~ Jameson ~She’s ecstatic, and somehow… That is priceless to me.I’ve not put someone else’s happiness or accomplishments before mine, ever. That’s a lesson my parents taught me. My mother was the one who asserted that there’s no pleasing another if you’re not pleased, yourself.I can stomach that adage.My father, however, was much more cutthroat, believing you set your sights on your own goals and achieve them, regardless of who or what stands in your way.I’ve followed both their golden rules over the years, though more acutely leveled up and accepted his concept.Yet… Every step of the way in creating my own legacy has been about a current and a future vision. I don’t think you can be a singular entity when forming an empire. You need infrastructure, and it’s not just IT-based. It’s not just fundamentally and ideologically shored up by one individual.You need people surrounding you. Genuine, genius people.That was where my father fell flat. He kind of didn’t give a shit about t
I’m wholly tempted to say that bliss personified is Jameson doing wickedly wonderful things to my body.Like… Kneading my breasts and tonguing my nipples, while his cock is pumping into me and there’s this insanely vibrant buzzing against my clit, so that my body is thrashing and my spine is bowing and my hips are raising. And I’m begging for more. So much more.Naturally, he’s not the least bit hesitant to give it to me.But I reach a point where I sort of comprehend there’s a more that’s clawing at me and a bliss personified that I haven’t yet achieved.Because although the multiple orgasms blaze through me and we’re damn lucky no one can hear me scream his name, I want him in a different way.The desire slams into me and somehow, I have super-human strength to give a shove at his chest so that he flops onto his back, bringing me with him. I straddle his lap and he continues to thrust into me.He shreds the strands at my hips and tosses aside the battery-operated, butterfly device.
~ Nikki ~ The Christmas decorations and the cloud cover add to the romantic atmosphere. I’d read that it rarely snows in Paris, but rain can be expected this time of year. Fortunately, that’s not currently the case.All in all, I am completely mind-blown.Even as we come upon a large park where a huge crowd is gathered and people are waving the French flag and some are popping corks on bottles of champagne, there is a fantastical, mystical ambience that permeates the entire city.“What are they celebrating, do you think?” I ask Jameson. I tear my gaze from the park and look at him over my shoulder.He’s quiet a moment, as though he’d been lost in thought as he’d watched me take in the scenery.He seems to catch himself and chuckles.“What’s so funny?” I press, which deepens his laugh.“They’re probably celebrating losing the World Cup.”My gaze narrows. “I’m confused.”He tells me, “The French are celebratory people, in general. They also think quite highly of their country. Second,
~ Jameson ~I’m not familiar with Nikki’s pensiveness.She’s out on the balcony, pacing.I’m observant enough—and highly attuned to her—to understand her frustration. Language barriers are a complicated hurdle to jump. And I can see, quite clearly, she’s considering this to be a fault of hers, a failure on her part. She’s blaming herself for having had difficulty keeping up during the meetings.She’s used to excelling, and that’s one of the things I admire and respect about her. She’s accustomed to being wholly present, in the moment, so that even when I’m contemplatively mulling something over and only murmuring to myself, she’s fully immersed and engaged so that she can mentally catalogue what I’m working through and instantly—instantly—pick up my lead when I latch onto where I want to go. She doesn’t hesitate or falter, she simply falls right in line with me, and we continue as though there was no disruption or delay whatsoever.Thus, for her to be trapped in a vortex of prior disc
~ Nikki ~I’m definitely swept away.I can’t describe how I’m feeling about a breakthrough happening—on many levels—amid disaster.I know I fucked up today.But Jameson is right… How am I to suddenly be a pro at everything, all at once, overnight?I take a few breaths and try to ground myself.We have the work-related stuff under control for the time being, I think.We’re on the same page and I’m willing to do whatever the hell I have to in order to exceed expectations. Also, I already have a good rapport with Molly, so I’m not terrified with having to broach the topic of a mentorship with her. I actually believe she’ll glom onto the concept, particularly knowing I’m a devout student, eager to shine for the “greater good.”What I’m currently most curious about, though, is Jameson’s contemplative expression.He’s ruminating over something deeply profound, and I’m the dying quail in this scenario, with no direction, no clue as to what has suddenly consumed his thoughts.I want to prompt
~ Nikki ~When we’re settled in the back of the limo, Jameson serves champagne.We clink rims and sip. Then he tells me, “Formal dinner times are seven and nine. We have a nine o’clock seating this evening.”“Then we are hellaciously early,” I quietly quip.“We won’t be.”The sun has set and the stars are out. Paris is lit up with all its sparkling magnificence. So, clearly, we’re going to tour the city.As we leave the Champs Élysées, we first come upon a spectacular bridge that is too breathtaking for words, with tall, sculpted pillars topped with golden statues, glowing lamps and artistically designed gilt accents that make my jaw drop.Jameson says, “This is the Pont Alexandre III bridge, crossing the Seine.”I am stunned into silence. This isn’t a bridge. This is a masterpiece.I can only snap certain angles of it, and Jameson comments, “Don’t worry. It’s on millions of postcards. We’ll pick some up for you.”I want to make a joke that my generation doesn’t send postcards, but I
~ Nikki ~A very snazzily dressed maître d’ receives us in the foyer of yet another overly stated restaurant, one of many that make me wonder if I’ll ever be able to eat at a chain franchise again. Or if I’ll be spoiled into believing there’s no sense in dining out if there aren’t five stars associated with the restaurant, and a tuxedoed host (with tails and gloves, even) to gush over us. He swiftly divests us of our outerwear and there is a lovely coat check woman to whisk the garments off to a closet for safekeeping.We’re ushered along the perimeter of the room, to a table for two in a cozy corner, by a fireplace, and with a gorgeous view of the Eiffel Tower from our private, panoramic window. The place settings are elegant, the flatware fancy, the water goblets and wineglasses all intricately crystal-cut. As expected, and yet… Still so astounding.There is a starburst chandelier hanging above our table, emitting a dim, romantic illumination. Candles serve as centerpieces.An atten
~ Nikki ~I love how he simply, though so sexily, simmers. Like… He’s all about his carriage and squared shoulders and dignified posture.And yet…He smolders in the most sensual way.But, no… It’s not just sensuality enveloping him. It’s this molten, scintillating aura he possesses, and which draws me in, instantly heightening my arousal, making me burn for him.I have the very real desire to snicker at him, for being so damn commanding of my senses. However, I’m much too captivated at the moment to utter a single word. He’s perfectly aware of his allure. Still… He acts so cool about it, so cavalier.The funny thing about that latter sentiment is that Jameson is cavalier about nothing. Not really. Sure, when he wants to lighten a mood he can be impish, or throw out a joke or two. But even in those instances, there’s a riveting undercurrent radiating from him.I’ve come to not only appreciate, but to also anticipate the undercurrent. I thrive on the undercurrent. It’s mysterious and,
~ Nikki ~I’d question anybody else’s ability to divert our attention when I’ve dropped a colossal bombshell, such as agreeing to carry someone’s baby, but this is Jameson Richards I’m dealing with.I’m well aware he’s going to take a deep dive into this surrogacy concept I’ve just agreed to, yet he isn’t derailing our private moments in lieu of immediately jumping into his personal agenda. I know he’s more than capable of abandoning an intimate rendezvous to pursue a business transaction; however, as he engages me in the type of tongueless kisses that are meant to languidly reignite our passion without jarring us from the seriousness of what I’ve just shared with him and which eases us back into that seductive lane, I’m convinced he’s not inclined to desert a coveted interlude with me.“You’re smiling,” he muses as his mouth glides over mine.“Just thinking our roller coaster is of the corkscrew variety. Plenty of twists and turns.”“And a few cliffhangers.”“Everyday with you is une
~ Jameson ~I’m taken aback.This shouldn’t be the moment we hit upon a life-altering decision regarding this specific subject. It’s always percolating in the back in my brain, clearly. Constantly. However, I’m not expecting it to be on hers. At least… not right now.Hell, even I’m a little fuzzy in the head as my cock is throbbing and I’m gazing at her, naked and snuggled close. She’s just come with a ferocity that rocks me to the core, and now she’s staring at me with absolute amazement in her eyes over the orgasm—and her current epiphany. As a result, I’m also completely mind blown.I crook a brow, prompting her to continue.After all, one does not simply announce they’ll have your baby and then move onto another topic, like you’re merely discussing the weather. Even if it’s to pivot so that we’re back on track with the sexy times. Much as my body is strained to the point of snapping, what’s more important is what she’s deliberating over.Given that she doesn’t appear to have the w
~ Jameson ~I free her from her restraints. Rub her wrists. Then I remove her blindfold.She bats her lashes at me. She smiles, beguilingly, looking quite satisfied and dreamy. Her eyelids are only at half-mast, the partial irises shimmering.Her chest is rising and falling a bit quicker than normal, but not erratically. Her skin has a light rosy tint to it and the hint of goosebumps.I see a shiver run through her and she sighs contentedly.“That was…” Her lids flutter closed. She laughs softly. Then they open and she says just one word: “Fantastic.”I chuckle. “I do aim to please.”“Oh, God…” Now, her eyes all but roll into the back of her head. “Do you ever.”I like how she doesn’t temper her responses when she’s this entranced, this euphoric.I peel back the covers on my side and maneuver her under them. Then I crawl in next to her and she immediately snuggles close to me, her body curling into mine. Her flesh is warm and her curves are enticing.She twines her arms around my neck
~ Nikki ~I successfully manage to not destroy this gorgeous piece of furniture, but that doesn’t mean I won’t spontaneously combust, burst into flames and otherwise incinerate this luxurious bedding.Breathing is simply not an option at present. The fiery sensations consuming me are all I can focus on. They blaze through my veins, leaving a sizzling trail in their wake. My inner muscles clutch Jameson’s fingers, not relinquishing their hold on him as I draw out every single ounce of pleasure he’s just given me.I’d never discount his ability to get me off with ease—he’s that skilled and I’m that hot for him. But tonight, in addition to the blindfold adding an element of mystique… His technique is also magical. Extremely commanding.Plus, he’s paying tribute to all the tiny spots that feel like electrical zings when he touches them, licks them, suckles them. I’d had no idea I had so many sensitive areas on my body until Jameson discovered them. And chances are damn good, he’s nowhere
~ Nikki ~I can read into his intentions.Perhaps, more importantly, I can buy into his intentions.I comprehend there’s a very fine line to walk, between him wanting everything he wants, and understanding that he can’t necessarily have everything he wants.For a powerful man like Jameson Richards, that has to be pure torture.And since he’s articulated a particular want—an extreme one, at that—which was ultimately met with resonant silence from the person he wants it from, he has to right his axis. This is how he plans to do it.Can’t say I mind.There is a wild thrill running through me over all the unknown variables presented. The inherent danger here is that I can only take a stab at what he might be up to, without fully knowing. Because he can tie me up and make me surrender to him… Or he can abandon the kinky items he’s just laid out and go straight for the kill.As I gaze at him and his jaw works rigorously, I see he’s contemplating the two options as well.And the satisfying
~ Nikki ~I duck into the en suite to brush my teeth, then spritz a light fragrance in the air. I walk through the mist, just to pick up the essence of it. I slip out of the robe and into a peek-a-boo nightie with a violet, lacy, angled bra-bodice that dips low between my breasts and is extremely revealing. The skirt is lavender charmeuse, with a short hem in front and a longer one in back, creating a soft, rippled effect. There are matching, lacy slippers, but I don’t bother with them. I do, however, opt for the charmeuse thong. The satiny material is irresistible.I pass Jameson as he’s headed in the direction of the bathroom. His gaze roves my body, his jaw tightens and heat flares in his eyes. He makes to divert his trajectory and, instead, follow me to the bed, but he stops himself. Lets out a low rumble and says, “Just give me a minute.”“Not like I’m going to fall asleep when I know what awaits…” I wag my brows, suggestively.It has become infinitely easier to flirt with this m
~ Nikki ~I have not a single coherent thought in my brain, and it has nothing to do with the lovely buzzing state I’ve returned to as I relax under scented bubbles and sip from an uncouthly filled glass of wine. A serious double-pour if ever there was one. I’m extra careful not to spill as I tip the rim toward me and take a deeper drink.Every fiber of my being is screaming that I am way, way, wayyyy over my head with Jameson Richards. At the same time, I’m appreciative that he’s not breathing down my neck or pacing alongside the tub, expectantly, waiting for me to say something.For the most part, we arrived at this particular juncture in a very straight-forward manner and yet… No. I feel as though we’ve taken one of those scary-AF, sliver-thin roads that are cut into craggy mountain sides that you see posted on Instagram or Facebook. The caption always asks, “Would you?” and I always, vehemently declare, “Oh, hell no!” To no one in particular.And yet… I’ve gone and found one of th
~ Nikki ~I certainly don’t have to voice the query that seeks clarification of his highly unanticipated remark. It’s quite obvious he’s as bewildered as I am.He hadn’t intended to heave the sentiment into the universe—and I have the distinct feeling he’s not even fully sure of its true or full meaning.He pours bottled water into two crystal tumblers and passes one to me. I sip in silence, knowing we still have a lengthy drive and it’s going to be an uncomfortable one.Though… Playing it cool doesn’t really work for me. Pretending I didn’t hear what I heard isn’t going to fly. With every passing second, the demand for an explanation becomes more insistent, so that it’s clawing up my throat and I can’t even swallow down the raging curiosity with the water.Suddenly, I involuntarily blurt, “What was that?”He very casually retorts, “That was us not being able to make it to the villa without tearing each other’s clothes off. Even though we’re only ten more minutes away.”“Ten minutes?”
~ Nikki ~I ignore my own internal query and add, “Much as I’d enjoy dinner with you, I do have a full itinerary.”I pray this is diplomatic and tactfully delivered.Marco tips his glass to me and easily contends, “Next time.”No one is nonplussed. They polish off their cheesecake, wine and espresso. I force myself to do the same. We all share departing pleasantries, and Jameson and I are returned to the main entrance and building, alongside the olive orchard. I excuse myself to go to the ladies’ room.I’m admittedly tipsy as I meet up with him at the car.He, on the other hand, is a tad stoic. And rigid again.I take my own wild gander at what has him on edge. Leaning into him, I murmur, “You didn’t really consider I’d accept Marco’s invitation, did you?”“You enjoyed flirting with him,” he simply counters.“Because I can’t flirt with you,” I whisper. “Not in public.”His jaw sets.There is clearly something on his mind. Something serious.I’ll have to take a stab at drawing it out o