Chapter 5
SUTTON
Jameson strode toward me confidently, that erection drawing my attention away from his face. He stepped between my legs and, without a word, lowered his head to kiss me.
The world shrank to the taste and scent of him. Warm skin, clean spice, and the faint sweetness of red wine lingering on his tongue. Every breath tangled between us, rough and uneven. The wet slide of his mouth against mine, the desperate beat of my pulse—it all blurred into one dizzying ache.
When he finally pulled away, a helpless sound broke from me, only to die on my lips as he knelt between my legs. His mouth found my thigh, hot and deliberate, setting every nerve on fire. When he finally reached my heat, he stopped, his gaze dragging up until our eyes met.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. He was asking without words if I was sure. I nodded once, breathless, and that was all he needed.
The first touch of his tongue to that impossibly sensitive nub sent a jolt of pure lightning through me. I cried out, my back arching. When his finger slid inside, the dual sensation was overwhelming. It was a sweet, stretching ache that quickly morphed into a coil of tight pleasure.
“Jameson,” I gasped, my voice strangled. “Don’t stop. Please, keep going.”
My palms flattened against the table behind me, my arms trembling as I propped myself up, wanting to watch, but the sensations were too much. I let my head fall back, my eyes squeezing shut, surrendering completely to the rhythm of his mouth and the slow curl of his finger.
He pushed me higher with every touch until I couldn’t hold on any longer. The release hit hard, sharp enough to steal my breath and leave me shaking.
When I finally floated back to myself, I opened my eyes and looked down. He was watching me, his gaze heated, his lips glistening.
He stood, his hand gripping his length, and I saw the thick, prominent vein pulsing along the side. But suddenly he stilled, his body tensing.
“Fuck,” he cursed, the word a low, frustrated growl.
“What? What’s wrong?” I asked, my voice still breathy.
He let out a sharp breath. “I don’t have a condom.”
A slow, relieved smile touched my lips. This, at least, was one worry I could erase. “It’s okay,” I whispered. “I’m on birth control.”
He didn’t smile back, but the fierce tension in his jaw eased, the hard lines of his face relaxing into something softer, more intense. In that moment, I wondered, with a flicker of curiosity, just how hard it would be to coax a real, genuine smile from this serious, beautiful man.
But all thought was wiped away as he moved between my legs, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance. He was watching my face, his eyes dark pools of concentration.
“Tell me if it hurts too much,” he murmured, his voice gravel-rough. “I’ll stop.”
He pushed forward, slowly—so slowly—and I felt a sharp, tearing resistance. A gasp caught in my throat, and I gritted my teeth, my nails digging into the wood beneath my palms. He paused, his body rigid with restraint, letting me adjust to the shocking, full feeling of him.
Then he began to move, a shallow, tentative rocking of his hips. Just as the ache began to recede into a dull throb, his thumb found my clit again. The touch was gentle, circling, reigniting the fire inside me.
“God, you feel incredible, Sutton,” he breathed, his gaze raking over my breasts, my face, drinking in every reaction. “So tight. So perfect for me.”
His words, combined with the slow press of his thumb, changed everything. The sting faded, replaced by a deep, steady heat that built low in my stomach. The sound of us filled the room—real, raw, and close.
He was watching me, eyes dark and tense, his jaw tight like he was fighting to stay in control. That was when it hit me—he was holding back for me. The realization sent a rush through me, sharp and dizzying, and something in me broke wide open.
That did it.
A third, shocking orgasm ripped through me, my body convulsing around his. “Jameson,” I cried out, his name a prayer and a surrender on my lips.
The sound of his name seemed to shatter his control. With a guttural, helpless groan, he drove into me one last, deep time.
We finally went still, breathing hard, the room quiet except for the sound of us trying to catch our breath. He leaned into me, forehead against my shoulder, heavy and warm.
For a minute, neither of us moved. When he finally slipped out, I felt the loss more than I wanted to admit. He brushed a strand of hair from my face, fingers soft, almost shy.
Then he grinned—slow, lazy, the kind of grin that made my stomach flip.
“Maybe we should order dessert,” he said, voice rough. “Rest up before round two.”
I couldn’t help laughing, the sound low and easy. That smile and his teasing edge melted something in me faster than anything we’d just done.