Page 150 of Gilt

A look of concern settles over his face. “Do you want me to stop?”

I shake my head. I guess my one and done experience a few years ago didn’t qualify me as broken in. “I’m okay.”

He moves slowly, gradually closing the last bit of distance between us and pausing occasionally to allow me to adjust. Once we’ve managed it, we stay like that for a few moments. Finally, I release my grip on the sheets, and hook my arms around him to signal that I’m ready. Jameson brushes his lips over mine, allowing the kiss to become something more organic. Our bodies take the hint, moving in rhythm with one another, until the slight discomfort I feel morphs into a small ripple of pleasure. Jameson responds to my pleased gasp with gentle urgency, rocking against me, and coaxing me towards my shattering moment of bliss. He meets me there with a low growl that tears through him.

Neither of us move for a moment. It took us so long to get here that the idea of breaking up the party now is unthinkable. Instead, our limbs twine together and we shift until we’re on our sides, never breaking contact.

I’ve never really been one for long walks on the beach or love letters. But staring into the eyes of the guy you love after making love is pretty all right.

“What are you thinking?” he asks softly.

“That it was worth the wait,” I confess, not bothering to hide a sheepish grin.

“And?” he presses.

“That I hope you’re not going to make me wait that long for the next time,” I tease.

He presses his forehead against mine. Our skin is damp with sweat, but he laughs. “How about we do it again right now?”

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

We fall asleep, tangled together, as dawn bursts into view outside our windows. When I blink dreamily a few hours later, the orange glow of sunrise has been replaced by late morning sunlight. I’m alone in the bed, so I roll over and stare at the ceiling.

Everything has changed and nothing has changed.

Except that I’m in a better mood then I can remember having been in for weeks. I giggle as I draw the sheet over my body. Then I yank it off the bed.

Tucking it around myself, I go exploring. When I reach the living room, Jameson grins at me over a cup of coffee.

“I thought you might be hungry.” He gestures to the dining room table. It’s been laden with silver platters and pitchers. I take the lid off a plate and then another.

“Did you order everything on the menu?” I ask.

“I thought the Duchess might have an appetite this morning,” he teases.

I shove a piece of bacon in my mouth “The Duchess does.”

I could stay like this forever, but I am in New York City.

“What are our plans today?” I ask as I pluck a promising looking croissant from a platter of pastries.

“I thought we could go out and see the city.”

“Or we could stay in?” I suggest mischievously, my carnal side getting the better of me. “Neither of us are dressed after all.”

Jameson abandons his coffee and prowls toward me, “What are you suggesting Miss Southerly?”

There’s no resistance from me when he throws me over his shoulder and carries me back to bed.

It’s nearly noon by the time either of us manage to get dressed. Jameson suggests another round of room service but I shake my head. “We’ll never leave this suite if we do that.”

“Tired of me already?” he asks.

“Never,” I promise. I don’t have to say more, he understands.

I’ve never been to New York, and while I know the laundry list of tourist spots that I’m supposed to see, I defer to his wisdom.

We barely make it into the lobby before Mr. White accosts us.