Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
LAUREN
Lauren
Holy shit. There’s only one bed here!
Sierra
BA HA HA HA HA! You remember how Vegas turned out when Beau and I had a hotel room with one bed?
Lauren
Yeah, SURE the one bed was why the two of you got together. Having two beds would have made a huge difference.
Petra
She’s right, Sierra. You were halfway to sleeping with him before you even left for Vegas.
Jackson
Gah! Please stop this conversation about my brother’s sex life!!!
Petra
Sierra and Beau have sex, Jackson. This isn’t news.
So . . . one bed, Lauren. How you feeling about that?
Lauren
He offered to take the couch. Again. And then told me that he’s just waiting for me to be ready for more. I think his exact words were “There’s no world in which I want to be your friend. That world does not and has never existed.”
Sierra
Holy shit. That’s so hot!
I glance up at Jameson where he stands in the kitchen, staring intently at his phone, a cute little scowl on his face. Why does everything this man does turn me on so much?
Resisting him was easier when I thought he just wanted a casual hookup. But now he wants more, and I’m not sure I even trust myself to decide whether that’s a good idea or not. Am I ready for a new relationship? Should I be?
Petra
She’s not responding. Think she’s already in that bed with him???
Jackson
Maybe she’s just too busy tearing his clothes off to pick up her damn phone?
Lauren
You all are the worst!
Sierra
You know what’s the best? Hot sex with your hot pro-hockey player friend!
Lauren
You sound like Petra.
Petra
I trained her well.
Lauren
I’m going for a run. I need to get out of here.
Jackson
He’s still going to be there when you get back, you know.
Lauren
Yeah, but I’ll be so busy getting ready for the wedding I will probably forget he’s here.
Petra
I highly doubt HE will forget YOU are there, though! Remember, we’ve seen the way he looks at you.
I set my phone down, determined not to respond to that comment.
Suddenly it feels too warm in here. I need to get out.
I need to feel the cool air on my face and burn off this sexual frustration.
I need to exhaust myself with exercise so I’m not so keyed up about being in this house, with its one bed and Jameson.
I glance over at him again. He’s typing something on his phone.
“I’m going to go for a run,” I say, expecting a grunt of acknowledgment from him. Instead, he looks up at me and sets his phone on the kitchen counter.
“You sure? There’s not a lot of room on the roads with the snowbanks.”
“It’s fine, I grew up running on these roads. Plus, they’re clear and dry, and it’s the middle of the day. There won’t be a lot of traffic.”
“Okay.” The word is hesitant, and I can tell he’s worried. “Can you . . . can you share your location with me on your phone, just in case?”
I hate the idea of anyone being able to track me. Then again, if something were to happen, and I was lying injured in a snowbank somewhere, I’d be awfully glad he could find me, right? I can always un-share my location when I get back from my run.
“Sure.” I pick up my phone and tap the necessary places. “There you go. I’m going to go change,” I tell him.
“All right.” He sounds uneasy. “I’ll shower while you’re gone, so the bathroom will be all yours when you get back.”
“Thanks,” I say as I head into the one bedroom and shut the door behind me. I try not to think about the fact that I’m getting naked with him just on the other side of the door. As I change, I glance over at the bed taking up the majority of the room.
It’s fine. I’m fine. It’s not like we’re going to share that bed tonight when we get back from the wedding. I ignore the tiny pang of disappointment at that thought. The guilt I feel when Josh flashes through my mind is harder to ignore.
It’s okay to move on, I remind myself. Healthy even.
I’m less than a quarter mile into my run, and still having a mental back-and-forth about my attraction to Jameson and how much that feels like a betrayal to Josh—even though Jameson treats me better than Josh ever did—when I realize that there’s something wrong with my sports bra.
I think the straps are twisted around each other in the back, and it’s rubbing right between my shoulder blades.
I stop and reach my hand down my back, but with the multiple layers I’m wearing it’s hard to make sense of what’s happening back there.
I can’t keep running with it like this or I’ll end up rubbing the skin off and it’ll look ridiculous with the open-back dress I’m wearing tonight.
Ugh. I have no choice but to turn back and fix the problem, which means I’ll have less time to get a run in.
My anxiety level—a combination of sexual frustration and nerves about sharing space with Jameson—is rising.
I know a run will help me manage it, and running is something I can’t really do at home with two kids, so I’m trying not to be annoyed at this lost time.
I make it back to the house in record time.
The door to the bedroom is cracked open and I can hear the shower running.
When I knock, there’s no response, so I push open the bedroom door.
The door to the bathroom is closed and I figure Jameson must already be in the shower.
Good, I’ll just fix this bra and then get out of here. He’ll never even know I came back.
I strip my fleece and my shirt off quickly, then turn to look over my shoulder in the full-length mirror so I can see what’s going on.
As I suspected, the back straps are wrapped around each other a few times.
I reach back, trying to untangle them now that I can see what’s going on, but I can’t manage it.
I’m going to need to take the bra off to untangle them.
I wrap my arms around myself and grab the opposite sides, pull it over my head, then glance down at the offending material in my hands.
I’m about to start untwisting the straps when movement in the mirror catches my attention.
I glance up, locking eyes with Jameson in the mirror.
Flames flick through my entire body as I take him in, standing there in nothing but his boxer briefs.
His long frame is cut with the deep grooves of hard-earned muscle that wrap around his limbs.
Retirement has not diminished his physique.
His skin stands out against the dark boxer briefs that are doing very little to hide his impressive size.
I glance up at his face, a chiseled masterpiece with eyes of fire that reflect the desire burning through my body.
And that’s when I remember I’m topless. With a gasp, my hands fly to my breasts. “I—” Where are my words? They seem to have evaporated right off my tongue as we stare at each other in the mirror, neither of us moving. “I thought you were in the shower.”
“I thought you were on a run.” His voice is thick and even deeper than usual.
“My sports bra was all twisted,” I say, and my eyes flick to the floor where I dropped it when my hands shot up to cover my nakedness. “I came back to fix it.”
I glance back up at him in the mirror, and our eyes lock again. I’m not sure what it means that neither of us looks away. And then he’s crossing the room in four quick steps and stooping down to pick up my bra off the floor.
“Do you need help with this?” he asks, looking up at me through his dark lashes.
The words catch in my throat, which is so tight with need and suppressed emotion that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to talk again.
His fingers make quick work of untangling the straps, and then he straightens up behind me. He’s close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body, and since he’s a full head taller than me, our faces reflect back in the mirror one above the other—eyes still locked on each other.
He dips his head near my ear. His voice is soft and his breath is hot when he says, “I can go back in that bathroom and leave you alone. Or I can help you take the rest of your clothes off. Your call.”
My abdominal muscles contract and my hips tilt forward involuntarily as my entire core clenches. I can feel how damp my underwear is already. I clench those muscles together too, feeling an aching emptiness that I know he’s willing to fill.
“Jameson,” I whisper. “This is such a bad idea.”
“On the contrary,” he says, his head still dipped down to mine. “It’s a brilliant idea.”
He takes his hand and traces the curve of my neck, his palm grazing my skin, trailed by the pads of his fingers as they skim my skin and light my nerves on fire. Then his fingertips graze my collarbone as he slides his palm along my shoulder until he cups my upper arm in his hand.
Watching him in the mirror as he runs his fingers along my skin might be the most erotic thing that’s ever happened to me. It’s definitely better than any of the sex I’ve had, which says a lot—either about my attraction to him or about my lackluster past.
He reaches out to run his fingers along the back of my hand where I’m frozen, holding my own breasts.
I’m suddenly aware of how hard my nipples are against my palms. I shift my hands slightly and the sensation that ricochets through me from that friction against my taut nipples has me sagging back against him—the hard planes of his chest cradling my shoulder blades.
He traces his lips along my hairline, past my ear, to my jaw. There, he opens his lips enough that he’s trailing light kisses along my jawline, then down the side of my neck. A low moan escapes the back of my throat before I can stop it.
“You touching yourself like that is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” The words are mumbled against my skin, and as I watch him in the mirror, he glances up at me.
“I’m covering myself,” I whisper, trying to keep my voice steady. “Not touching myself.”
“If that’s true, tell me to leave,” he says doubtfully, and his eyes flick back to my neck where he runs his tongue along the length of it before capturing my earlobe between his teeth.
His erection is pressing into my lower back, and I find myself involuntarily pushing back into him. “Or tell me to stay. You choose.”
My core clenches with a contraction that shakes my whole body, and I don’t even have to think about this choice. “Stay.”
“Do it again.” His voice is rough and demanding.
“Do what again?” I ask, my voice unsteady and thick with longing.
“Rub your hands over your nipples.” His voice is so low it strums a chord deep inside me, filling me with a longing greater than any I’ve ever felt.
I’m not sure where the boldness comes from, but I slide my hands down so I’m cupping my breasts from the underside, then I slide my thumbs across my nipples.
I tilt my hips back into him with a groan, frustrated that the height difference means I can’t run my ass along his length that I feel pressing into my lower back.
“Again.” He groans as he locks eyes with me in the mirror. I do as he says, and his fingers come to my hips, where they grip me possessively. “Again.”
I run my thumbs over my nipples again, and he practically growls into my hair.
Then he’s turning me around to face him and backing me into the wall, where he dips his head and presses his mouth to mine.
His lips part and he invades my mouth unceremoniously, but it’s a welcome intrusion.
I meet his enthusiasm with my own, enjoying the rough thrust of his tongue as it tangles with mine and the pressure of his lips as they push against mine.
What I don’t enjoy is the distance between our bodies as he bends to kiss me, so I wrap my arms around his neck to pull him closer.
Without moving his mouth from mine, his hands glide from my hips over my ass and between my thighs. He lifts me up so I can wrap my legs around him.
Then his hips pin me to the wall as he thrusts against me, his hardness rubbing against my clit over and over, giving me the friction I need. He dips his head down to my breast, capturing my nipple between his lips where he circles it with his tongue.
“Yes,” I hiss into his ear as I press my hips forward to meet his thrusts. “Yes!”
He rewards my enthusiasm by sucking my nipple further into his mouth, and then a hard pull sends shock waves straight through my core, which is so wet at this point I think I’ve soaked through not only my underwear, but my leggings as well.
He brings one of his hands to my other breast, where he tweaks my nipple between his fingers gently.
My head rolls back against the wall as he continues his assault on multiple erogenous zones at once.
I buck my hips into him wildly, running my clit along the hard length of him until I’m panting with a need so great I can’t see straight.
“I’m so close.” I hiss.
He lifts his lips off me and brings them to my ear. “I know.”
“Jameson, don’t stop. Please,” I beg, needing him to return his lips to my nipple.
Instead, a low rumble of a laugh rolls through him as he takes his hand off my other breast. “I have so many plans for your body, Lauren. And none of them involve clothes.” With one arm under my ass and the other wrapped around my back, he spins and walks us to the bed where he places one knee at the end and then lowers me onto the soft fabric of the duvet.
My legs are still wrapped around his hips and I have no desire to disentangle myself, but he glances at the bathroom door and mumbles, “Shit.” I glance over and see the steam billowing out of the room.
I think we’d both forgotten the shower was still on.
“I need to turn that off,” he tells me, “and when I get back, you’d better not have pants on. ”
I meet his gaze and note the hunger there. “Or what?”
“Or we’ll stop this right here, if that’s what you want.” With that, he’s up and headed into the bathroom.
I spend a second reflecting on the fact that he just gave me an out, if that’s what I want. But, it’s not. I have no idea what it means, but this—with Jameson—is more than what I want. It’s what I need.