The Stopover

by Swan, T L

  “What?”

  “Is he coming to dinner?” I ask.

  He chuckles. “Well, he does seem to want to hang around whenever you are near.”

  “Hanging isn’t a word that I would use to describe that thing.”

  His eyes sparkle with a certain something, and he takes my hand in his. “Let’s go this way.”

  “We’re walking?” I ask in surprise.

  “I got dropped off. They’ll pick us up later. We’ll catch a cab from here to the restaurant.”

  “Okay.”

  We walk around the corner, and he hails a cab, and we climb into the back of it. “Waverly Place, please.”

  “Okay.” The driver pulls out into the traffic.

  “How long have you lived in New York?” I ask.

  “My whole life.”

  “Your parents live here?” I frown. I can’t imagine growing up in a city like this.

  “Yes, although I went to school elsewhere.”

  “Where did you go to school?”

  “Many places—finished in Aspen.”

  I stare at him. What the hell? “You went to school alone in Aspen?”

  “No, I always had my brothers with me.” He picks my hand up and kisses the back of it with a soft smile.

  I stare at him. We come from completely different worlds. I can’t even fathom his upbringing.

  “What’s that look?” he asks.

  “I wasn’t even allowed to have a sleepover at my friend’s place.”

  “Independence has always been encouraged in my family.”

  I smile as I think of something.

  “What?”

  “If you’ve been living on your own since you were . . . ?” I pause as I wait for his answer.

  “Twelve.”

  “You should have the emotional intelligence of a ninety-year-old. Is that right?”

  He throws his head back and laughs out loud. “Should being the operative word.” His eyes dance with delight. “And what would your emotional intelligence be at?”

  “Hmm.” I frown as I think. “Emotionally I think I would be about age thirty.”

  “Physically?” He smirks.

  “Oh God, eighteen.” I laugh. “I’m not very experienced at all.”

  His eyes hold mine, and I feel the burn from his gaze.

  “What would your physical experience be at?” I whisper.

  “I’m more of a show than tell kind of person.” He gives me a slow, sexy smile. “Happy to give you a demonstration, though.”

  I giggle as the cab pulls to a stop. “I bet you are.” We climb out of the cab, and two minutes later Jameson pulls me by the hand into a restaurant named Babbo. It kind of looks like a mini English pub from the outside, all quaint and cute, but when we walk through the door, it’s a lot bigger than it seems. The space is dark and moody, and gold light fixtures add to the ambience. Fresh flowers are in giant vases everywhere, and it feels super romantic.

  “Hello, Mr. Miles.” The man at the desk smiles. “Your table is this way, sir.” Jameson takes my hand and leads me through to the corner of the restaurant; the waiter pulls out my chair.

  “Thank you.”

  “Would you like something to drink to start?”

  “Yes.” Jameson peruses the wine menu. “Red?” he asks me.

  “Whatever.” I shrug with a nervous smile.

  “We’ll have a bottle of Henschke.”

  “Yes, sir; which one?”

  “Hill of Roses, please,” he replies as he closes the menu. The waiter disappears, leaving us alone.

  “I’m guessing that you know your wine?” I ask.

  He pours us both a glass of water. “I only go to restaurants that stock the wine I like. So yes, I suppose I know wine.”

  “Ah. I see.” I smirk. “One of those.”

  He smiles. “Perhaps.”

  Our eyes linger on each other’s faces for a moment.

  “I can’t believe you’re the frigging CEO.”

  He chuckles and rests his face on his hand. “I thought you wanted a date with Jim tonight?”

  “I did . . . I mean, I do.”

  “Well, why are we talking about CEOs?”

  I smile softly. “I don’t know.”

  The waiter returns and opens the bottle of wine and pours a little in a glass. Jameson tastes it. “That’s fine.” The waiter fills our glasses and disappears.

  Jameson holds his glass up, and I softly clink it with mine and take a sip and taste the rich, velvety flavor. “Hmm.” I nod. “I’m impressed.”

  “I have excellent taste.” He smiles before falling serious again. “In all things.”

  I smile bashfully; he’s talking about me.

  “Tell me about last weekend,” he asks.

  “Not much to tell.”

  “You broke up with him?”

  “It was a long time coming.”

  “You weren’t happy?”

  “No. Not for a long time.”

  “What’s his name? What does he do?”

  “I’m not telling you his name,” I snap. “He’s a businessman—successful and handsome,” I lie.

  He sips his wine as he watches me, and I know he has something else on his mind.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Did you ever think about me?”

  “Yes.” I smile softly. “Did you ever think about me?”

  “I did, actually.” His eyes hold mine.

  “What did you think about?”

  A slow, sexy smile crosses his face.

  “What?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “No, I do.” I smile. “Tell me.”

  “I was thinking that you were probably the hottest sex I’d ever had.” His eyes drop to my lips.

  The air crackles between us.

  “And even now, every time I’m in a room with you, it’s as if my body takes on a need of its own.”

  Time stops as we stare at each other.

  He sips his wine in slow motion. “When I look at you . . . I have one thing on my mind,” he murmurs. “I can’t help it. It’s almost primal.”

  Primal.

  “It’s getting damn hard to control,” he whispers darkly.

  Damn, this man is something else, but every warning signal is telling me to run away as fast as I can. If he can affect me the way he did after one night . . . what could two nights do?

  Our eyes are locked, and arousal heats my blood. Suddenly I don’t want to play hard to get; I don’t care if we don’t know each other. I don’t care about the risks. He has something that I need . . . and damn it, I’m taking it without questions.

  “We should order,” I whisper.

  He opens the menu with a sense of urgency. “What do you want?”

  “Whatever’s the quickest.”

  An hour later, he pulls me up the sidewalk by the hand. “My car is parked around here.” He turns and takes me into his arms and aggressively kisses me, and I smile against his lips. The way we laughed and talked over dinner tonight reminded me of the Jim I remember, the man on the plane who was interested in everything about me and my life. As if he felt it, too, we nearly made out in the middle of a crowded restaurant. He’s not wrong; this attraction is insane.

  “Hurry,” I whisper against his lips.

  It’s one thing to go out to dinner with a gorgeous man—it’s another to imagine yourself under the table, sucking his dick the entire time.

  I don’t know if it’s that he told me that I was the best sex he’s ever had, but . . . damn it, I want to blow his frigging mind. I’m desperate to get him naked. I want to be that girl he turned me into in Boston again. I’ve missed her.

  We turn the corner, and I see the big black limousine parked by the curb. I stop still.

  “What?” He frowns.

  “The limo is here?”

  “Yes. So?”

  I stare at him for an extended moment.

  He rolls his eyes and opens the back door
. “Get in.”

  I climb in, and within two seconds, he’s in the car and has me straddled over his lap with my dress up around my waist. The security screen is up, providing us with privacy. His cock is hard, and he grabs my hip bones and guides my sex back and forth over him as we kiss. His hands are on my behind and then trailing up and down my back as my body takes on a rhythm of its own.

  His eyes are dark, and his fingers dip into my panties, and he slides them through my flesh. “Fuck,” he whispers. “I could blow just by feeling this beautiful, hot pussy.”

  I begin to rock down on him with force, searching for a deeper connection, and his jaw hangs slack as he stares up at me. I don’t know what the hell kind of nympho pills someone slipped into my drink at dinner, but I find myself on the floor between his legs, and I unzip his jeans with force.

  He hisses as I push him back into his seat and spread his legs aggressively.

  Our eyes lock, and I lick the end of him and taste the preejaculate as it oozes from his head. He cups my face, and I take him deep down my throat as he clenches. “Fuck,” he growls in a whisper as his stomach contracts. “Fucking hell, Emily.”

  I begin to fist him hard, and he lurches underneath me. He’s going to come.

  I want him to come hard, quick . . . and unbridled. I need to own him tonight.

  Pleasing him makes me feel good about myself, and this new version of Emily is someone I like. I want to keep her.

  “Emily,” he growls as he grabs a handful of my hair. “We’re home.” He pushes the lock down on the door just before his driver tries to open it.

  I scramble to the seat, and he zips his jeans up as we both pant, gasping for air.

  What the hell? This man makes me an animal.

  He turns to me and smirks as he fixes my hair. “Let’s just get to the apartment, shall we?” He kisses me tenderly; his lips linger over mine as we stare at each other.

  “It’s good to see you again, Emily Foster,” he whispers.

  I lick my lips as I climb back over to straddle him. “It’s good to taste you again, Jameson Miles.” I rock my sex over him, and he grabs my hip bones and holds me still.

  “Stop,” he commands. “Stop now.”

  I put my lips up to his ear. “I want you to blow your load in your car,” I whisper before biting him. “Fuck me right here.”

  “Jesus Christ.” He pushes me off and opens the door in one swift movement, and the driver drops his head as he pretends not to know what we were doing in there.

  “Thank you,” Jameson says as he pulls me out and marches into the building.

  We get into the elevator, and the attendant stares straight ahead. I’m panting, dripping wet, and my sex is throbbing.

  I’m a hot mess.

  Jameson’s eyes are dark as he stares straight ahead at the closed doors.

  God, I need him.

  The doors open, and he pulls me out by the hand. Our lips are locked, and he walks me into his apartment backward. “Isn’t this how we got into the room last time?” I smile as he lifts me.

  “Similar.”

  He puts me down, and I look around, and my heart drops. “What the hell, Jim?” I whisper through shock.

  “What?” He frowns.

  “This is your house?” I ask as my eyes scan the room.

  His lips drop to my neck as he licks and sucks down my collarbone; he’s completely preoccupied.

  The apartment is huge and modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows and the lights of New York twinkling everywhere I look. Lamps are strategically placed to give a warm feeling. I’ve never been anywhere so beautiful . . . or foreign.

  The floors are a light timber parquetry, and luxurious velvet and leather furnishings fill the space. The living room has a fireplace with a huge gilded mirror hanging over it and a beautiful antique rug.

  “Stop looking at the apartment, and look at me.” He grabs my face and drags it back to his.

  I stare at him.

  “What?” he murmurs.

  “This apartment.”

  “What about it?”

  “You come from a different world than me,” I whisper.

  “Who cares?” His eyes hold mine. “I want you, and you want me. What else is there?”

  Our kiss turns desperate as he slams me up against the wall and tears my dress from my body in one quick movement. I push his jacket over his shoulders and grab his T-shirt and lift it off and then unzip his jeans, and he kicks them to the side.

  We stare at each other, both in our underwear, both panting, both craving a deeper connection.

  It’s like Christmas morning . . . only better.

  Next thing I know, I’m being dragged through his apartment and thrown onto the bed. He tears my underwear from my body. His hungry gaze drops down the length of my body as he drinks me in.

  And there it is—the heat that this man creates with his stare could light up the earth. The way he looks at me is something I’ve never forgotten.

  He lifts my legs and puts them around his waist and then begins to slide his thick cock through my swollen flesh.

  A sexy smile crosses his face as he looks down at me. “I remember now.”

  “You remember what?”

  “What the F stands for in your initials.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Fuck bunny.”

  I burst out laughing. “I’d forgotten about that.”

  “How could you forget anything? Every detail from that night is burned into my brain.” He hands me a condom. “Put it on me.”

  My lips softly kiss his dick before I follow his instruction. So bossy.

  “Like what?” I whisper up at him. I lie down, and he crawls back over me.

  “Like the way you looked at me, the way you tasted under my tongue.” His lips take mine, and our kiss deepens. “I remember how every muscle deep inside you felt when your body rippled around mine.”

  I smile up at him in wonder as I run my fingers through his stubble. Please don’t be any more gorgeous. I won’t be able to deal with you at all.

  “But it was the way you kissed me that I remember the most.”

  My eyes search his. “How did I kiss you?”

  “Like you’d been waiting your whole life to kiss me.”

  He slides in deep, and my heart constricts. I bring my legs higher. “Maybe I had.”

  We stare at each other, his body inside mine, and even though I know that this is just sex and that it means nothing, it feels intimate and special . . . more than it should.

  Stop it. Stop overthinking this.

  “Are you going to keep jabbering on, or are you going to fuck me?” I tease to lighten the moment.

  He chuckles and pulls out and slams into me, knocking the air from my lungs. I cry out.

  Oh . . . dear God. I think I just woke the devil.

  He pumps me with his knees spread wide, harder and harder, and with every slam he lifts my legs a little higher and a little wider.

  He holds himself still and then circles deep inside me. My head tips back to the sky as I lose all coherent thought. “Oh God,” I whimper as his teeth graze my neck. “That’s so good.” He keeps doing the delicious movement as his thumb circles over my clitoris. My body begins to shudder, and he grabs my face and brings it to his.

  Our eyes lock as my body arches and writhes beneath him.

  “Look at me while you come on my cock,” he commands as he straightens his arms and puts my legs over his shoulders. The change in position deepens him inside of me, and I convulse as he slams into me. His body begins to take mine at piston pace, and I grip his arms as I stare up at him.

  “Fuck yeah,” he growls. “Fuck . . . fuck . . .” He tips his head back and cries out as I feel the telling jerk as he comes deep inside me.

  We’re wet with perspiration, and he bends and tenderly takes my lips with his.

  My heart races out of control as I stare at the ceiling, gasping for air. His head is in my neck, his lips traili
ng along my collarbone.

  What the fuck was that? That wasn’t sex—that was an apocalyptic event.

  I’m ruined.

  I wake in the darkness; the glow of the New York city lights illuminates through the room. It’s late—or early. About four in the morning, I think. We didn’t shut the drapes before going to sleep.

  What a night.

  We devoured each other until we had nothing left.

  I stare at him as he lies flat on his back in an exhausted sleep. I don’t know what we are to each other, but I do know that he’s my sexual soul mate. Is that even a thing? Our bodies are like animals with each other; neither of us could get enough.

  The thirst just couldn’t be quenched. If he were to wake up now, I would be instantly aroused, as I know he would be.

  He’s right, this is primal.

  I’m thirsty, so I climb out of bed and throw on his robe and make my way out to the kitchen in search of water. We left the lamps on, so the rooms are partially lit. I don’t even remember getting to the bedroom.

  I find a glass and pour myself some water from the fridge, and as I look around, my heart drops. What the hell kind of kitchen is this? It’s like a restaurant.

  I walk back out to the living room and stare out over the city way down below.

  My eyes roam over the apartment, and my heart flutters. This is real money.

  Stupid money.

  My entire apartment would fit into his bedroom alone. What does a place like this cost? Our clothes are strewn all over the floor, and I pick them up and fold them and put them onto the coffee table. I see something light up on the floor.

  I frown and bend to pick up Jameson’s phone. It must have fallen out of his pocket as we were undressing. The screen lights up as a message comes through, and the name Chloe flashes on the screen.

  Where are you?

  Did your meeting go late?

  I stare at the phone. What the fuck?

  Who’s Chloe?

  Jameson

  I wake to the sound of my alarm, and I smile as I stretch; I’m sated and sleepy.

  Relaxed for the first time in a long time.

  What a night . . . what a woman.

  I reach for Emily and frown when I realize she’s not in bed with me. She must be in the bathroom. I doze for another twenty minutes, and eventually when she doesn’t return, I get up. “Emily?” I call as I walk into the bathroom.

  It’s empty.

  I walk out into the living area. “Emily?” I call.