The Stopover (The Miles High Club 1)

We get into the elevator, and the attendant stares straight ahead. I’m panting, dripping wet, and my sex is throbbing.

I’m a hot mess.

Jameson’s eyes are dark as he stares straight ahead at the closed doors.

God, I need him.

The doors open, and he pulls me out by the hand. Our lips are locked, and he walks me into his apartment backward. “Isn’t this how we got into the room last time?” I smile as he lifts me.

“Similar.”

He puts me down, and I look around, and my heart drops. “What the hell, Jim?” I whisper through shock.

“What?” He frowns.

“This is your house?” I ask as my eyes scan the room.

His lips drop to my neck as he licks and sucks down my collarbone; he’s completely preoccupied.

The apartment is huge and modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows and the lights of New York twinkling everywhere I look. Lamps are strategically placed to give a warm feeling. I’ve never been anywhere so beautiful . . . or foreign.

The floors are a light timber parquetry, and luxurious velvet and leather furnishings fill the space. The living room has a fireplace with a huge gilded mirror hanging over it and a beautiful antique rug.

“Stop looking at the apartment, and look at me.” He grabs my face and drags it back to his.

I stare at him.

“What?” he murmurs.

“This apartment.”

“What about it?”

“You come from a different world than me,” I whisper.

“Who cares?” His eyes hold mine. “I want you, and you want me. What else is there?”

Our kiss turns desperate as he slams me up against the wall and tears my dress from my body in one quick movement. I push his jacket over his shoulders and grab his T-shirt and lift it off and then unzip his jeans, and he kicks them to the side.

We stare at each other, both in our underwear, both panting, both craving a deeper connection.

It’s like Christmas morning . . . only better.

Next thing I know, I’m being dragged through his apartment and thrown onto the bed. He tears my underwear from my body. His hungry gaze drops down the length of my body as he drinks me in.

And there it is—the heat that this man creates with his stare could light up the earth. The way he looks at me is something I’ve never forgotten.

He lifts my legs and puts them around his waist and then begins to slide his thick cock through my swollen flesh.

A sexy smile crosses his face as he looks down at me. “I remember now.”

“You remember what?”

“What the F stands for in your initials.”

“What’s that?”

“Fuck bunny.”