CHAPTER 37
Brynn
Swiss Alps, Switzerland
Day Ten Off Grid
The terminal needed twenty-three minutes to complete whatever mysterious process Jameson had started.
He had explained it once.
I had retained the words initial diagnostics and not much else.
By the time I finished putting away the groceries, he was seated at the kitchen table with cables spread around him in precise lines, already looking like a man prepared to personally supervise every blinking light.
I left him to it and crossed to the hearth.
The fire had burned low while we were gone. I bent forward, shifted the blackened wood with the iron poker, and added another log.
Heat licked across my face.
Behind me, something went quiet.
It wasn’t the terminal.
I glanced back over my shoulder.
Jameson was no longer looking at the equipment.
His attention was on me.
I looked down at myself, then back at him. “Is something wrong with your tactical doo-dad?”
“No,” he said.
His voice had changed.
I straightened slightly, still holding the poker. “You’re staring.”
“Yes,” he said.
No denial or embarrassment. Just a fact placed between us.
His chair scraped against the floor.
I watched him cross the room, slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving me. “I thought you had twenty-three minutes of extremely important brooding to do.”
“I changed the schedule,” he said.
I blinked. “You changed the schedule?”
“Yes,” he said.
“That sounds serious.”
He stopped behind me and took the poker from my hand, setting it against the stone surround.
The quiet click of iron against stone landed somewhere low in my stomach.
I started to turn toward him, but his hand settled on my hip.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
His mouth lowered close to my ear. “Returning the favor. Hands on the stone.”
Heat rushed through me that had nothing to do with the fire.
I could have turned around. Instead, I stayed exactly as he positioned me, palms pressed to the warm, rough stone of the hearth while the fire crackled softly in front of my face.
My heart hammered against my ribs. His body pressed close behind me, solid and unyielding, one large hand resting possessively on my hip.
His other hand slid down, tracing the curve of my waist before hooking into the waistband of my leggings. He didn’t rush. The fabric whispered as he dragged it over my hips and down my thighs, taking my underwear with it.
Cool air kissed my bare skin, and I shivered despite the fire.
“Jameson…” His name came out breathy, half question, half plea.
“Stay right there,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.
His palm smoothed over the swell of my ass, then squeezed, firm and appreciative, his fingers digging into the soft flesh like he couldn’t help himself. The pressure sent another rush of heat straight between my legs.
He dropped to his knees behind me without another word.
I felt the scrape of stubble against the soft skin of my inner thighs first, then the wet heat of his mouth. His tongue dragged up my center in one long, devastating stroke, and my knees nearly buckled.
A low groan vibrated against me as he tasted me, like he’d been starving for this.
“Oh God,” I gasped, my fingers curling against the stone.
He didn’t tease. He devoured.
His mouth worked me with devastating focus, licking, sucking, circling my sensitive center until my thighs trembled. Every flick of his tongue sent sparks racing up my spine.
I pushed back against him instinctively, chasing more, and he rewarded me with a deeper press of his mouth, his hands gripping my hips to hold me open for him.
When his tongue pushed inside me, I moaned, loud and shameless. He moved in slow, deliberate strokes before pulling back to focus on my most sensitive spot again.
One of his hands left my hip.
A moment later, two thick fingers slid through my wetness and sank into me, curling just right.
“Jameson—fuck—” My voice broke.
He curled those fingers again, stroking that perfect spot inside while his tongue worked me in tight, relentless circles.
The dual sensation was too much. Pleasure coiled tight and vicious, winding higher with every thrust of his fingers and every hot swipe of his tongue.
I was bent over the hearth, leggings tangled around my knees, completely exposed to him, and I had never felt more undone.
The fire warmed my face while he unraveled me from behind, the sounds of his mouth and fingers obscene in the quiet cabin.
He squeezed my ass again, harder this time, spreading me wider as he buried his face deeper.
The pressure, the heat, the perfect rhythm became too much.
I detonated with a cry, my thighs shaking and muscles clamping down around his fingers as release tore through me.
Wave after wave rolled over me while he kept licking and stroking, drawing it out until I was gasping, oversensitive, and boneless against the stone.
Only then did he slow, pressing one last lingering kiss before rising behind me.
His hands stayed on my hips, steadying me as I tried to catch my breath, my cheek resting against the warm stone.
He drew my underwear back into place first, careful despite the roughness of everything that had come before. Then he pulled my leggings up over my hips, his knuckles brushing my stomach.
The tenderness of it hit almost as hard as the rest.
His voice was dark and satisfied beside my ear. “Twenty-three minutes was never going to be enough.”
I turned my face enough to look at him. “See? I told you I wasn’t withholding.”
“I wanted to test the theory,” he said.
A laugh broke out of me, still breathless. “Thoroughly, apparently.”
“The results needed to be reproducible,” he said.