Chapter 34
Megan
“How does this song never get old?!”
I’m drunk on champagne. Oh yes, I am. Very fine, very French champagne. All my worries have been drowned in heavenly bubbly and music. “Like, it still sounds as good today as it probably did when it came out in the eighties!” I blather on.
Jameson lies on his back on our grand hotel bed in his lounge pants and a T-shirt, freshly showered, legs crossed at the ankles, his bare toes twitching a little and a soft smile on his face as he watches me dance around in my Dirty nightshirt. To INXS’s “Need You Tonight.”
I’m also dramatically lip-syncing the words, tousling my hair and slithering around the bed as I fake serenade him.
“Are you still sticking with this story that Dirty is your favorite band?” he inquires. “Or is that just the cool answer?”
I stop dancing. “What’s your favorite band?” I demand, realizing that I have no idea. He puts on music a lot, but it’s always different stuff. When we work out, he puts on driving heavy metal, but I think that’s just for the adrenaline.
Now that I think about it, he seems like a mood listener.
I usually listen to music in my earbuds so I don’t bother people around me. Maybe he truly has no idea what I listen to.
“If I said Dirty,” he muses, “would you believe me?”
“Hmmm. You promised me you wouldn’t lie to me. So, yes.”
“I do love Dirty. But I’m also partial to the music of Harry Styles and Maroon 5.”
My jaw drops. “Does my brother know this about you?”
“Very few people know this about me. And yes, your brother would be one of them.” He shrugs a shoulder. “I like musical sunshine.” He frowns adorably, like the reason for that is just occurring to him. Maybe he’s drunk, too? “I don’t think I naturally produce a lot of sunshine myself. I need outside infusions.” He gazes at me for a long moment, like I’m pure sunshine beaming down on him right now.
“That’s weird. Because when I met you, I thought you were about as blinding as the sun.”
He blinks at me. “What?”
“You’re right, though. You’re more of a sunny day in a storm. You know, like when the sun breaks through the dark clouds, and it’s epic?”
Now he looks more confused. No, drunk. He definitely looks drunk.
“Never mind.” I shake my head, feeling woozy, and giggle. “So, shiny male pop stars are your jam, huh?”
“Don’t hold it against me, okay?”
“Why would I hold it against you?” I’m so excited about this revelation, it’s making my head spin. “My favorite-favorite bands, besides Dirty, are System of a Down and the Jonas Brothers.”
“Really?”
I crawl onto the bed and up his legs, telling him soberly, “I like metal and boy bands.”
“Are you serious?”
“Very.” I plant my knees on either side of his hips, my hands beside his shoulders, hovering over him. “I like anything with a lot of dick in it.”
His eyebrows go up.
“Metal ismajor big-dick energy,” I explain. “And boy bands make me want to dance. And both of them make me horny.”
His eyelids drift lower as I dip down, putting my mouth to his ear, and murmur hotly, with one-hundred-percent sincerity, “I’m a closet freak.”
Clearly, I’ve had too much to drink.
I don’t care. Because that’s what bubbly does. It makes you not care that it’s getting you smashed.
Jameson’s mouth drifts open.
I smile and settle back, sitting on his pelvis. Something quite firm jabs at my butt.
He’s hard.
Heat thrills through me.
Emboldened, I drift my fingertips over the conservative neckline of my nightshirt. “Megan on the outside…” I drift a finger down the bare outer curve of my breast, revealed through the gaping armhole. “Jessica on the inside.”
His eyes glaze over with heat as he watches me.
I press my hands flat to his chest and lean on him. “Do you like that?” I’m panting, my pulse speeding up.
He finally figures out how to work his mouth again and utters, “I think you’re cut off.”
The words make no sense to me. “What?”
“No more champagne for you,” he says slowly, so I can follow.
“I don’t need more champagne,” I say, just as slowly. “I need to make out with you.” I lean down and kiss him, just like that.
With a whole lot of tongue.
He kisses me back. For a long, wet, hot minute that takes my breath away.
Then he takes my face in his hands and gently lifts me away from his lips. He’s panting slightly.
I’m panting a lot.
His hazy blue eyes hold mine. Or maybe it’s my vision that’s hazy.
“I don’t want you to do anything you wouldn’t do,” he murmurs, “just because of alcohol.”
“I didn’t drink that much. I want to do this.” I try to kiss him again, but he holds me away.
“Sweetheart. You’re bubbling.”
I giggle. He’s still holding my face just above him like I’m some wriggling puppy about to lick him.
I sigh and hiccup at the same time. “I kind of hate tonight. It was weirdly emotional. Can’t we start over?”
He softens as we gaze at each other. “Of course.”
“Except I love that you told me those things about your family and your tattoos. And the champagne, that was good. Can I keep those?”
“If you want to.”
“And I love the view from the balcony. You chose it for me, didn’t you? Because I’m a virgin in Paris.”
A tiny groan lodges in his throat. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Like what?”
“Sex words.”
“Did I?” I purr.
“Yes. Don’t. It’s bad enough reading your books.”
“Why?”
He swallows, hard.
I love these rare moments when we get our flirt on and his desire for me burns through whatever pretense of respectability and manners he keeps trying to uphold all the damn time, like I’m the freaking crown princess and he doesn’t want to sully me with his dirty thoughts.
“I just…” He stares at me.
I stare right back.
“We shouldn’t.” His thumb traces my cheekbone like he’s hypnotized by the features of my face. “We can’t…”
None of those words make any sense to me.
The music has switched to a song by Amy Shark called “Adore” that I freaking adore, and holy Christ… it’s making lust pound through my body.
He’s making lust pound through my body.
His hands are hot on my face, his whole body is hot and hard beneath mine, and I slither against him slowly, grinding my hips. I can feel how hard he is when my pelvis drags against his, my pussy rubbing against the thick, unyielding ridge of his penis.
I can feel my heartbeat between my legs and in the base of my throat.
He’s long, and the swollen tip of his cock feels plump and soft as I nudge against it.
God, I want to lick it.
I realize I’ve muttered something to that effect when he makes a growling sound, low in his throat. I can’t even tell if it’s more pleasure or pain. Or just the effort of his never-ending restraint starting to suffocate him.
Whatever it is, I like it.
“Please kiss me again,” I breathe, and then we are kissing, deep and wet, and I’m swimming in the song, in the champagne, in the heat of his hands on my face.
“Tell me what you meant,” he whispers between all the lush, hot kisses. “About that freak thing…”
“You know. I want to do so many things with you.” Maybe his restraint makes me feel safe to say it, but I feel no shame or hesitation.
“What things?” His voice is low and hungry, a restrained whisper.
“All kinds.” I shift my hips, dragging myself against his hard length again. “You asked if I like spankings. My answer is yes. In theory. But I’ve never been spanked before. I’ve never been manhandled or had my hair pulled or been choked, but I’d let you do all those things and more.” I catch his mouth again and kiss the horny hell out of him as the space between us vanishes, our clothes growing hot and damp as we strain together.
He kisses me and kisses me, but he never ventures away from my mouth. He never touches my breasts, even though they’re readily available through the gaping holes of my shirt.
His strong hands slide down my back to my ass, grip my cheeks, but don’t venture under my nightshirt, much less under my panties.
His cock strains, hard as steel against the softness of my pussy, but he doesn’t grind against me.
And just as things are getting so hot I know I could drive myself to orgasm by dry humping his massive dick through our sweaty clothes… he lifts me and sets me gently aside, detaching me fully from his body with a growl.
Somehow, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, and we aren’t touching anymore. Because he made it that way without my consent. He’s that strong.
I pant, splayed on the bed like a broken doll, disoriented and way too drunk. My pulse pounds so hard through my veins, I’m shaking. My pussy throbs with the incessant need to fuck.
Doesn’t he feel the same need?
Even a tenth of it?
Seriously, I could come on a tenth of it. If he just let me rub against him a little more…
He clears his throat as he leans in and presses a kiss to my forehead. My clit jerks when I feel his pulse in his lips against my skin.
That’s how hard up I am.
His hair is a mess as he breathes over me, his blue eyes two pools of frustrated desire as they lock with mine, and I swoon. “God, Jameson. I?—”
“I’m gonna go for a walk,” he interrupts me. “With Locke.”
I catch his wrist before he can get up. “Why?”
“Because I can’t sleep right now.”
Like I can?
His erection is preventing him from relaxing, from sleeping next to me, is that it? And he still won’t screw me? Let us undress each other? Just kiss and touch and see where it leads…?
Why?
Because of my brother? Some silly bro code?
Really?
“Rurik will be stationed outside the door while I’m gone. You’re safe here.” He gets to his feet. “We’ll be leaving for Berlin after breakfast. Try to get some sleep.”
He kisses the palm of my hand, then leaves me there—still panting, still drunk—without another glance.