“No details, and I’ll bring you a real coffee tomorrow morning from that place across the street from the hotel,” I offered.
“Deal. Now scram before I change my mind.”
Callan didn’t need to be told twice. He placed his hand on the small of my back as he guided me through the crowded expo hall, the heat of his palm burning through my dress in a way that made it difficult to walk normally.
The supply closet was exactly where the janitor Callan had paid said it would be, tucked away in a quiet corridor far from the main expo floor. The door swung open to reveal a cramped space filled with cleaning supplies and folded tables.
“Very romantic,” I deadpanned as he pulled me inside and locked the door behind us. “Nothing says ‘I love you’ like thesmell of industrial floor cleaner and the ambiance of fluorescent lighting.”
“Would you prefer rose petals and string quartets, Mrs. Burkhardt?” He grabbed my waist, drawing me hard against him so I could feel exactly how much he’d missed me. “Because I can have those here in thirty minutes if you’re feeling under appreciated.”
“Shut up,” I murmured, rising on my toes to kiss him, my fingers already working on his tie. “And stop calling me that when you know what it does to me.”
His laugh vibrated against my lips. “That’s precisely why I do it, Mrs. Burkhardt.”
My retort was lost as his mouth claimed mine again, the kiss deeper, hungrier than before. For all our teasing, there was nothing funny about the way his hands skimmed down my sides, bunching the fabric of my dress until he could grip my bare thighs above my stockings.
“We have seventeen minutes,” I reminded him, already breathless as he lifted me onto a stack of folded tablecloths. “Probably closer to fifteen now.”
“Then we better not waste time,” he growled, pushing my dress up to my waist.
The sound I made when his fingers found me through my underwear was embarrassingly needy, but I was past caring. He groaned against my neck when he discovered how wet I already was, the thin silk of my panties soaked through.
“Still glad you married me?” he asked, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric to stroke me.
“Ask me again in five minutes,” I gasped, fumbling with his belt.
“I’m insulted you don’t think I can last longer, darling.” He bit my earlobe as he pushed a finger inside me. I moaned against his shoulder.
“Oh I know you can, but this is more about efficiency.”
What followed was a desperate, frantic collision of hands and lips and whispered instructions. The confined space meant we knocked over a mop and nearly toppled a shelf of paper towels, but neither of us could be bothered to care as I wrapped my legs around his waist. Callan braced one hand against the wall behind me, the other gripping my hip as he drove into me hard enough to make me bite my lip to keep from crying out.
“God, I missed you,” he panted against my neck, his rhythm building as my nails dug into his shoulders through his shirt. “Three days is too long.”
“Yes. Definitely too long.” The words dissolved into a moan as he hit that perfect spot inside me. “Oh god, right there.”
Callan’s grip on my hips tightened, his thrusts growing harder, more insistent. He held me against the cold wall of the supply closet, the contrast of heat and chill sending electric shocks through my body. My legs wrapped tighter around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, urging him on.
“Don’t hold back,” I breathed into his ear, my voice barely a whisper. “We don’t have time for gentle.”
A low growl rumbled in his chest, and he captured my mouth in a fierce kiss, teeth grazing my lower lip. The shelves behind us rattled with each movement, the sound of our bodies colliding echoing in the small space. His fingers dug into my flesh, holding me in place as he drove into me again and again.
He swore under his breath, his pace increasing until the world around us blurred. The scent of sex and sweat filled the air. My heart pounded in my chest, my breath coming in short gasps as pleasure coiled tight within me.
“Close,” I managed to choke out, my body tensing as the first waves of orgasm began to crest. “So close.”
Callan’s hand slid between us, his fingers finding my clit. He stroked me in time with his thrusts, the dual sensation pushingme over the edge. I bit down on his shoulder to muffle my cry as I came, my body convulsing around him.
“Fuck, Anica,” he groaned, his movements growing erratic as he chased his own release. His body stiffened, and he buried his face in my neck, a low groan escaping him as he climaxed.
For a moment, we stayed locked together, breathless and trembling in the aftermath. Then he raised his head to look at me, his eyes soft with a tenderness that still took me by surprise sometimes.
“I love you,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to mine. “Even in supply closets that smell like bleach.”
“How romantic,” I laughed, but my heart swelled with the same ridiculous happiness I felt every time he looked at me like that. “I love you too. Now put me down before someone comes looking for cleaning supplies and finds the CEO of Burkhardt Industries with his pants around his ankles.”
“Mm-hmm,” he agreed chuckling, making no move to pull away. “Just give me a second to recover. You wrecked me.”
