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I grip her hips again and find a punishing rhythm, slamming balls deep with each drive. I fuck her as hard as I can, lifting to my toes with each stroke to get as much of her as possible. I can feel my cock swelling, getting harder and harder inside her as I feel like my whole body is going to explode.
She hovers on the edge, her breath caught in her throat. I smack her ass one time, and she clamps down on me, crying out into the night. “Fuck . . . Carson . . . yes!”
My balls churn hot and then explode, cream pumping into her in pulses. I throw my head back, coming harder than I think I ever have in my life. I swear I feel my soul leave my body and then snap back into place.
Her pussy is still shuddering, the spasms demanding more from me. I told her to suck me dry, and fuck if she’s not doing it. I thrust deep inside her and hold her still in my grip, grinding myself against her.
My legs are shaking with exertion, but I want to stay buried in her a little while longer. Gentling my touch, I trace over the skin of her lower back and hips. “Fuck, that was . . .”
My vocabulary fails me, and Jayme laughs lightly, both of us moaning softly as her laughter makes her squeeze around me.
“Yes, it was,” she agrees, apparently unable to find words either.
We’ve fucked ourselves stupid.
Slowly, I pull out of her, wishing I didn’t have to. But I see headlights way down below. They’re still several minutes out, but I don’t want to risk someone seeing Jayme half-naked. I’m protective of her and her reputation too.
As we adjust our clothing as best we can, I tell her, “At some point, we need to do this in a bed where we can take our time, fuck in every different position, and then just lie there afterward until we fall asleep.”
Her smile is full of danger. “Where’s the risk in that?”
I take her in my arms, grinning in joy. “Ooh, you’re naughtier than I thought. I love it.”
She giggles happily, and I feel ten feet tall and bulletproof. I grab the helmet and help her slip it back on, and then we ride off into the night again. But it feels different now.
Something shifted in that Ferris Wheel car, but it shifted even more on that deserted cliff. My jumbled mess and Jayme’s organized chaos are twining together into something greater than the sum of its parts. Or at least that’s how it feels to me.
She didn’t say where to go, but we end up outside her apartment building. I pull over to the curb, giving the doorman a cocky smirk. Turning the motorcycle off, I tell her, “Myron isn’t happy to see me again.”
So much of our time together has been spent at the office, I realize. It’s my second home, and I spend most of my days and nights there anyway, so I hadn’t noticed that though it’s been weeks, I’ve never been inside Jayme’s place, nor has she been to mine. It feels inordinately weird that someone so close to me hasn’t sat on my couch, slept in my bed, and padded barefoot into the kitchen for a morning cup of coffee.
I want that with Jayme’s place too. To mark her space with my presence, see her living room, make some memories in her bedroom. Hell, I want to have a space in her toothbrush cup for one of mine and a towel on her rack. I want things that are . . . downright domestic.
The thought’s not as scary as it would have been a short while ago.
“Myron’s fine. He looks out for me is all,” Jayme says, throwing a wave Myron’s way. He lifts his chin, and I’m certain that greeting is all for her and none for me.
“Can I come up?” I ask, suddenly nervous. This means something to me.
She smiles in surprise. “Yeah, of course. But we have an early morning,” she reminds me.
“I’ll set an early alarm to give me time to go home and change.” That’ll also give her time to get ready because tomorrow is a big day for both of us.
She takes my hand and leads me toward the door. “Hey, Myron! How’re you tonight?” she greets the stony-faced man.
He gives me a very protective warning look and then gives Jayme a friendly smile. “Doing well, ma’am. Can I help with anything this evening? Take out the trash, maybe?”
His face is light and kind, but it’s obvious he means me.
Jayme laughs. “Har-har, Mr. Comedian. No, I’m good for tonight. But . . . uh, can you set up a car to take me in the morning? Seven o’clock?” She cringes as she asks, as though she’s unaccustomed to asking for help. Or realizing that she just told her doorman that the guy who gave her a ride home will be gone before sunrise.
