Page 5 of Dangerously Tempting
“The more you talk, the more I want to unwrap the whole package, Amelia. You intrigue me,” I admit.
3
Amelia
Playlist: "Come With Me Now," KONGOS
I can’t help but blush again at the innuendo, and I narrow my eyes at him. “Careful, Jameson. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.” Though the words are playful, I put just enough sass into them to let him know I don’t want to play games. His eyes peruse me from my feet up to my eyes and I can’t help but shift under the heaviness of his gaze.
“Oh? I’m willing to bet I’ve got a bit of an idea of what I’m getting into.” I raise my eyebrows for him to continue, wondering what he could possibly think he knows about me after knowing me for maybe an hour. I glance down at my watch, shocked to find it’s actually been two before I look back up to find him grinning again.
“You’re feisty, and while most might take that as just who you are, I’m willing to bet it’s something you’ve mastered over years of having to protect yourself from people who didn’t show you enough value or know how to treat you right.”
It takes me a moment to gather myself after being blindsided by his accuracy and I give him a slow clap. “Please, tell me more,” I beg, the words dripping with sarcasm, but he doesn’t hesitate to do exactly that. He takes my hands from where they’re poised in the air in front of me and lowers them to my lap as he leans closer.
“It’s a front. Deep down, what you want is someone to take control.” He stresses the word control by tightening his hand around both my wrists–a perfect fit just like I knew they would be–and my mouth goes dry. “You want someone else to take the reins so that you can take a breath.”
I glance down at our hands, trying to play it cool as I quirk an eyebrow up at him. “Is that so? What makes you so sure?”
He releases my wrists and I suck in a breath at the loss of contact, my body following his for a split second before I tense and pull back. There’s that smirk again, as he settles back against the stool, his spread legs and loose posture displaying nothing but relaxation and ease.
“Couldn’t possibly be that you’re strung like a bow.”
“A bow?” I question, brows furrowing. “What does that even mean?”
“It means that with one moment of letting go, things will either fall apart or spring you forward to where you’re meant to be.”
I scoff, rolling my eyes. Is he a fucking shrink? He’s certainly giving off those vibes. I’ve never had someone try to nail down my personality traits so early into knowing me. There’s also never been an occasion when someone hit the nail so squarely on the head. But I’m sure as shit not going to tell him that.
I down the rest of my drink in a few gulps, turning back to the bar and flagging the bartender for another. I’m torn between getting blitzed so I don’t have to deal with how deep he’s trying to dive, and staying as close to sober as I can so I don’t put my foot squarely in my mouth. It feels like a ‘damned if I do, damned if I don’t’ sort of situation.
“I didn’t take you for one to cower so quickly,” he mumbles entirely too close to my ear, his breath fanning across my neck and making my skin erupt in goosebumps.
“I’m not cowering,” I force out through gritted teeth.
I’m totally cowering. How the fuck does he do that?
His fingers graze across my back as the bartender drops off my drink on the bar before me, and I clench my teeth harder to refrain from sighing, moaning out loud, or leaning into his touch. Internally, I’m purring like a cat.
“You are.” There’s a sureness in his tone that makes me feel unsettled. “It’s okay to be afraid of letting go, Amelia. If you want to take that leap, I’m more than willing to catch you.” His touch shifts, moving up to move my hair aside and brush across the back of my neck before he settles his full hand around it in a way that screams nothing shy of possession. “But only if you’re not drunk. I won’t have you without your explicit consent.”
“Jameson,” I hiss in warning as I bristle at his words, my core pulsing at the same time. His fingers tighten around my neck at the mention of his name, but he doesn’t pull away and his gaze is still heavy on the side of my face. I’ve never felt so torn before. My hand tightens around my glass reflexively, and I’m teetering between downing the whole damn thing and pushing it away.
He leans closer, drowning me in his scent, and I can’t help but pull him into my lungs. “Let go with me, Amelia,” he rumbles, his lips skimming across the shell of my ear, and I shiver.
I turn my gaze to look at him and I’m instantly lost in his vibrant green eyes. I swallow around the lump in my throat and, without looking away, push my glass to the inside of the bar. The corner of his mouth quirks up.
“Good girl.”
Oh, fuck. I’m in trouble.
Playlist: "Where Have You Been," Rihanna
When we make it upstairs to his room, after having a shared laugh at the odds of us being in the same hotel, and even on the same floor, he pauses at the door, meeting my eyes. It’s like he’s trying to verify that I’m sure before we step across the threshold. Somehow that’s become the line of no return, and though I’ve been fighting my draw to him all evening, my hesitation is now long gone.
I want to know if he’s as right as I think he is. I want to know if it will feel as satisfying as I think it will to fully let go and ‘pass the reins to someone else’ as he put it. Even if it’s for a short time, I think I could use the reprieve just as much as he insists I do. The fact that sex is part of the equation is purely an added bonus.
Yes, I want to fuck him. That’s not even a question, but I want him to take control even more. He can obviously handle my smart mouth outside of the bedroom, so the hope of him handling my brat-like antics inside of it are high. Only one way to find out.