The Stopover (The Miles High Club 1)

“Whatever’s the quickest.”

An hour later, he pulls me up the sidewalk by the hand. “My car is parked around here.” He turns and takes me into his arms and aggressively kisses me, and I smile against his lips. The way we laughed and talked over dinner tonight reminded me of the Jim I remember, the man on the plane who was interested in everything about me and my life. As if he felt it, too, we nearly made out in the middle of a crowded restaurant. He’s not wrong; this attraction is insane.

“Hurry,” I whisper against his lips.

It’s one thing to go out to dinner with a gorgeous man—it’s another to imagine yourself under the table, sucking his dick the entire time.

I don’t know if it’s that he told me that I was the best sex he’s ever had, but . . . damn it, I want to blow his frigging mind. I’m desperate to get him naked. I want to be that girl he turned me into in Boston again. I’ve missed her.

We turn the corner, and I see the big black limousine parked by the curb. I stop still.

“What?” He frowns.

“The limo is here?”

“Yes. So?”

I stare at him for an extended moment.

He rolls his eyes and opens the back door

. “Get in.”

I climb in, and within two seconds, he’s in the car and has me straddled over his lap with my dress up around my waist. The security screen is up, providing us with privacy. His cock is hard, and he grabs my hip bones and guides my sex back and forth over him as we kiss. His hands are on my behind and then trailing up and down my back as my body takes on a rhythm of its own.

His eyes are dark, and his fingers dip into my panties, and he slides them through my flesh. “Fuck,” he whispers. “I could blow just by feeling this beautiful, hot pussy.”

I begin to rock down on him with force, searching for a deeper connection, and his jaw hangs slack as he stares up at me. I don’t know what the hell kind of nympho pills someone slipped into my drink at dinner, but I find myself on the floor between his legs, and I unzip his jeans with force.

He hisses as I push him back into his seat and spread his legs aggressively.

Our eyes lock, and I lick the end of him and taste the preejaculate as it oozes from his head. He cups my face, and I take him deep down my throat as he clenches. “Fuck,” he growls in a whisper as his stomach contracts. “Fucking hell, Emily.”

I begin to fist him hard, and he lurches underneath me. He’s going to come.

I want him to come hard, quick . . . and unbridled. I need to own him tonight.

Pleasing him makes me feel good about myself, and this new version of Emily is someone I like. I want to keep her.

“Emily,” he growls as he grabs a handful of my hair. “We’re home.” He pushes the lock down on the door just before his driver tries to open it.

I scramble to the seat, and he zips his jeans up as we both pant, gasping for air.

What the hell? This man makes me an animal.

He turns to me and smirks as he fixes my hair. “Let’s just get to the apartment, shall we?” He kisses me tenderly; his lips linger over mine as we stare at each other.

“It’s good to see you again, Emily Foster,” he whispers.

I lick my lips as I climb back over to straddle him. “It’s good to taste you again, Jameson Miles.” I rock my sex over him, and he grabs my hip bones and holds me still.

“Stop,” he commands. “Stop now.”

I put my lips up to his ear. “I want you to blow your load in your car,” I whisper before biting him. “Fuck me right here.”

“Jesus Christ.” He pushes me off and opens the door in one swift movement, and the driver drops his head as he pretends not to know what we were doing in there.

“Thank you,” Jameson says as he pulls me out and marches into the building.