Page 149 of Gilt

The bathroom is nearly as big as the bedroom and decorated in warm shades of white. I’m pretty certain we could fit a cocktail party’s worth of people in the Jacuzzi. Actually, I could probably open my own spa here.

I opt for the walk-in shower, turning the water on to the sear setting. I can barely get my clothes off because I’m shaking so hard. Rummaging through the drawers of the vanity I find toothpaste, a razor, and a few other necessities like lip gloss and a hair tie. I also discover the handful of cosmetic items I occasionally use. Jameson didn’t miss any details.

The steam from the shower rolls through the space, misting over the mirror. Shower’s ready. I step under the cascade and hope the heat will clear my thoughts. But this isn’t a sinus infection. This is sex, and my head is a muddled mess. I decide to go through the motions. I wash my hair and shave my legs. Then I just stand there and allow the water to flow over me as if I’m cleansing myself for some type of ceremonial offering.

“This is not your first time, Emma,” I remind myself. But really it may as well be. I don’t remember being nervous when I lost my virginity. Then again I didn’t remember all that much about that night.

This is different. I want Jameson. I’ve wanted him since the first night we met. I’d stuck to my guns then, not allowing him entrance into my treasure chest. I’d promised myself I’d be in love before I had sex again, and I’ve been in love with Jameson for months. Now as summer days drifted away, I should be jumping into bed while I had the chance.

We’d had other opportunities this summer and there’d been no nerves in the heat of the moment. Jameson had been the one to stick to his rule about waiting until I was eighteen. Most of the time I’d been embarrassingly ready to go. The spontaneous horniness that accompanied a good make-out session had served as some sort of readiness lubricant. There’d been no room for over-analysis in my hormone-riddled brain.

“There’s only one thing for it,” I decide. “Close your eyes and think of England.”

I shut off the water and realize my fingers look like raisins. “Super hot.”

I vacillate between pumping myself up and tearing myself down as I towel off. Now comes the hard part: do I wrap myself in this or opt for my birthday suit? My eyes land on the solution to my problem: a silky robe hanging from a hook on the back of the door. I have no doubt it’s been placed here especially for me. How long had Jameson been planning this little impromptu getaway?

Slipping it on, I knot the sash tightly as if girding my loins. Steam escapes into the empty bedroom. I half expected to find Jameson waiting for me here. Tiptoeing through the suite, I spot him on the patio outside. The first ribbons of dawn are creeping along the horizon, casting citrus hues over the buildings surrounding the hotel. With each passing second, the noises from the street below grow louder as the city begins its day.

So much for avoiding the roof top, I think to myself as I head toward him. Jameson doesn’t turn as I step onto the patio behind him. When I reach him, I place my hand over his on the balcony.

“Did you find everything you needed?” His voice is thick with emotion. When he finally faces me, his gray eyes blaze with a ferocity I’ve never seen before.

I nod. I have now. I’m not the only who’s worked up over finally going to bed together. Maybe he’s not nervous, but it’s as important to him as it is to me. It’s all I really need to know.

“Jameson, I’m ready,” I say in a soft voice.

He doesn’t ask me to explain. Instead he sweeps me into his arms and carries me inside. The bed welcomes me as Jameson lays me across it. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed and reaches for his top button.

“Let me,” I stop him. My fingers tremble as I undo each one until I’m shaking so hard that I fumble. His hands close over mine and he takes over the job until the button-down falls open. He shrugs it off and I reach for the flat panel of his chest, running my palm along the carved ridges of his pecs. I pause there feeling his heart beating under my hand.

Jameson’s eyes find mine and I see the unspoken question in them. Can I feel the connection? The thread binding me to him? With my free hand, I untie the sash of my robe and allow it to fall. It’s as good an answer as I can manage.

There aren’t words to describe the feeling that’s overcome me. He seems to understand this, and he moves beside me, drawing my body close to his. Brushing the wet hair from my face, he kisses each cheek, then my forehead, then along my jawline. He worships me slowly and my body softens under his touch.

Still after all this time, I’d expected a little more urgency. Jameson seems to understand the need to take it slow. We’ve been through a lot recently.

But my paranoia gets the best of me. Am I just laying here like some cold, dead fish? I reach up and tangle my fingers through his hair, tugging his face closer so that I can capture his lips. He surrenders, but only long enough to steal my breath away.

“There’s no need to rush,” he murmurs the reassurance.

I let him take charge then. There will be plenty of time for the more female-empowering positions of the Kama Sutra later. Right now, I give him my faith, my body, my everything.

He accepts it with each sweep of his mouth over mine and each caress of his hands on my body. I give myself to him, and he offers himself to me. We take and we give, allowing the heat of our bodies to conquer any apprehension we might feel. When my fingers find the buckle of his pants, his hands close over my wrist.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

I can’t find the words, not with all the emotions swelling inside of me, so I nod. This simple act of consent speeds us along a bit, and my heels shove his pants down. He settles against me and I can feel the heat of him. Even with our bodies still separate, in so many ways, we’re closer that we’ve ever been before. We pause on the cusp of something that might change our relationship forever.

“I love you.” His words are a vow. He traces them along the soft, bare contours of my body.

I find my voice, so I can repeat the precious statement. Three simple words that carry more weight than any others in the world.

Our lips crash together, his tongue flicking my mouth open so that he can deepen the kiss. I arch against him, but he doesn’t accept the invitation. Instead, he breaks away, panting. Brushing his thumb over my lower lip, he smiles. “Hold on a sec, Duchess.”

When he breaks contact, I bite my lip where he touched it, trying to resist the impulse to squirm. He tears open a foil packet. For a split second, I realize there’s a lot of things we haven’t discussed, and I make a mental note that it’s time for me to get on the pill. Before I can berate myself for not being more cautious, he lowers his body over mine and the worries melt away.

I wiggle my hips, and he grabs them, holding me steady. His patience can be infuriating, but when I finally feel the first, hard edge of pressure, I gasp. My hands seek the sheets, and I grip them tightly.