Page 65 of The Great British Bachelor Chase

“Fuck, Jolene,” he growls, and then he’s licking faster, devouring me, as his fingers thrust deeper, curling high inside me just right, just there, just a little more—

I climax with a cry, arching up against his mouth as the pleasure explodes through my body. “Fraser!”

He strokes me through it, every shiver and aftershock, and when I lift my head, gasping, I see he’s watching me, eyes dark and wild, like he’s committing the sight of me to memory.

I know that the sight of him is already burned into my mind.

I drag him up, impatient to feel his body against mine again. Fraser finds a condom in the nightstand and sheaths himself, kissing me. This time it’s slower. Deeper. A liquid heat that rolls through my bloodstream, like the finest scotch. And when we move, it’s with a new, languid pace. Stroking, exploring, making each other gasp and moan, until I’m shaking with need all over again, and I can see the tense grip of self-control in his gaze.

“I need you,” I whisper, parting my thighs for him, closing my fist around his hard cock in a slow, deliberate pump. “Fraser, I need younow.”

Now. Then.Always. Because fuck, it’s never felt like this with anyone else; the intensity of his gaze locked on mine as he slowly positions himself above me, nudging his cock at my entrance, already wet and aching for him. I shiver with anticipation, spreading wider for him, and then oh, he’s pushing his way inside me, slowly, leaving us both gasping at the feel of it, inch by perfect inch.

“Christ…” Fraser mutters, dipping his forehead, breath hot on my lips. I moan in answer, clenching tight around him, and feeling his cock leap at the grip. “Sweetheart…”

“I know,” I fight to breathe. To think. To feel anything but the exquisite friction, burning deep inside, and the weight of him, fuck, it feels so good to be in his arms again. I arch up, wrapping myself even tighter around him. Wanting no distance between us, not one single inch of space between his heart and mine. “It feels…”

Incredible. Indescribable.

Perfect.

At least, that’s what I think. And then he begins to move, driving into me in slow, deep strokes, and it gets so much better. Not wild and reckless like last night, but tender, more intimate. Our gaze locked together as our bodies find the rhythm, remembering just how to move together, to make every moment last; drawing pants and gasps that echo in the peace of the cottage.

God, I never want it to end. I lose myself in him, feeling like I’ve been cracked wide open, and my heart is bared to the elements, to him. Every deep, satisfying thrust, and maddening touch drives me higher, until I’m clinging to him, mindless, crying out for more. And Fraser gives it to me,fuck, he doesn’t stop; whispering in my ear how perfect I am, how good it feels, how I’m his,I’m his, until the pleasure takes me over, erupting through my body, and his too, as I feel him shudder inside me, climaxing with a fevered cry.

And in the haze of pleasure, I feel something ease inside me. That part of me that’s always wound tight, wondering, questioning what this is, or where it’ll go, or what the future will hold.

Because with Fraser… It feels like coming home.

17

JJ

An angry buzzcuts through my haze, and I groan in protest. “I’m not opening today,” I mumble, snuggling deeper under the covers. I don’t want to go work another shift in the store selling linen coverups to Cape Cod’s ladies of a certain age, when I could be lost in this sexy dream about Fraser and the Scottish Highlands…

But my phone buzzes again, and daylight filters behind my eyelids, and I wake to realize… It wasn’t a dream. I’m really here, with the distant purple mountain peaks rising outside the cottage window under clear skies, and Fraser’s naked body sprawled beside me in bed.

Hisverynaked body.

I take a moment of appreciation, just drinking him in: Those broad, tanned shoulders, so good at lifting me up and tossing me around. The tawny beard on his jaw, now well on its way to rugged. His taut peach of an ass…

My phone starts up again, and I reach for it, yawning. “Uh huh?”

“JJ, finally.” It’s Hazel. “What have you been doing? I’ve been calling for an hour.”

“Sorry,” I whisper, grabbing Fraser’s shirt from the heap of our discarded clothing on the floor. I pull it on, and tiptoe to the hallway. The man deserves his sleep, after the performance he put on last night. Athletic doesn’t begin to describe it…

“… So we don’t have to—JJ?” Hazel’s voice breaks through my delicious flashbacks.

“Sorry! Here. What’s going on?” I ask, tearing my thoughts away from Fraser’s stamina. “Are they still buying the cover story about Hugo’s flu? I’m sorry we’re delayed, but I swear, we’ll get to him today.”

It’s Tuesday, I realize. AKA, when Hugo was due to start shooting more scenes.

“It’s OK,” Hazel reassures me, sounding relieved. “Half the crew went wild over a seafood buffet last night and have gone down hard with food poisoning.”

“Are you serious? That’s great!” I cheer, relieved. “I mean, not for them, obviously. Shit.”

But Hazel laughs. “I know what you mean. The crew medic is keeping everyone hydrated with IVs and vitamin infusions. They’ll be fine, but at least it’s bought us an extra day, maybe two to get Hugo back.” She pauses. “And you will get him back, won’t you?”

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