31. Bryn
Chapter thirty-one
Bryn
That went…well. Better than expected. He didn’t throw himself out of the car, roll into the landing, and jump back up, sprinting in the opposite direction. Not that I really thought he would do that…probably.
We’ve reached the point in our relationship that, even before he surprised me with a weekend at one of the nicest hotels in Denver, having sex is definitely on the table. A place I desperately want it to be.
I pull my car into the parking lot across from the hotel and hit the button to turn it off. I’m pulling my bag out of the back seat when I notice Jameson hasn’t moved. I stick my head in through the back door and ask, “You okay in there?”
He nods a couple times before replying, “Yup.” He looks at the dark parking lot. “Wait. Why are we parked here?”
“Oh, instead of dying of mortification, I thought it’d be easier to just have us murdered. This seemed like a good spot. Now grab my computer bag. They aren’t going to try to kill you if you don’t look like you have something worth stealing.”
His look clearly says “That’s not funny,” but regardless of what he thinks, I know I’m hilarious.
I roll my eyes and grab the bag instead. “Come on, princess. The hotel is across the street.”
“Why would you not use valet parking?”
I look between the hotel half a block away and his face. “Because we are basically at the hotel now and it will cost half of what it does to valet.”
I grab his hand and start pulling him toward the hotel.
“Yeah, but I’m supposed to be treating you this weekend.” He shoots me a glare. “ Princess, I can afford valet.”
“So can I. It just seems silly to waste money on it, no matter how much you make, when there is a perfectly good parking lot right here.”
“Will we also be getting dinner from the 7-Eleven I can see down the block?”
I flip my hair over my shoulder. “No, you may treat me to fine dining. Though, shit. I only have my work clothes, which are basically all dirty and are definitely all too casual for someplace nice… Oh! I know. We can just go to the Ship Tavern. It’s a more casual place inside The Brown Palace that I went to a few times for special occasions during college.”
I look down at my attire. “This should be fine for that. Maybe tomorrow we can hit up the 16th Street Mall so I’ll have something for dinner then. Unless, of course”—I squeeze his hand—“you’re reconsidering the weekend?” The note of uncertainty that laces the question detracts from the calm exterior I’m trying to put on.
He stops, turning me to face him as we approach the hotel. “Definitely not reconsidering anything, B. Just got caught a little off guard, is all, and now I’m unsure if saying ‘who needs clothes, we can order room service all weekend’ like I want to is pushing you into something you don’t want.”
“You know,” I say as I start walking into the revolving door, “I’ve always been a fan of room service.”
Jameson catches back up to me once we enter the lobby, the sound of his steps echoing off the marble floors. The atrium lobby, with balconies surrounded by railings rising eight floors aboveground, is a flashback to a historic time of lavish parties and decadence. A grand piano sits on one side, a pianist softly playing elevator music. All around, people are chatting on plush chairs and sofas or enjoying happy hour at the small tables spread throughout the place.
“Here, let me take the bags,” he offers, reaching for my backpack.
I let him take it, handing him my suitcase as well. “About time you started acting like a gentleman. What would Lori say?”
He leans into my side, his warm breath tickling my ear as he whispers, “I have no plans on acting like a gentleman tonight, and let’s just go ahead and leave my mom as far away from here as possible, okay?”
I huff out a laugh, my blood pressure spiking from his nearness and the promise in his statement.
Jameson leads us to the elevators, telling me he checked in before coming to meet me at the airport. We ride to the top, and I follow Jameson to our room. He opens the door, pushing it open to reveal the extravagant suite he booked for us. I look at him, surprise in my eyes, and he smiles, clearly pleased with himself.
“This is…wow.”
“Cathy informs me this is the Beatles Suite.”
I haven’t had a chance to meet Cathy, Jameson’s virtual assistant, yet, but she does a damn good job of keeping Jameson and his life in order.
I point to the picture of the four band members hanging on the wall. “Ahh, that would explain the picture.” I turn and look at the glowing box next to the door. “And the jukebox.”
Throwing my coat in a corner, I plop down on the couch, turning on the TV. “Oo, I hope Friends is on.”
“You have an addiction, you know.”
I glare at him. “I only watch it when I’m in hotels!”
“You’re in hotels more than I am, which is saying something with how much I have to travel for golf, so saying you only watch it in your hotel room is basically like saying you watch it all the time.”
I shrug, finding an episode on the menu. “It’s like comfort food but for my eyes and ears.”
Jameson joins me on the couch, resting his crossed feet on the white oval coffee table and throwing his arm over my shoulders. I snuggle into him, sighing as I rest my arm across his strong stomach.
“This is amazing. I’m glad you’re here.”
He kisses the top of my head, and butterflies take off inside my core. “There’s literally nowhere I’d rather be.”
We sit like that, cuddling, until the end of the episode, when my stomach decides to make its displeasure known. At the rumble that emanates from it, Jameson raises an eyebrow. “Starving?”
“Well, I was promised room service…”
He reaches for the phone. “That you were.” Jameson orders us both cheeseburgers and fries from the hotel’s kitchen, throwing in a milkshake for us both to share as an afterthought. He hangs up, sitting back on the couch, and letting me know it’s going to be about an hour until the food arrives.
“You know what else you owe me?”
He scrunches his brow, thinking. “No. What else do I owe you?”
“A high five,” I say as I rise from the couch, moving to straddle his lap. Kissing him softly, I weave my hands through his hair.
“B,” he groans, breaking the kiss. “I’m going to ask you this one time and then we will move on from it, together, no matter the answer. Are you sure this, now, with me, is what you want?”
I nod, but he reaches out, forcing my chin up so I’m looking in his eyes. “Is this what you want?”
“Yes.” I swallow hard. “I want this. Now. With you. I haven’t been saving myself for you, just to be clear, but somehow, God, or Zeus, or the Supreme Ruler knew that this—us—was going to be worth the wait.”
A dangerous smile tugs at his lips. “Good.”
Releasing a dark chuckle of my own, I press myself against him, sparks igniting at each point of contact. I can feel the heat emanating from his body against mine and I arch into him, eager for more. He wraps his arms around me, gripping my ass like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.
The movement brings us fully together, the size of his arousal apparent. I knew, logically, how big he was since Vegas, but seeing it again? Jesus Christ. This…might hurt. My eyes roll back as his bulge comes in contact with my swollen clit, unable to stop the guttural moan that escapes my lips. He consumes the sound as I roll my hips against the contact of his erection, my mind floating away as my body demands I do it again and again.
“Fuck, B.” He raises his lustful eyes to mine, almost black with need. “I’m trying to go slow over here.”
I blink once, bringing myself back into my body. “Not me.” I disentangle myself from him and stand, pulling my shirt over my head. I nod toward the bedroom, but the look in his eyes tells me he’s about to protest.
“Please?”
With a feral surge, he picks me up, and I wrap my legs around him. He walks us into the next room, gripping my thighs like I’m the only thing holding him back from going over the edge. Once we are inside, he presses me against the wall, and I arch my back as his hand works the clasp of my bra. When it pops open, I slip my arms out, and he buries his face in my chest.
“I fucking love your tits. They’re perfect.”
My head drops back to the wall as I continue to roll my hips, seeking the contact I so desperately need. He tortures me, taking his time, kissing every inch of my boobs as he pinches and rolls my nipples until I’m on fire. I need him to touch me. To ease the aching need between my legs.
I drop my feet to the ground, reaching forward and pulling his shirt off before attacking his belt buckle like its existence is personally offensive to me.
Pushing my trembling fingers to the side, Jameson undoes his pants with controlled ease, freeing his straining cock. I lick my lips as he throws them on top of my shirt and bra, a move that makes his dick jump in his briefs.
He stalks toward me, his eyes threatening dark things, and I smirk, daring him to fulfill that promise, to fuck me hard and rough.
When he reaches my side, he whispers in my ear, “This time, and this time only, I will be gentle. After that, I will take you up on the offer that smile just made.”
Pulling me to him, he palms my ass, his hands so big, they fit perfectly. He kisses me, his lips a hot brand on my mouth, my jaw, my neck. I groan, my hips seeking the contact that this position denies me.
“Get on the bed, B.”
I nod and practically sprint to the bed, sitting on the edge of it. Jameson, on the other hand, takes his time, devouring me with his eyes as he stands there, too far from the bed for me to reach.
“Good girl.”
My body is on fire, and only he can control the burn. I take matters into my own hands, lifting my hips to push my jeans to the ground. He licks his lips, watching my thong-clad pussy as it lifts and drops back to the mattress.
“Jesus,” he sighs, and my head falls back to the mattress as my hand moves to my breast, kneading and pinching. It’s not like I’ve never done this for myself. And at this point, I am too far gone. I can’t stop. If he is going to torture me, I’ll just do it myself.
Suddenly, Jameson is there, hovering over me, his hand replacing mine as he pinches and rolls my nipple. “So sexy,” he hums against my lips before he devours them again.
He kisses down my body until he reaches my black thong. His eyes flick back up to my face, and I give him a small nod before he turns his attention back to my underwear, giving them a gentle tug and pulling them down my legs. His briefs quickly follow.
Buzz, buzz. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Jameo mutters, searching for his phone. Buzz, buzz. When he finds it, he takes one look at the screen and angrily holds the side button, turning it completely off. “Fucking Lila has the goddamn worst timing in the fucking world.” Then he turns his full attention back to me.
Jameson stands at the end of the bed, taking in the sight of me laid bare in front of him while I do the same, admiring his broad shoulders, his strong abs, and his thick dick standing proudly at attention. Noticing the direction of my attention, he grips the base of his cock, giving it a soft tug, his head falling back in pleasure.
Seeing him like this, the last remaining thread of my control snaps, and I close my eyes, my hand snaking between my legs, applying the pressure I so desperately need.
“Bryn.” His voice is like steel, cutting through the fog of my arousal.
“Hmm?” I murmur.
“That. Is. Mine.”
Wetness coats my fingers at his claim, and I look up to find him hovering over my pussy. Grabbing my hand, he brings my fingers into his mouth, sucking my slick off with a groan.
Then he pins my hands by my hips as he nudges my knees apart with his legs. Sinking onto his haunches, he buries his head in my pussy, his tongue flicking my aching clit.
I gasp, the tight pressure of my orgasm flickering to life at the base of my core.
He licks my pussy, his tongue savoring my taste before plunging it into me, his middle finger circling my clit, coaxing a whimper from my lips. I ride his face as the mounting orgasm builds, and hearing my moans, he slips two fingers inside of me, curling them forward to stroke my core until I’m trembling with pleasure, gripping handfuls of the comforter beneath us.
“I’m about to—” I thrash my head to the side, trying to piece my fracturing mind back together to remember what words are. “Come,” I grit out as, suddenly, he’s gone.
I lift my head, watching from under hooded eyes as he finds his wallet and pulls out a condom. I reach down, my finger finding my clit as Jameo rips the top off with his teeth.
“Tell me,” he hisses as he rolls the condom down his thick shaft, “if I go too fast.”
I nod, and he lowers himself slowly over me, his thick shoulders bulging as he strains with the effort of it.
“Fuck me, Jameo,” I whine.
“B, I… I’m not sure I can go slow.”
“I don’t”—I thrust my hips up, connecting with his straining erection—“want slow.” I bite his lower lip, tasting a hint of blood as I pull away.
He lets out a huff of air as his hips lower, so fucking slowly, toward the molten lava center of my core.
I wiggle, trying to push myself up higher, but he clicks his tongue. “Slowly, B.”
“Ugghhh—” My protest is cut off by the feel of his thick length sliding home, filling me.
He pauses, giving me a second to adjust to his size before slowly continuing in, inch by inch. As he makes one final push that leaves him fully seated inside me, he hits a spot deep inside me that makes my pussy clench around him.
“Oh, fuck, B. Oh, fuck.”
Jameson starts moving, pumping in and out of me in a rhythm that tightens the coil inside me with each movement. As he thrusts, his hot lips find mine, his kisses promising an ecstasy beyond any I’ve felt before.
Before I know it, my orgasm has built back to its peak, my legs shaking with the need to jump headfirst over the ledge.
I break the connection between our lips, panting, “Jameo. I’m—I’m there. I’m…”
He grips my ass, increasing his speed as he grunts, “Just…about…there.”
The change in angle causes him to hit that spot inside me, and I fall over the edge, a moan bursting from my lips as I clench around his hard length still pumping in and out of me.