Half a block from the hotel entrance, he stops dead, tugging me in so I collide with his chest. One hand braces at my hip, the other curving around the back of my neck as he bends close. His lips brush the shell of my ear as he whispers, “And you’ll let go for me again.”
I should shove him away, hiss at him to remember where we are. But instead, my knees weaken, my head tips toward his shoulder, and for a moment, I forget about consequences, about reputations, about everything but him.
The hotel glows ahead, golden light spilling onto the sidewalk. Inside, the elevator doors slide open with a chime. We step in, the hush wrapping around us. I press myself against the back wall, trying to gather air, but it’s useless with him filling the space.
His hand brushes mine. A reminder that he’s not done with me.
“You’re shaking,” he observes, almost conversational. “And I’ve barely touched you.”
The doors close, trapping the words between us. My stomach drops.
He glances at me, mouth curving. “Sometimes all it will take is telling you what to do.”
My breathing quickens.
He leans in, his heat bleeding into me. “You opened so sweet for me tonight. Mouth, wrists, every part of you ready to take me.” His eyes rake over me. “Bet it’ll be the same when I tell you to spread those thighs.”
The elevator dings. I jolt. The doors part, and I stumble forward, but his hand finds the small of my back, guiding me gently down the hall.
“Keep walking,” he murmurs.
We reach his door. Nate swipes his card, the lockclicking open. He pushes it wide, one hand braced against the frame.
“Inside,” he says, tilting his head. Soft, simple, threaded with steel.
My feet move before my brain catches up. The door clicks shut behind us, and the thick silence of his room folds around me. I hover by the wall, heart rattling in my chest, while he turns toward me. His gaze finds me—and holds.
“Look at you,” he says, eyes dragging over me. “So obedient. You like this, don’t you? Someone you trust giving the orders. Deciding what comes next.”
Heat flares in my belly. My core clenches, fluttering around nothing.
“You love rules,” he says, voice low and rough. “Me being in charge.”
A helpless sound slips out of me. His fingers circle my jaw, brush my mouth.
“Tell me, Eden.” Steady. Unyielding. “What do you want?”
The words stall in my throat. I swallow, chest tight, and let the truth out on a whisper. “I want you. I want you to take the lead.”
His gaze darkens. “Say what that means.”
“Show me how to let go.” My pulse kicks. “Tell me where you want me. Tell me what to do.”
His mouth is on mine before I can breathe another word. Not wild. Not rushed. Controlled. Demanding. His tongue slides against mine in long, devastating strokes, and I gasp into him, trembling, desperate for more. He tastes of espresso and heat, and the sound he makes—low, guttural—vibrates straight through me.
I fist the fabric of his Henley, greedy, pulling him closer, memorizing the hard planes of muscle under my palms. Myfingers slide beneath, skimming over skin that’s hot and smooth, and my head spins with how solid he feels.
“Take it off,” I whisper, half plea, half command.
“What do you say, baby?”
My breath hitches. “Please. Please take it off.”
“That’s my girl,” he rasps, and in one fluid motion, he peels the shirt over his head, tossing it aside.
It isn’t the first time I’ve seen him shirtless, but it still knocks the air from my lungs—broad chest, powerful shoulders, lamplight skimming his dark skin and the heavy cut of his biceps.
Then I’m against the wall, his mouth devouring the column of my throat, teeth grazing, tongue soothing. His hands grip me firmly, hoisting me up, and I wrap around him instinctively—legs locking at his waist. His hard length presses against me, dragging a helpless moan from my lips.
