Chapter 15
Fifteen
ZOE / VICTORIA
Someone once told me money can’t buy happiness, but they clearly hadn’t seen Jason Everett’s bedroom—the same bedroom that warranted an entire page of description in Chapter Twenty-Three.
Yet here I was, being carried through a doorway that seemed designed solely to make mere mortals feel inadequate about their life choices.
If this was a dream, I was going to hunt down and personally thank my subconscious for its attention to detail.
The book hadn’t done the room justice. Dark wood and masculine elegance surrounded us, all clean lines and subtle wealth that screamed I have a personal interior decorator on speed dial.
Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a glittering view of Manhattan’s skyline, though right now they were just reflecting our tangled forms in the dim light.
A massive bed dominated the space—and by massive, I mean it probably had its own zip code.
The duvet looked like it was made of silk, because of course it was.
Everything about the space screamed billionaire bachelor pad, right down to the subtle accent lighting that made everything look like it belonged in a magazine spread titled “How the Other Half Lives.”
Not that I was cataloging the décor for my future memoir, How I Accidentally Starred in My Own Romance Novel. Not when Jason was laying me down on that ridiculous bed, the mattress so plush it felt like sinking into a cloud made of pure luxury and impossible comfort.
“Don’t you dare stop,” I demanded, fingers clutching his shoulders as he tried to pull away.
Every nerve ending in my body was staging its own private fireworks display, each touch sending sparks of electricity racing through my veins.
The reality of being in his arms made every romance novel I’d ever read feel like a children’s fairy tale.
His answering growl—yes, an actual growl, no amount of italics or descriptive prose could do it justice—vibrated through both our bodies.
Our mouths met again in a kiss that would have made romance novelists blush and reach for their thesauruses.
The book had spent paragraphs describing Jason’s magnetism, his presence, his effect on women, but words couldn’t capture the reality of him.
The heat of his mouth, the taste of expensive wine on his tongue, the way his muscles tensed and shifted under my exploring hands—it was like comparing a matchstick to a forest fire.
I parted my lips, inviting him deeper, and he accepted with a hunger that made my toes curl.
Each stroke of his tongue against mine drew sounds I didn’t even know I could make, whimpers and moans that would have made any romance heroine proud.
But I was past caring. Past thinking about anything except getting closer, feeling more.
When we finally broke apart, both gasping for air, I blinked up at him in a daze. Then he straightened and pulled his shirt off in one fluid motion that showcased exactly why romance authors everywhere should be taking notes.
Oh. Sweet. Lord.
The book’s detailed account of Jason’s physique might as well have been written in crayon compared to the reality before me.
Broad shoulders that could make Greek gods jealous tapered down to a narrow waist. Abs that looked like they’d been sculpted from marble rippled with each breath.
Golden skin stretched over muscles that belonged in an anatomy textbook titled Physical Perfection.
I made a sound that was half whimper, half moan, and completely mortifying. But could you blame me? This was no longer imagination or fantasy. This was real. He was real. And he was looking at me like I was something precious and edible all at once.
“See something you like?” His voice was rough with amusement and desire.
“I’m conducting a thorough comparison between fiction and reality,” I managed, running my fingers down his chest. “For scientific purposes, of course.”
“And your findings?” He caught my wandering hand, pressing a kiss to my palm that made my breath hitch.
“The book definitely undersold this particular plot point.”
His low chuckle vibrated through me as he moved back in, his hands finding the hem of my shirt.
I lifted my arms eagerly—okay, maybe a little too eagerly, but dignity had left the building somewhere around the time he’d carried me up those stairs.
The cool air kissed my skin as he pulled the fabric away, leaving me in nothing but whisper-soft lace.
The way Jason now looked at me made my breath catch.
His eyes had darkened to midnight, hungry yet tender as they roamed over every curve and dip of my body.
The book had described his gaze as intense, but that was like calling a thunderstorm a light drizzle.
Heat bloomed across my skin under his scrutiny, and I resisted the urge to cover myself.
Victoria’s body—my body now—was perfect, all elegant lines and soft curves in exactly the right places.
But the raw desire in his expression made me feel more than just physically beautiful.
He was looking at me like I was a masterpiece he wanted to memorize, like he couldn’t quite believe I was real.
I’d never felt more desired, more wanton, more alive than under that burning gaze.
Every sweep of his eyes left a trail of fire in its wake, igniting parts of me I didn’t even know could burn.
My heart thundered in my chest, and I could feel the flush spreading from my cheeks down my neck, across my collarbone.
His attention lingered there, following the path of my blush with an intensity that made my breath shallow and quick.
“Beautiful,” he breathed, the word carrying a weight of emotion I wasn’t prepared for. His hand traced the curve of my waist, featherlight yet searing. “Absolutely stunning.”
I arched into his touch, past caring about seeming eager. The heat in his eyes, the reverence in his touch—it was intoxicating. Each caress was both too much and not nearly enough. I reached for him, needing to feel his skin against mine, and he came willingly.
He gathered me into his arms, and our lips crashed together again in a kiss that made my toes curl.
My fingers tangled in his hair—impossibly soft—as his tongue swept into my mouth.
Every stroke, every taste was intoxicating, addictive.
His hands roamed my body with a reverence that made me shiver, each touch leaving trails of fire in its wake.
When his fingers found my bra clasp, my heart stuttered. This was actually happening. Jason Everett was undressing me, and the reality of his touch was more devastating than any fantasy could capture.
The cool air whispered across my newly exposed skin, but I barely had time to register it before his palm covered my breast. I gasped into his mouth, the sensation overwhelming every nerve ending.
His thumb brushed across my nipple, and I moaned shamelessly, pressing closer.
Every caress, every teasing stroke sent jolts of pleasure straight through me.
I could feel him hard against my thigh, and sweet heaven, that was an entirely new level of distraction.
I rocked against him instinctively, seeking more friction, more contact, more everything.
His groan vibrated through both our bodies, his hand tightening possessively on my breast. “Vic,” he breathed against my lips, the shortened name somehow feeling more intimate, more personal than ‘Victoria’ ever had.
“Jay,” I whispered back without thinking, surprising both of us with the casual endearment. But instead of pulling back, his eyes darkened further, and his grip tightened possessively. The way he looked at me then, like I was the only woman in the world, made my heart stutter in my chest.
He lowered me back onto silk sheets that felt like clouds against my heated skin, breaking our kiss to trail his lips down my throat.
Each press of his mouth was like a brand, marking me, claiming me.
I writhed beneath him, lost in sensation as he kissed his way down my body, leaving no inch of skin unexplored.
When he reached my breasts, he paused, looking up at me through dark lashes. The hunger in his gaze made my breath catch. No amount of preparation could have readied me for the raw desire in those eyes.
Our gazes locked, and without breaking that burning connection, he took my nipple into his mouth.
Oh. My. God. If this was a romance novel, this would be where the author would insert a paragraph of metaphors about stars exploding and worlds tilting.
But the reality? The wet heat of his tongue, the gentle scrape of his teeth—it defied description.
I arched off the bed, a cry escaping my lips as pleasure sparked through my body.
His other hand kneaded my neglected breast, and somewhere in my pleasure-hazed mind, I made a mental note to write an apology letter to every romance author I’d ever doubted.
“Jay…” I gasped as he tormented my sensitive flesh, alternating between sharp nips and soothing strokes of his tongue. Each touch sent liquid fire through my veins, making me arch desperately into his mouth.
“So responsive,” he growled against my skin, his hot breath making me shiver. “So perfect…” His voice was dark with desire as he lavished attention on my other breast, his clever fingers teasing and rolling my sensitized nipple until I was writhing beneath him.
I clutched at his hair, holding him closer as pleasure built inside me. Every sweep of his tongue, every possessive squeeze of his hands had me seeing stars. When he sucked hard, then grazed his teeth across the sensitive peak, I cried out, my body arching off the bed.