wrong way around, baby. I’m the only one who’s hypnotized around here,” he whispers as he leans down toward me. His tongue slowly slides through my lips. He kisses me again, with just the right amount of suction, and my knees begin to buckle beneath me.
Dear God . . . the man can kiss.
“Jameson,” I breathe against him. “We shouldn’t.” His hands roam up and down my body, and God, he feels so good.
“Don’t fight me on this,” he murmurs as he grinds me up against the wall with his hips.
“I can’t.”
“You can, and you will. Why would you deny your body what it so desperately needs from me?”
Oh God, he’s so right. My body does need his body . . . hard. So fucking hard.
Our kiss turns desperate, and my hands go to his hair. I know this is crazy, but I want him . . . all of him, and not just his body.
For a long time, we kiss like we’re the only two people left on earth. Hidden up against the wall, his body grinding on mine. Two bodies chasing their own pleasure in the darkness.
“I need you,” he murmurs against my lips.
I pant as his open mouth drops to my neck. God . . . the way he touches me is just so . . . “Jameson.”
“Now.” He pins me to the wall, and I feel his cock pulse.
Jesus, he’s close. He does need me.
“My place,” he pants against my lips.
“My place,” I fire back.
“No, my place,” he demands.
I pull back to look at his face. “It’s my place or nothing. Take it or leave it.”
He clenches his jaw; it’s obvious he hates losing a fight . . . any fight. “Fine.” He grabs my hand. “This way.”
“No.” I pull my hand out of his grip. “I don’t want anyone to see us.”
He frowns in question.
“You’re my boss,” I remind him. “I’m here with work friends.”
He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Go and say goodbye, and I’ll wait for you downstairs. You have two minutes before I come up and drag you out.” He gives me a long, lingering kiss, and I turn, and he swats me on the behind.
Adrenaline courses through my veins as I walk over to my friends.
He’s here. I’m going with him. It’s on.
Excitement fills me, and I try to act casual.
“Hey, where’s the god?” Renee asks.
“Oh.” I frown. “He was a dick,” I lie.
Ava rolls her eyes. “Typical. Men who look that good can’t be blessed with brains too.”
I smirk. I know someone who was blessed with both, but I’ll just keep that under my hat. I look over and see Jameson walking toward the elevator, and he gives me the hurry-up look. I smile; the pull to him is strong.
“Guys, I’m going to go.”
“What?” Their faces fall. “Why? The night is young.”
“I know. I’ve had such a great time, but my feet are killing me. These stupid new shoes are hell on earth. Next weekend I’ll make it up to you. I promise. I’ll just jump in a cab downstairs.”
“Okay.” They roll their eyes and kiss me on the cheek.
“Text me when you get home,” Ava says.
“I will.” I smile, grateful that they aren’t bothered at all. “Thanks for asking me to come.”
Two guys walk up to us, and the girls both smile broadly. I take that as my out. “See you,” I call as I walk toward the elevator.
“Bye,” they call.
I jump in the elevator. “Where to?” the attendant asks.
“Ground floor.” He pushes the button, and we make our descent. My heart is hammering in my chest. Jameson Miles makes me nervous as all hell. I can’t remember when a man made me this excited to get him alone.
Act cool . . . just act cool.
The elevator doors open, and I walk out and look around. Where is he?
I continue through the foyer and peer out to the busy street; I can’t see him. What the hell? Did he leave without me?
“Lose something?” a deep voice asks from behind me.
I turn to see Jameson leaning up against the wall, and my heart somersaults in my chest. I walk over, and he takes me in his arms. “I did, actually.” I smile up at him.
We kiss softly, and it’s different from how we normally kiss; it’s tender and sweet, as if he’s been waiting to get me alone too.
“Let’s go home,” he whispers.
I smile. That sounds so good. “Okay.” We walk out the front, and he hails a cab. Ten minutes later, we pull up in front of my apartment.
“Thank you,” I say as I climb out. I turn and hand Jameson twenty dollars, and he shakes his head as if annoyed.
“I’ve got it,” he says.
He climbs out, and we walk through the foyer, hand in hand, as he remains silent.
“Where are the doormen?” he asks as he looks around.
“There are no doormen.”
“There’s no security in this building?” He frowns in surprise.
“There’s security.” I point to the intercom on the wall. “Nobody can get up without being let in.”
He frowns as he assesses it. “Any fucker could walk in here.”
“You are said fucker tonight.” I smirk.
He chuckles as he wraps his arms around me. “That I am.”
We ride to my floor and walk down the corridor; my heart is beating so fast. This is different from the other times we’ve been together. Normally we’re so blinded with arousal that we don’t even remember walking through the front door. I open the door and lead him into my apartment, and I hold my breath as his eyes scan the space.
My apartment is tiny—it would literally fit into his bedroom.
“It’s nice,” he says.
I giggle. “You’re a terrible liar.”
He chuckles and takes me into his arms. “Anywhere with you is good.”
Our eyes lock, and something changes between us. The anger and animosity between us has been replaced with tenderness.
The man I met in Boston is here.
“Are you hungry?” I ask. “We could get some Uber Eats. Caramel cheesecake.”
“What the fuck? You don’t actually get Uber Eats, do you?” he asks, horrified.
“All the time.” I shrug.
“Are you serious?” he stammers. “You actually give strangers access to your food?”
“They’re delivery drivers. Why wouldn’t I?”
“They see a meal for one. Put some Rohypnol into your food, wait for half an hour until they know you’ve eaten it and are unconscious, and then come back, break in, and take advantage of your body.” He dusts his hands in front of him. “Boom, easiest crime in history.”
My face falls. “What?” God, I’ve never thought of that.
“True story,” he says as he walks around my apartment. “If I were a rapist, that’s what I would do.”
“I don’t know whether to be impressed or terrified by your evil thought process.”
He turns back to me, and his face softens. “Impressed—let’s go with impressed.”
I giggle as he takes me into his arms. “Okay,” I murmur. “Impressed it is. Why have you been so cranky with me this week?” I ask softly as I run my fingers through his dark hair.
“Because you’re fighting with me,” he whispers. “I don’t like it.” His lips take mine, and his tongue swipes softly through my lips.
“I’m not fighting now.”
“And look how fucking beautiful you are,” he says tenderly as he cups my face in his hands.
Our kiss deepens, and I want him naked. In my bed and naked. I slide his shirt off over his head and unzip his pants; his lips stay locked on mine as if he’s unable to drag them away.
His chest is broad with a scattering of dark hair, and his stomach is ripped . . . but it’s his dick that’s a standout.
The man’s hung like a horse. I don’t know if this thing even goes down. I most definitely have never seen it soft.
“You need to get on my bed on your back now,” I whisper as my eyes drop down his delicious naked body.
He smiles broadly. “That’s the best thing you’ve ever said to me.” He drags me through the apartment by my hand and into my bedroom; in one quick movement, he’s unzipped my dress, and then he slowly slides it down.
He holds my hand as I step out of it, and his eyes drop hungrily down my body. “You are so fucking beautiful, Emily.”
My heart swells at the way he is looking at me.
He lays me down and spreads my legs and slowly strokes himself as he stares down. I writhe as I wait for his touch. His lips take my nipple into his mouth, and my back arches off the bed. His fingers slide through the lips of my sex. He hisses in approval as he feels how wet I am. My breath quivers on the inhale. He’s just so . . .
Jameson Miles knows how to touch a woman.
Everything is magnified, to the point where even his blazing stare could make me orgasm.
His lips make a delicious trail down my body, and he kisses my inner thighs with his open mouth. My hands go to the back of his head. His hands hold my legs wide open, and his thick, strong tongue swipes through me.
My back arches in pleasure as my head tips back to the ceiling. “Oh God.”
He licks me, slowly at first, and then as if he’s unable to control himself, he begins to really eat me. His stubble burns my sex as my body begins to ride his face. “Oh . . . so good,” I whimper.
He lifts my legs to sit over his shoulders, and the change in position has my body trembling with need.
“Oh God,” I whimper as my hands fist in his hair.
“Come. I want to taste you,” he moans into me.
I convulse and shudder deep inside my body as I cling to him. He laps me up like I’m his last supper. He pulls back and unwraps a condom and passes it to me; I slide it on him with a soft kiss to his cock.
With his eyes locked on mine, he lifts my legs around his waist and in one strong movement slides deep into my sex.
We stare at each other as the air is knocked from our lungs.
“So fucking good,” he whispers as our eyes search each other.
He pulls out and then slowly slides back in. My mouth hangs slack at the feeling of his possession.
Nobody fucks me like Jameson Miles . . . nobody.
I can try to deny this emotional attachment all I want, but the physical . . . I just can’t.
He circles deep inside and then slams back in. I cry out as the air is knocked from my lungs. Then he’s riding me—deep, punishing hits—and my bed is hitting the wall so hard it may knock it down.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he moans into my neck.
He lifts one of my legs, and I can’t hold it any longer. My body contracts around his, and he hisses as he comes with me.
We cling to each other as we pant, and I smile up against his cheek as euphoria runs through my blood.
Jameson Miles is my new drug.
And I am his crack whore.
I wake to the gentle breathing beside me, and I roll over and smile. Jameson is flat on his back and asleep. We had an incredible night.
The tender, witty guy was back . . . with no sight of the asshole CEO.
I lean up onto my elbow as I watch him. His dark hair hangs over his forehead, his big red lips are slightly open, and his eyelashes flutter as he sleeps. He has one arm behind his head, and the other is splayed on his stomach.
He’s beautiful—everything about him physically is beautiful. Last night I got a little peek that maybe he’s as beautiful on the inside as well. Stop it.
You’re getting clingy and attached.
Jameson is not the kind of man you get attached to.
He inhales deeply as he wakes, and slowly his eyes open and focus on me. “Hey, beautiful,” he whispers in a husky voice as he cups my face in his hand.
I smile and lean over and kiss him. “Good morning, Jameson.”
“Call me Jay.”
I frown in question.
“My friends call me Jay.”
“So we’re friends?”
He pulls me over his body onto his chest. “No, you’re my fuck bunny.”
I smile as I kiss his chest beneath me.
“What’s planned for today?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
He frowns as if trying to focus his eyes, and he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’ll get my driver to pick us up, and I’ll make us some breakfast at my place.”
I lean up onto my elbow and look down at him. “What’s wrong with here? I’ve got breakfast things you can cook.”
“Nothing. I just feel more comfortable at my place. We will hang there today.”
“I’m more comfortable here, Jameson,” I reply, slightly annoyed.
“What?” He winces. “How could you be?”
I sit up, affronted. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I snap.
He rolls his eyes. “Here we go a-fucking-gain.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You asked that question twice,” he replies dryly. “Do you have to argue about every fucking thing that we do?”
“I’m not arguing. I’m just saying I want to stay here today. Your apartment may be fancy, but it doesn’t impress me.”
He stares at me for a moment.
“And for the record, I don’t argue about everything. I was annoyed that your masseuse is on personal terms to message you the way she did.”
He rolls his eyes and puts the back of his forearm over them. “Here we go.”
“Will you stop saying that?” I snap as I get out of bed and put on my robe. “I was just lying here thinking how gorgeous you are, and then you go and open your big mouth and ruin the whole thing.”
“I’m thinking the same thing,” he snaps as he gets out of bed. “And stop going on about Chloe—it’s not a relationship.”
I stop still. What the hell does he mean by that? “What do you mean, it’s not a relationship? Do you and she have sex?”
He bends and picks up his jeans, ignoring me.
“Jameson.” I put my hands on my hips as I watch him.
He pulls his jeans on and zips them up. “Sometimes.”
“You have sex with her?” I gasp.
“I have a standing appointment on Tuesdays and Thursdays. She doesn’t come for sex, but sometimes it just happens. She’s touching me, I’m oiled up . . . it just happens.”
My mouth falls open. “Did you have sex with her this last week? Since you’ve been with me?”
He rolls his eyes.
“Stop rolling your fucking eyes at me,” I snap.
“No. I didn’t have sex with her this week.”
“Did you have your regular two massages?”
“Yes.”
“So you had someone else’s hands all over your body?” I fume.
“Like you did last night on the dance floor. Stop looking for a fucking fight, Emily. You are pissing me off.”
“Well, you’re pissing me off. Get out.”
“I’m already fucking leaving,” he barks.
“Go and have a massage today, you big sleazebag.”
He shakes his head in disgust. “You know what? You’re perfect for this fake news job. This drama thing is right up your alley.” He throws his shirt over his head and then sits on the bed to put his shoes on.
Rage fills me, and I pick up one of his shoes and throw it to the other side of the room.
“So tough,” he huffs.
I narrow my eyes as fury boils in my blood. “Yeah, like your Chloe’s vagina. How many clients does she fuck each week?”
“She isn’t my Chloe.”
“You know what? Make her your Chloe, because I have no intention of taking her sloppy seconds.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you sleep with me and only me, or you get out of my life.”
He puts his hands on his hips in outrage. “I’m not looking for a relationship.”
“Good. There’s my answer. Get out.”
“You know what? This little Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde thing you’ve got going on here is a real turnoff.”
“And your overshared dick isn’t?” I shriek. “You’re an insult to my intelligence, Jameson. Go home to your fancy apartment in your fancy car and have sex with whoever you want.” I wrap my robe around me in disgust. “I’m too good for you anyway.”
He glares at me. “Why are you such a fucking bitch?”
“Because you’re a self-centered asshole. Get the hell out!” I scream. I pick up a pillow and throw it at him.
He brushes past me in a rush. “Nobody treats me as bad as you do, Emily!” he yells as he storms toward the door.
“Because you pay them!” I screech. “Good thing you’ve got lots of money, Jameson. You’re going to need it. Nobody would put up with your shit for free.”
He turns and glares at me. “That’s a low blow.”
I fake a smile. “Have a nice life, asshole.” I turn and walk into my bathroom and lock the door.
Screw him.
