Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
JAMESON
“Do you want me to read them a story so you can get your suitcase unpacked?”
She looks at me like I’ve asked her if she wants a million dollars or a free vacation, rather than spending ten minutes reading to Iris and Ivy. “Ugh . . .”
“Is that a yes?” I ask as the girls run back and forth from the bookcase in their room over to their beds, carrying a new book each time. The pile on the bed is getting bigger than what we’ll be able to get through tonight.
“Normally,” she says with a smile, “I’d welcome a break from doing this on my own, but . . . I don’t know, I was gone last night . . .”
She missed them—it’s clear in the way she looks back and forth between them.
“Want some time alone with them?”
I’m not ready to leave, because I’m hoping to get some more time with her after they go to bed.
I hate the thought of not seeing her for the next two days, but I have to fly out to LA to meet with one of my newest players who just found out he got his coach’s daughter pregnant.
I swear, I feel like I spend as much time babysitting these younger players as I do making deals on their behalf.
I don’t need the money anymore, I have more than enough.
Maybe I should stop taking on new players, or perhaps expand my agency by bringing in other agents to deal with these immature idiots.
Except Colt. I’ll keep that immature idiot because, even though he acts like he’s twenty half the time, he’s a former teammate and one of my oldest friends.
“Yeah,” Lauren says, “that would be great. I’ll be back downstairs in a few minutes.”
I say good night to the girls, who give me good night hugs and almost get my name right when they say goodbye, and head downstairs to wait for her.
I’m sitting on the couch responding to emails when she comes down about fifteen minutes later. She doesn’t say anything, just walks straight toward me, straddles me where I sit on the couch, then curls into me for a full-body hug.
I wrap my arms around her, holding her to my chest. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. Nothing’s wrong, really.” Her voice is muffled by my hoodie.
“You sure?” I ask after I press a kiss to the top of her head.
I can’t seem to keep my hands and lips off her.
If she’s nearby, I want to be touching her.
Dinner was torture, having her three seats away from me, and I’m not sure the distance between us made what’s happening here less noticeable to my sisters.
The fact that I couldn’t stop looking at her was probably a dead giveaway that something’s going on.
“No.”
“Are you upset that I’m leaving?” I ask.
She sits up so she’s looking straight at me.
“No, I’m mad at myself. Here I am, doing my best to be a strong, independent woman and a good role model for my girls.
I’ve been through some shit, but I’ve come out stronger on the other side.
I’m kicking ass at my new job, I’m making this place a home for me and the girls, and now you’re leaving for a night or two and .
. . I’m sad about it?” She sounds aggravated at herself as she pauses and looks up at the ceiling.
“Like, I don’t want to be this clingy person who only feels complete when you’re around. ”
“Do you only feel complete when I’m around?” I ask the rhetorical question so she’ll come to the realization herself.
“No, but I prefer it when you’re around. I slept with you for the first time yesterday, and already I want you here with me as much as possible.”
“It’s okay to want things, Lauren. It’s okay to want things for yourself, just because they make you happy. It’s okay to want to spend time with me. It doesn’t make you clingy or unable to be a whole person when I’m not here.”
“I just . . . I remember how I felt when Josh traveled. He was gone a lot, and even when he was home, he wasn’t really present. I never want my happiness to depend on another person the way it did back then, because I was always fucking disappointed.”
“Listen,” I tell her. “I hate that I have to leave tomorrow, but I won’t be gone a second longer than I have to be.
” I don’t know how this meeting with the coach will go tomorrow afternoon, and I can’t say for sure how long I’ll need to stay.
“But when I am here, I will be here. I’ll be present.
Not because your happiness depends on me, but because you deserve someone who thinks about you all the time, who wants to spend every possible minute with you—”
“We’re supposed to be taking this slow.” She rests her forehead on mine and whispers, “I’m scared, Jameson.”
“Tell me what you’re scared about, so we can find a way through it.”
“I’m scared that this all seems too perfect. I’m scared that something will go wrong, and I’ll get hurt. I’m scared that my girls will get attached to you, and if something goes wrong, they’ll be hurt and confused too. I’m worried about another heartbreak when I’m still healing from the last one.”
“Honey,” I say softly, “I think you’re worried about the wrong heart.”
I feel her eyebrows dip together in surprise. “Hmm?”
“You should be worried about mine. Because if this doesn’t work out a second time, I’m not sure how I’ll recover. I never got over you the first time . . .”
She tips her chin up so her lips brush against mine when she says, “I don’t think I got over you the way I thought I did either.”
“You were the right person at the wrong time,” I say, pressing my lips to hers.
She opens for me immediately, but the kiss is slow and sensual—we’re both dragging it out, because we want every moment to last. After two full days together, the thought of being without her for the next day or two is . . . difficult.
Both my hands cup the back of her head, fingers threaded through that thick red hair, with my thumbs angling her head so I can deepen the kiss. And she must like it, because there’s a growl banging around in the back of her throat as her hips start to shift right over my cock.
I can’t help but press up against her, and she meets me thrust for thrust as she kisses me and runs her hands across my shoulders, down my chest, along my abdomen.
She teases her fingertips under the waistband of my jeans, but then her hands are gone.
In frustration, I growl and press into her harder, and she laughs against my lips as she pulls back from the kiss.
My hands fall to her thighs where they sit on either side of mine as I open my eyes to see her unbuttoning her cardigan.
Beneath it, she has a lacy pink bra through which I can see the stiff peaks of her nipples, and I lean forward without hesitation and capture one between my lips, sucking right through the lace fabric.
She lets out an appreciative hiss, and with her hands behind her back as she takes her arms out of her sleeves, both her breasts are pushed forward.
I cup the other one in my hand, running my thumb back and forth over her other nipple, and she grinds down on top of me hard, shifting her weight forward so her clit is making contact.
And then her hands are at my belt, and I’m letting go of her as I pull my shirt over my head and unclasp her bra, tossing it onto the floor with the rest of our clothes.
It’s a matter of seconds before all our clothes are off and she’s laid back on the couch, legs spread open, that pretty pink pussy bare before me.
I grab her hips, anchoring her down as I bend forward to taste her.
I run my tongue along her opening, and she tries to tilt her hips so my tongue meets her clit, but I hold her in place, stroking my tongue over her but never hitting the place she’s so desperate for me to lick.
“Jameson . . .” She groans out my name.
I glance up at her. “Yes, love?”
“Stop torturing me.”
One thing I’m learning about her is that, after a certain point, she doesn’t like it slow.
“Tell me what you want.”
“I want you to make me come with your mouth before you fuck me senseless.”
“How could I say no to that?” I ghost over her clit lightly with one of my thumbs and her hips buck beneath my hands.
“Don’t even think about saying no.” She growls, head back with pleasure as I stroke her again, smoothing the wetness from her pussy up over her clit.
I chuckle and consider making her beg for it after that comment, but I don’t want to wait, either. I want to make her come, and then I want to come inside her. It’s been over twelve hours since I’ve held her in my arms and felt her from the inside, and that’s already too fucking long.
So I kneel down in front of the couch, push the ottoman that’s behind me back out of the way, and pull her up to a sitting position so she’s got her legs spread on either side of me.
Then, pulling her hips forward to the edge of the couch cushion, I dip my head down to taste her again.
As I stroke her clit with my tongue, I enter her with two fingers, curling them forward to stroke up into her.
She rides my fingers with groaning pleasure as my tongue works to drive her over the edge, and when I glance up at her, she’s got both her breasts cupped in her hands.
“Yes.” I hiss, lifting my mouth from her but pushing my fingers into her harder and faster. “Touch yourself. I want to see you pinch those nipples as I bring you over the edge.”
She groans as she pushes her head farther back into the couch cushions and does what I ask, running her thumbs across her nipples and then pinching them between her thumb and the knuckle of her first finger.
She lets out another moan of pleasure when I suck her clit into my mouth and run my tongue over it, and then she’s bucking wildly under me.
I fuck her harder and faster with my fingers, because that’s how she seems to like it best, and in no time she’s arching her back and chanting yes over and over as she rides out her orgasm.
She collapses back against the couch but tells me, “I’m not done. I need you inside me.”