rises so he’s standing between my legs and extracts a condom from his pocket. In one seamless movement, he rips it free, slips it on and pushes gently into me, stretching me open.
His hands reach to hold my head, and then he’s kissing me in that deep and passionate way that has so much meaning behind it.
He moves inside me, and it’s nothing like the hard thrusting of last night. This time he moves slowly, softly, and I realise he’s showing me the tenderness I asked of him.
He’s making love to me, and the feeling touches deep in my soul. His green eyes gaze into mine as his mouth moves deep against me, and his body moves with slow, meaningful strokes.
Now I feel a different kind of orgasm as warmth washes over my entire body. I am submitting my entire self to him. It is an act of total bodily surrender.
“Oh, James,” I gasp. I feel the orgasm begin to build through me.
“Isabella,” he whispers. His eyes look soft, vulnerable. I feel a sudden flash of deeper feelings for him.
Is this what l ove feels like?
Then he gasps aloud, and I feel him shudder. My orgasm bursts around him as we meld together in mutual release. We grip each other tightly, bound up close in what we’re feeling. The sensation is so much deeper than before, as though my heart and soul are complicit.
I pull him close and say his name, and he whispers mine into my hair.
Then we cling to each other, lost in the moment.
“Isabella,” he says finally. “What have you done to me?”
Chapter 9
James opens the car door for me, and I give him a wry smile.
“A BMW Z3?” I say, “In London?”
“A man needs a small vehicle to deal with the dreadful parking in this city,” he says. “Now get in the car, Isabella. It’s time for you to see my studio.”
I sink into the plush leather seat. I recognise the car from a James Bond film, which seems rather apt somehow for Mr. James Berkeley. It’s a sleek little convertible with far greater capacity than city driving would ever call for.
James slides into the driver’s seat and gives me a wicked grin.
“You’re not scared of high speeds, are you Ms. Green?”
“Stick to the speed limit please, Mr. Berkeley,” I say. “Good driving is safe driving.”
He starts up the engine, still grinning, and I feel the power of the motor rip through the car.
Wow. This car has some bite.
Leaving the apartment, James threw on a leather jacket over his band T-shirt. The kind you buy in an eye-wateringly expensive, retro seconds shop. So , now he has a little bit of James Dean about him. Behind the wheel, the look is unnerving.
“You’d best buckle-up, Isabella,” he says, leaning over to pull my belt across. “I’m going to show you what driving in London is all about.”
The BMW zooms out of Shad Thames and zips lightning-fast over London Bridge.
James looks over to where I am gripping both sides of the s eat.
“I’ll go a little slower,” he says, suppressing a smile. He dips his speed, and I exhale in relief as we glide through the maze of London backstreets.
He sure knows how to drive, I think, watching the car spin along the Thames River.
We drive through the West End, close to Chelsea, and I remember that Lorna still has my cell phone.
“Can we drop by my apartment?” I ask. “I want to pick up my phone. I gave it to Lorna last night.”
I don’t tell him why I gave it her - to stop me from sending him a string of heartbroken text messages.
“Ok.” He swings the car into the Chelsea streets.
“My apartment is just up here,” I say, pointing.
James smiles without taking his eyes off the road.
“I know where it is, Isabella,” he says. “I could probably drive to your apartment in my sleep.”
He pulls up outside, and I exit and race quickly indoors, without waiting for him to open the car door for me. Parking outside my apartment is a red zone, and I don’t want him to get a ticket.
I wave to the doorman as I run up the stairs. The elevator
His hands reach to hold my head, and then he’s kissing me in that deep and passionate way that has so much meaning behind it.
He moves inside me, and it’s nothing like the hard thrusting of last night. This time he moves slowly, softly, and I realise he’s showing me the tenderness I asked of him.
He’s making love to me, and the feeling touches deep in my soul. His green eyes gaze into mine as his mouth moves deep against me, and his body moves with slow, meaningful strokes.
Now I feel a different kind of orgasm as warmth washes over my entire body. I am submitting my entire self to him. It is an act of total bodily surrender.
“Oh, James,” I gasp. I feel the orgasm begin to build through me.
“Isabella,” he whispers. His eyes look soft, vulnerable. I feel a sudden flash of deeper feelings for him.
Is this what l ove feels like?
Then he gasps aloud, and I feel him shudder. My orgasm bursts around him as we meld together in mutual release. We grip each other tightly, bound up close in what we’re feeling. The sensation is so much deeper than before, as though my heart and soul are complicit.
I pull him close and say his name, and he whispers mine into my hair.
Then we cling to each other, lost in the moment.
“Isabella,” he says finally. “What have you done to me?”
Chapter 9
James opens the car door for me, and I give him a wry smile.
“A BMW Z3?” I say, “In London?”
“A man needs a small vehicle to deal with the dreadful parking in this city,” he says. “Now get in the car, Isabella. It’s time for you to see my studio.”
I sink into the plush leather seat. I recognise the car from a James Bond film, which seems rather apt somehow for Mr. James Berkeley. It’s a sleek little convertible with far greater capacity than city driving would ever call for.
James slides into the driver’s seat and gives me a wicked grin.
“You’re not scared of high speeds, are you Ms. Green?”
“Stick to the speed limit please, Mr. Berkeley,” I say. “Good driving is safe driving.”
He starts up the engine, still grinning, and I feel the power of the motor rip through the car.
Wow. This car has some bite.
Leaving the apartment, James threw on a leather jacket over his band T-shirt. The kind you buy in an eye-wateringly expensive, retro seconds shop. So , now he has a little bit of James Dean about him. Behind the wheel, the look is unnerving.
“You’d best buckle-up, Isabella,” he says, leaning over to pull my belt across. “I’m going to show you what driving in London is all about.”
The BMW zooms out of Shad Thames and zips lightning-fast over London Bridge.
James looks over to where I am gripping both sides of the s eat.
“I’ll go a little slower,” he says, suppressing a smile. He dips his speed, and I exhale in relief as we glide through the maze of London backstreets.
He sure knows how to drive, I think, watching the car spin along the Thames River.
We drive through the West End, close to Chelsea, and I remember that Lorna still has my cell phone.
“Can we drop by my apartment?” I ask. “I want to pick up my phone. I gave it to Lorna last night.”
I don’t tell him why I gave it her - to stop me from sending him a string of heartbroken text messages.
“Ok.” He swings the car into the Chelsea streets.
“My apartment is just up here,” I say, pointing.
James smiles without taking his eyes off the road.
“I know where it is, Isabella,” he says. “I could probably drive to your apartment in my sleep.”
He pulls up outside, and I exit and race quickly indoors, without waiting for him to open the car door for me. Parking outside my apartment is a red zone, and I don’t want him to get a ticket.
I wave to the doorman as I run up the stairs. The elevator
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