Nashville SEAL: Jameson: Nashville SEALs Read Online Free PDF Page A

Jameson.”
    He angled back and watched his fingers slip inside her again, reveling in her desperate moans as his two fingers went to the hilt. His thumb pressed her nub, rubbing and reveling in how her lower torso began to vibrate, her knees hugged his ears as she pulled his head into her crotch again.
    He sucked at her petals, spreading her apart with his thumbs, stopping to watch and then partaking of her juices again and again.
    Her hand had found the front of his pants, with his cock bobbing out in front. She pulled him to her opening, ringing her fingers around his shaft as he entered her, squeezing him, and then squeezing his balls as he began to move his hips against her to the same rhythm.
    Grateful they had some cover, he didn’t worry about the bouncing cab or the noises they made. They were not visible to the two-lane highway or anything nearby. He was rooting deep, making her liquid with each thrust. She’d folded her bodice down and her breasts were available to him, bulging out of the brocade lined with seed pearls. He took her right nipple in his teeth, and then encircled it with his tongue, pulling as he sucked the areola stiff.
    He couldn’t get deep enough, couldn’t get enough of her. His kisses up her neck, into her ear, then under her chin and finally on her lips drove him wild with need. His undulations began a fierce convulsion, holding as she spasmed around him. He found her butt cheeks under the layers of fabric, pulling her up to meet the angle of his hips as he held her firm against him and spilled.
    He was still chuckling to himself how messed up Lizzie looked, her face still flushed, sweat still on her brow, her upper lips, her red lipstick smeared halfway to her nose. He wouldn’t tell her, and hope he could grab her and kiss her until she stopped being mad at him when she looked at the mirror and discovered it. He loved making her mad.
    His thoughts nearly made him miss the turnoff for the Inn.
    “Fuck me, hold on, Lizzie,” he said as he hard-righted the Hummer, nearly losing control on the crushed granite shoulder that led to the courtyard outside the reception area beyond. Sounds of the highway were strong, but he heard water running all around which muted the noise. The stucco exterior was covered in green vines that snaked randomly to the roof overhang. The red tips and new growth added color and made the outside look like some ancient French provincial village, not an inn in the Wine Country. They walked up the few shallow steps into an inviting lobby area lit with pleasant clean-scented candles.
    The room was divided into two sections, both fed by an enormous fireplace, roaring and sending shadows upon memorabilia: swords, African spears and crests, maps, artifacts, shelves of pottery and cases housing old texts, journals and faded photographs. On one wall was a painted map tracing Northern California highways and the Silverado Trail, as well as trails long traveled by early explorers, identifying native peoples of the area and noting important events. A route was painted from San Francisco Bay north, through Sonoma Valley up through the gold country where the ’49er gold rush was located. It was the story of a 19 th century explorer and his experiences traveling through the region.
    “Welcome to the Waterwheel Inn,” the bright young man with a bow tie greeted them.
    Lizzie and Jameson were engrossed with thoroughly enjoying the ambience and history of the entire foyer.
    “You checking in?”
    “Yes.” Jameson gave the clerk his paper reservation.
    “Daniels. Ah yes, upgraded you to the Grande Romance Suite, compliments of some of your friends and the house.”
    Lizzie turned around, hoisting her dress as she wafted over next to Jameson. The clerk noticed her state of fluster, raising his eyebrows but keeping his eyes on Jameson after that.
    “We have a suite?” Lizzie asked, forcing the clerk to focus on her again nervously.
    “Yes, ma’am. A nice one. Across the