“Game?” she whispered, slowly moving till she was straddling his lap, raised up on her knees.
“What kind of game?” he whispered back. She kept shifting and sliding around, moving like silk against his body, till she was kneeling at his side.
“You can't say one word,” she breathed, moving around so she was pressed against his back.
“Or what?”
“Or I win, and it's all over,” she chuckled, working his tie loose and dragging it over his head.
“Doesn't sound like a very fun game to me,” he pointed out, letting her pull him back. She forced him to lay down flat as she moved back to his side.
“Trust me, I'll make it fun,” she assured him, and he felt her hands on his belt buckle.
“You say that. Somehow I doubt it,” he challenged her. She snorted and yanked his pants down.
“By the end of the night, you'll be worshipping me. Game starts now,” she said.
“Wait, I never -,”
Her teeth skimmed the underside of his dick, and Jameson choked on air. She chuckled; a condescending sound that made him want to yank on her hair and tell her who was in charge. But he hated to lose. So he swallowed his groan and closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of her lips working their way to the base of his cock.
This woman will be the death of me.
Of course, that was nothing new. Jameson had slept with a lot of women in his day, and none of them compared to Tate. She always kept him wanting more. Was always more than enough, which was really saying something, considering the crazy things he'd done in past. The crazy things that had become somewhat standard to him. Almost boring, even …
*
“... is all the paperwork ready?” Jameson asked, strolling down a wide hallway while trying to eat a hot dog. Lunch on the go.
“Everything is ready. Is there a reason you keep asking?” Sanders replied, flipping through some pages in a folder he was carrying. Jameson glanced down at him.
“Attitude. I like it. I'm just double checking – that stupid fucking party is tomorrow, and I know Dunn hasn't done a goddamn thing to prepare for it. What a mistake, going into a partnership with that guy,” Jameson grumbled, taking another bite of his food.
“I never understood why you agreed to it. The party is all set – I booked the caterer and drove down to Boston yesterday to check out the office space. Everything is ready to go. What are the plans for tonight? Dinner?” Sanders asked, shutting the folder and placing a tablet on top of it.
“No, no dinner,” Jameson said around a full mouth. “Club. If this is my last night in New York for a while, I'm gonna make it count.”
“A very adult approach, I'm sure.”
“Watch it. I don't like attitude that much.”
“Any particular club?” Sanders ignored him.
“I'll figure it out. But I don't want to stay at home, you can have the movers start boxing up the rest of the shit. We'll stay at the Waldorf,” Jameson informed him.
“Alright, I'll book a suite.”
A man came around a corner and Jameson went to side step him, but it forced him into Sanders. The bump was enough to knock all the stuff out of Sanders' hands. The younger man glared up at Jameson, flicked his eyes to the mess on the floor, then back up. Jameson held up his hands, trying hard not to laugh. Sanders hated messes.
“I've got it, I've got it, don't worry your pretty little head,” Jameson teased, then bent down to pick up the mess.
He wasn't looking forward to living in Boston. He wasn't necessarily a fan of Bean Town. But he owned a home there, and Dunn was an old friend who had been looking for a helping hand. Jameson had more than enough money to throw around, and life had gotten pretty stagnant, so he thought maybe it would be fun. He could work with his clients from anywhere in the world, location didn't matter. And New York was always just a drive away, so it couldn't be too bad.
I'll be back living here by New Year's.
Jameson went out alone. He had no problems doing things alone, because not only was he ridiculously happy with his own company, but being wealthy and good looking had multiple advantages - he rarely ended any night alone.
And that night he ended with twice the fun.
The next morning, Jameson was awoken by a shaft of sunlight burning across his eyelids. He groaned and tried to lift an arm to block it, but something was on top of him. He finally opened his eyes. A woman was laying on top of his arm, pinning it between the mattress and her breasts. He couldn't quite feel his fingertips. He looked down at his chest and another woman was stretched across him.
“What fucking time is it?” he croaked out, yanking his arm free.
“Just after seven in the morning, sir. If we want to get to Boston in time to be settled and ready for the event, we should leave soon.”
Sanders' voice was soft, and Jameson looked around till he found the younger man. He was standing in front of the windows, opening another set of drapes.
“Yeah, fine, get them out of here. I've got a headache the size of Belgium,” Jameson complained, shoving the other woman off of him before crawling out of the bed.
He stumbled into the en suite, yanking on a pair of boxers as he went. He yawned and ran his hand through his hair, frowning at his reflection. He looked hungover as fuck; hopefully he'd improve before the evening. He didn't want to look that way in front of potential clients. He shrugged and shoved a tooth brush in his mouth while he turned on the water. He was opening the complimentary tooth paste when he heard raised voices in the next room. He turned off the water and listened. When one of the girls began shouting, he stepped back into the room.