When we get back to Hawthorne House and step into the foyer, we hear Nan on the piano filling the marble room. "The Grand Adage. Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake." Jameson says, answering my question of what song it was before it's even muttered.
I don't know why, but this song, and him immediately knowing what I wanted to know, makes me walk over to him in fast, ambitious steps. Like with what song it was, Jameson instinctively knows what I'm doing.
He grabs my waist as I reach for his jaw, then obliterates the space between us, smashing our lips together and walking us into the privacy of the coat closet. He pushes me into a gap between coats, pinning me against the wall as he kisses me. My tongue goes into his mouth. His hands go into my hair. I seperate our lips, our tongues, our bodies, but his hands stay in my hair and my arms stay wrapped around his neck. "Let's...go upstairs."
He readily agrees and we race up the stairs and down the hall to my bedroom. When we step into my room, and once the door slams, my mouth is on his and he's ripping his jacket off. I seperate our chests, walking with him back to my bed, my fingers making fast work of the top five buttons of his shirt. "Do you want to go first again?" he asks, helping me take off my jacket, "Or should I?"
I sit down on my bed, my dress riding up and hitting me mid-thigh. "I don't mind going first." He smirks at me, then touches his hand to my face, kissing me softly. I kick off my heels as Jameson puts his hand on the small of my back and leans me back onto the bed, not breaking our mouths apart as he gets on top of me. He props himself up with the knee he slides in between my thighs and puts his hands to my waist, pulling my body into his. I put my hands on his jawbone and chin and I kiss him. His tongue tastes like coffee and cognac in my mouth.
He puts his left hand in the middle of my chest and kisses my neck, biting and sucking the soft, thin skin just under my jaw. I turn my head up, looking through my balcony doors upside down. The moonlight beams in through the doors, illuminating my room.
Jameson kisses me from my collarbone, then down my arm, then finishes with a peck on my knuckles with swollen lips. He slowly stands up as he does so, straightening himself a 10th of a degree with each peck on my body. I prop myself up on my elbows, watching as he rolls up his sleeves, exposing his muscular forearms and then walking over and switching off my lamp. He comes back to me, putting his hands on my hips and leaning down to kiss me. I let him for a minute, my hands grabbing his wrists as we kiss. He puts his hands on the sides of my thighs, pushing the hem of my dress farther up my legs.
"Can I take these off?" he asks, putting two fingers into each of my stockings. I reach up, touching his face, keeping his lips on mine and muttering a "yes," into his mouth.
He crouches down in front of me, slowly rolling my stockings down my thighs. His cups his hand around the back of my calf, just below my knee. "You don't have to do this, Jameson," I say.
He rests his elbows beside my legs, and takes my thigh in his hand, rubbing circles on my inner thigh with his thumb. I think back to the pool, and find myself not believing that it was only a few hours ago. "Why wouldn't I? That was the deal, remember?" He kisses the inside of my knee. "Do you want to stop?"
"No, I-"
"Then it's settled. A deal's a deal, Heiress. Plus, I want to make you feel good," he states. He inches my dress up and over my hips with his fingers and rests his hand on the band of my panties. He looks up at me, waiting for my confirmation. I nod, and he takes them off, getting up from his cross-legged sitting position and resting on his knees. He throws my underwear across the room, maintaining eye contact with me as he guides me in putting my legs over his shoulders. He uses his hands, placing them loosely on my hips and moving me closer to his head. He kisses the inside of my thigh, getting higher and higher with each peck. "Are you sure you're ready?" he asks.
