Chapter 4
JAMESON
It was possible to be bone tired and pumped full of energy at the same time.
Adrenaline. That was all I could think. And normally, I’d chalk it up to the excitement of a successful business day.
But even with the boost in download numbers and social media shares, my adrenaline rush had very little to do with business and everything to do with the redhead seated across from me at the table in my suite.
Our suite. We were sharing it tonight, along with dinner—salmon for her and steak for me. She’d untucked her shirt, removed her suit jacket, and tugged the elastic band from her hair. All of it combined to make the sexiest damn sight I’d ever seen.
“Thank you,” I said.
She paused mid-chew and stared at me, eyes wide. Finally, she swallowed and spoke.
“For…?”
“Setting this up for me, coming all this way, working your ass off all day… Do I need to continue?”
She smiled. “Well, thank you for letting me experience traveling in style.” She gestured to indicate her surroundings. “I’ve never stayed anywhere like this.”
“Lots of firsts this weekend.”
The words came out before I even thought them through. Firsts. There was only one first time that had been on my mind all day, and that was hers.
Sutton was a virgin. It seemed impossible that a woman this beautiful could have avoided dating all this time, but it only made me more drawn to her. I wanted to spoil her. To make her happy. To give her everything she’d ever wanted and more.
“This was a-ma-zing,” she said, drawing out each syllable. She lifted her wineglass to her lips and took a slow sip, closing her eyes to savor the taste. When she finally opened them, she wore a big smile. “I feel truly pampered.”
“There’s more where that came from,” I said. Her eyebrows arched, and I rushed to add, “Tomorrow night, I’ll take you out for a fancy meal.”
She lowered her gaze to her now-empty plate. “I’d call this fancy.”
“You deserve…everything.”
The words carried a lot of weight. In the silence that stretched between us, I knew she felt it too. The attraction was mutual and tough to ignore. She was driving me to distraction.
“I only want one thing right now,” she said. “You.”
My dick stirred. Warmth flooded my body. I set my fork down, suddenly no longer interested in what remained of my steak and potatoes.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “Because we can’t go back.”
“I don’t want to go back. Forward is the only way.”
She pushed her chair back and got to her feet. The energy between us snapped tight, like a live wire. She took one small step in my direction, then paused, uncertain. When she caught her bottom lip between her teeth, something in me just…snapped. Any control I’d been holding onto was gone.
“So…” she began, her fingers twisting together. “What…what happens next?”
The question was so innocent, so utterly trusting, it stole the air from my lungs. I could hardly breathe, the weight of this moment, of her trust, pressing down on me. Every instinct screamed to close the distance and take her right here and now.
But that wasn’t what this was. This was for her. So I decided to go with it, to lead her through it, step by agonizing step.
“Unbutton your blouse,” I said.
Her eyes widened, but her fingers moved to the first button, fumbling before it slipped free. Then the next, and the next, until the fabric fell open to reveal a simple, lace-trimmed camisole beneath. The sight of her skin, pale and smooth in the soft light, made my mouth go dry.
“Good,” I managed. “Now the rest. Take it all off for me.”
It was a slow, mesmerizing striptease born of hesitation, not seduction.
The camisole was pulled over her head, her arms crossing self-consciously over her chest for a moment before she forced them to her sides.
Her trousers followed, unzipped and pushed down her hips to pool at her feet.
She stepped out of them, kicking them aside with a clumsy foot.
And then she stood in the middle of our lavish suite, wearing nothing but a pair of simple white cotton bikini briefs. The stark innocence of the fabric against her lush body was a turn-on in itself. She was breathtaking. All tempting curves, flushed skin, and wide, uncertain eyes.
My gaze locked on her and didn’t let go. Every inch of her called to me—lush curves, soft skin—that perfect mix of innocence and sin.
Her breasts rose and fell with every breath, full and heavy, her nipples already tight from the tension humming between us. I could easily imagine the weight of them—the way she’d fit against me like she’d been made for it.
My eyes drifted lower, tracing the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips, the small strip of skin above those ridiculous panties that did nothing to hide how fucking perfect she was. This was a body built for pleasure. For a man’s hands. For my hands.
“Now what?” she whispered, the words barely audible.
My gaze dropped to the thin cotton straining to contain her. “Have you ever touched yourself, Sutton?”
A violent shake of her head, her eyes going even wider. “No.”
“If it makes you uncomfortable…” I started, ready to call it all off. To pull her into my arms and just hold her.
“No,” she said, her voice gaining a thread of steel. “I want to learn.”
A fresh wave of heat crashed over me. “Then slide your hand into your panties. Find that little swollen nub for me. Can you feel it?”
Her fingers, trembling slightly, slipped beneath the white cotton edge. The sight of her hand disappearing, knowing it was seeking the most intimate part of her, was almost my undoing.
Her breath hitched, a sharp, sweet little gasp, and her eyelids fluttered shut for a moment before opening again, dazed. She nodded—a slow, wondrous dip of her chin.
“Now rub it. Slowly. Just for yourself.”
I watched, mesmerized, as her arm began to move, a subtle, rhythmic motion beneath the fabric.
Her head tilted back, exposing the long, elegant line of her throat.
A soft, shuddering sigh escaped her parted lips, and the sound went straight to my cock.
This was the most erotic thing I’d ever witnessed—this beautiful, untouched woman bravely pleasuring herself at my command.
“Are you wet, sweetheart?”
She nodded again, and a breathy, “Uh-huh,” sighed out of her, a sound of pure, unadulterated sensation.
As her fingers worked their magic, her eyes, heavy-lidded with newfound pleasure, found mine.
The uncertainty was gone, replaced by a smoky, focused intensity.
A loose wave of her hair fell across her cheek, catching the light, and she didn’t brush it away.
She was too lost in the feeling, her expression a perfect blend of concentration and bliss.
“Your turn,” she breathed, her voice thick and breathless. “Undress.”
Her voice wasn’t a request—it was a command. My body obeyed before my mind caught up, heat sparking through me like a live wire.
I didn’t rush. Control was half the thrill. One button. Then another. Slow, deliberate. I watched her watching me. Her gaze dragged over my chest, down my abs, lingering on the flex of muscle in my arms as I let the shirt slide off and hit the floor.
The way she looked at me—hungry, curious, and unsure whether to move closer or run—lit me up from the inside. Her attention was fire, and I wanted to burn in it.
I stood then, unfastening my pants and shoving them down, along with my boxer briefs, in one decisive movement. My erection sprang free, thick and aching, the tip already glistening. I froze at the flicker of doubt—was it too much, too soon?
That doubt vanished with her next words. “Touch yourself,” she said, her gaze locked on the hard evidence of my need.
My hand wrapped around my cock, and a rough sound tore from my throat before I could stop it. The first stroke was fire—slow, deliberate, punishing. I matched her rhythm without even thinking, every movement synced to the way she touched herself. Watching her was torture. The best kind.
I wanted to lose control, to take her, to end the distance between us and bury myself where I belonged.
But I didn’t. Not yet. Every muscle in my body was tight, shaking with restraint.
The need was a live current under my skin, but I held the line—for her.
For the sight of her, undone and beautiful, just out of reach.
I watched as a deeper flush spread across her chest, creeping up her throat. Her head fell back, her neck arching beautifully, and her eyes squeezed shut.
“Oh, yes,” she gasped, the words a broken sigh as her hand moved faster beneath the thin cotton.
And then the movements slowed, finally grinding to a halt. When her eyes opened, they were soft, dazed, completely wrecked in the best way. Satisfaction shimmered in that dark gaze, something new there—something that told me she’d never see me, or herself, the same way again.
“Come to bed,” I told her, my voice raw with the strain of my own need.
But she shook her head, a slow, deliberate motion. Instead of coming to me, she moved to the table. With a sweep of her arm, she shoved our discarded plates and wine glasses aside. The clatter of silverware and crystal was jarring, violent.
She hoisted herself up onto the polished wood, not the slightest bit shy. Then she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of those innocent white cotton briefs and wiggled out of them, tossing them to the floor.
My body automatically responded as she looked at me, completely naked and utterly powerful, sprawled on the table like a feast. A slow, daring smile lit up that beautiful face.
“Now what?”