Page 101 of Charming Deception

“I… thank you.” I’m not sure what else to say. I’ve never had a woman I barely know bustle into my room the moment I wake to offer to help bathe and dress me.

Jameson must’ve given her my phone number. And asked her to come help me get my day started?

“My pleasure.” Clara departs, along with the food guy, shutting the door behind them, and I exhale. Then I force myself out of the luxurious bed.

I had a shower last night, but that was before I watched Jameson make himself come, gushed in my panties, and masturbated. A quick rinse and fresh panties are definitely on the agenda before that coffee.

And just maybe… some kind of outfit that’ll make Jameson want to play with his dick again would be grand.

* * *

The multiple showerheads pound down on my muscles, warming my skin and massaging me to buttery contentment. By the time I dry off and head out to the balcony clean and refreshed, light makeup on, I feel reborn.

Billionaire life is working for me, so far.

Especially the billionaire himself.

I find Jameson alone on the balcony. My belly does a happy little flip at the sight of him, relaxed and waiting for me, lounging back on a cushioned outdoor dining chair. His sunglasses are pushed up onto his head, and the breeze licks at the waves of his hair.

Apparently, his idea of “shaving” is trimming his light layer of blondish stubble, and I am here for it. The man has the exact right amount of almost-beard for my liking.

I’m usually not a total morning person, but my eyes could die happy waking to a sight like this.

The balcony is in partial sun, and he squints a little in the bright morning light, his eyes following me as I settle into the chair opposite his at the table for two.

Then his gaze moves down, settling for a moment on my breasts.

I wore my most gravity-defying push-up bra with my most low-cut sundress. The one with the straps that always fall off my shoulders. Like they’re already doing now, the top few buttons popped open so that my cleavage jiggles in his face when I sit down.

I dressed this way after a brief argument with myself in the walk-in, because I’m winging it here and I decided that being a tease might not be so bad after all. Not if it gets a reaction like what happened last night.

Because that was a hell of a reaction.

The man either hasn’t come in ages, is naturally high yield when it comes to semen, or he was just that worked up about my presence in his bed.

I’m really hoping for that last thing, because at least that means we’re suffering in the same boat.

“Enjoy your shower?” His eyes skip away, then land on my breasts again as if drawn by magnets as I lean forward to take a sip of water. There’s no trace of anything he might be thinking or feeling in his tone.

He’s very practiced that way.

But after last night, I feel like I got a glimpse behind the curtain.

He’s used to being highly composed, in control, but I saw him lose that composure completely. I saw him helpless to the orgasm he’d unleashed, his body racked with pleasure, muscles clenched and gleaming with sweat as he came. Grunting with the overwhelming release as he struggled to keep quiet, and failed.

I realize he’s staring at me, a good half minute too late.

What did he just say?

“Um, the shower is amazing. I hope I wasn’t making weird noises in there. It was so luxurious. I wasn’t touching myself or anything, I swear.”

Holy Christ. Did I just say that?

My cheeks flush hot.

“I mean… not that I…”

Just stop, Megan.

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