14. Jamison #2
Weston kept looking. Sienna kept pretending she didn’t notice. Her dress pulled eyes all night. Men looked and looked away when they remembered whose shadow she stood near.
Except Weston. That fucker just smiled and kept his eyes pinned on Sienna when she didn’t realize..
By the time the event thinned and the ocean had gone fully black beyond the deck, I had made my decision.
I wanted her out of the room. I walked to where she stood with Emmie near the rail.
“Sienna.”
She turned.
“Yes?”
“I’m taking you home.”
Emmie’s eyes narrowed. “She came with us.”
“I know.”
Sienna looked at Emmie, then back at me. “It’s okay.”
Emmie touched her wrist. “You don’t have to.”
Sienna gave her a small smile. “I know.”
Marcel appeared beside Emmie and looked at me with a warning.
“You’ve been drinking.”
“I have a driver.”
“That isn’t the only concern.”
“I’m aware.”
His gaze sharpened because maybe I wasn’t usually aware. I looked at Sienna. She was watching me carefully, waiting for the next sharp edge.
“Come on,” I said.
She picked up her little gold clutch. We left through the private side stairs.
The lower drive curved along the cliff, lanterns shining over black cars. My driver waited with the door already open.
Sienna walked ahead of me.
Those heels were a fucking hazard. Thin straps. High gold stilettos. Elegant enough to make her legs look sinful and dangerous enough to break an ankle on the wrong patch of stone.
I watched each step.
She reached the car without wobbling.
The driver opened her door. She slid into the back seat. I followed. The privacy glass went up before the car moved.
Darkness folded around us. For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
The car pulled away from Tideglass Pavilion and onto the harbour road. Sienna sat beside me with her hands in her lap.
I had drunk too much. I could feel it in the heaviness behind my eyes, the heat in my blood, the way the last thin wall between want and action had started cracking under pressure. “You were quiet tonight,” I said.
Her fingers moved slightly. “I thought that was better.”
Better…because I had trained her to think quiet was safer. I should have apologized.
“Weston liked you talking.”
She turned her head. “I wasn’t trying to make him like anything.”
“I know.”
My own answer seemed to surprise her. Good. Maybe that meant it had come out less cruel than usual.
I looked at her mouth.
Bad idea.
Very bad.
She breathed through parted lips, nervous, watching me watch her. The car hit a slow curve. Sienna shifted toward me. My hand moved before sense could stop it. I caught her waist.
“Sienna,” my voice sounded wrecked.
She looked at my hand on her waist, then at me.
“You’re drunk.”
“Yes.”
That was the truth. Not enough to forget. Enough to want without the usual machinery cutting it into smaller, manageable pieces.
“I should sit back,” she whispered.
“Do you want to?”
Sienna’s fingers lifted to my wrist. Her thumb moved once over my pulse. She leaned forward.
“Yes.” She murmured.
My mouth touched hers.
The first kiss was careful. A stupid word for it, maybe, considering the state of me. I had spent half the night imagining every inch of her out of that dress. But it was careful. My hand at her waist stayed still. My mouth pressed against hers once, restrained enough to give her space to refuse.
She kissed me back. Soft at first. Her fingers tightened around my wrist, and whatever restraint I had been pretending to own went thin.
I pulled her closer.
She made a small sound against my mouth.
I deepened the kiss, my hand sliding behind her back. Her black hair fell around my fingers when I cupped the back of her neck.
She tasted like champagne and fruit.
Too fucking sweet. I pulled her onto my lap. Slow enough to let her stop me. Her knees came down on either side of my thighs, dress sliding high enough that my head went empty for half a second. Her hands landed on my shoulders. Her breath broke.
“Jamison.”
I wanted to earn another name out of her mouth.
I kissed her again, harder.
Her body fitted against mine so perfectly I groaned into her mouth. Small waist under my hands. Warm thighs bracketing mine. The soft weight of her pressed against the hard line of me.
When I rolled my hips up, she gasped.
Then she moved back against me.
Christ.
I grabbed her hips.
“Again,” I said against her mouth.
Her eyes opened, dark and stunned.
“Jamison—”
“Again, baby.”
The endearment came out rough and possessive. And so fucking mine.
She moved.
A small, grind that dragged her over me through too many layers of fabric and still almost ruined my self-control.
I groaned.
“There you go.”
Her cheeks flushed. Her black hair spilled around us, hiding half the car. I liked that too much. I liked having the world narrowed to her. My fingers slid along her back and found the top of her zipper.
“Say stop,” I told her.
She stared at me.
“Say it, Sienna.”
Her throat moved.
“Don’t stop.”
Fuck. My control frayed. I tugged the zipper down an inch. Enough to feel the dress loosen against her ribs. Her breath catch and my mind to fill with images of stripping her slowly.
I kissed her throat instead. Her head tipped back before she seemed to think better of it.
My mouth found the soft place beneath her jaw. I nipped once, gently enough to make her gasp rather than bruise, then licked the spot because I had to taste her.
Her fingers went into my hair.
“Good girl,” I murmured.
My hand slid down over her hip, over the silk bunched high against her thigh. I touched bare skin above her stocking line and my body went tight enough to hurt.
“Do you know what I wanted to do all night?” I asked.
She shook her head.
I kissed near her ear. “I wanted to put you over my shoulder and take you out of that room before Weston got another second of looking at you.”
Her breath hitched.
“He wasn’t—”
“He was.”
I dragged her slowly against me again. She gasped, and her hands tightened in my hair.
“He was looking at what doesn’t belong to him.”
Her eyes went wide. I knew I should stop talking.
“My fiancée all soft and sweet, standing there with no idea every man on that deck wanted to know what you looked like out of it.”
My hand slid higher beneath the edge of her dress.
“Tell me no,” I said.
She swallowed, eyes locked on mine.
“No?” she repeated, uncertain.
“If you want me to stop.”
She shook her head.
“Words, baby.”
“I don’t want you to stop.” Her voice came out breathless.
My fingers found lace. I shut my eyes for half a second. A prayer, maybe. I moved the lace aside and touched her gently. She jerked on my lap, mouth falling open.
I caught the sound with a kiss. My fingers stroked once, slow enough to feel how wet she was, and my whole body went rigid with the effort not to do exactly what my instincts demanded.
“Sienna…you’re soaked.”
Her face went crimson. I kissed her again before she could hide.
“No, don’t be embarrassed. Fuck, baby, don’t be embarrassed.” My voice had gone lower. Rougher. “Do you feel that? That’s for me?”
She nodded quickly.
I stroked again.
She gasped against my mouth.
“That’s it.” I held her hip with my other hand and guided her down against my fingers. “Nice and slow.”
Her forehead dropped to my shoulder.
“No, look at me.”
She lifted her head. Her eyes were dazed and beautiful. I was ruined.
“Grind down,” I said softly. “Let me feel you.”
She moved. Small at first. Then with more confidence when pleasure took over the part of her that was always apologizing. My cock throbbed so hard it was almost painful.
“Good girl,” I groaned. “Just like that.”