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. Notyet. 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?”
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 sensationwas 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.
