"Good girl." He rewards me by sliding two fingers inside me, curling them just right to hit that spot that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. "You're always so responsive for me. So eager to please."
"Because you make it so easy," I manage, though coherent thought is becoming difficult. His thumb brushes my clit, and I nearly lose my balance. "Because you know exactly what I need."
"I do, don't I?" His thumb finds my clit properly now, circling it with maddening precision. He's learned my body, knows exactly what makes me come apart. "And right now, what youneed is to come on my fingers before I fuck you against this wall."
I'm already close, my body primed from last night and this morning's teasing. His fingers work inside me with practiced skill, his thumb maintaining that pressure, and I feel the orgasm building at the base of my spine. Heat spreads through my core, muscles tightening.
"That's it, love. Let go. Come for me."
I shatter, crying out his name, my legs shaking with the force of it. Only his arm around my waist keeps me upright. He keeps touching me through it, drawing it out until I'm boneless and gasping, until I'm whimpering from oversensitivity.
Then he spins me around to face him, and I barely have time to process before he's lifting me, my back against the cool tile, my legs wrapped around his waist. His cock finds my entrance, and he slides home in one smooth thrust that steals what's left of my breath.
"Fuck," he groans against my neck, teeth scraping skin. "You feel incredible."
"More," I demand, digging my nails into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. "Harder."
He gives me what I ask for, pounding into me with controlled fury, and I can already feel another orgasm building. Water streams over us, steam rising, and there's nothing in the world but Fitz and the pleasure he gives me. The stretch and burn, the perfect angle, the way his pelvis grinds against my clit with every thrust.
"Come again," he commands, and my body obeys without hesitation, clenching around him as I cry out. He follows me over the edge with a roar, spending himself inside me, his fingers bruising my hips.
We stay like that for a long moment, both breathing hard, letting the water wash over us. My heart hammers against myribs. His forehead rests on my shoulder, breath hot against wet skin.
Finally, he sets me down gently, making sure my legs will hold me before releasing his grip.
"Now," he says, sounding entirely too pleased with himself, "let's actually get clean before breakfast arrives."
An hour later, I'm wrapped in the world's softest bathrobe, sitting on the balcony despite the cold, watching skiers on the slopes below. My hair's still damp, curling at the ends. The hot tub bubbles invitingly beside me, but I'm content just to sit and breathe the crisp mountain air. Fresh snow, pine trees, and something clean that you can't find in London.
Fitz is on the phone in the bedroom—I can hear the rumble of his voice but not the words. So much for no work calls. I should be annoyed, but I know him well enough to know he needs to check in with his team. It's who he is. The man who can't fully relax because too many people depend on him.
Breakfast sits on the table beside me. Pastries, fruit, cheese, coffee that smells like heaven. I'm working my way through a chocolate croissant when he joins me on the balcony, frowning at his phone.
"Problem?" I ask, though I can already tell the answer. His jaw's set in that way that means he's processing threat assessment.
"Sawyer's concerned about increased chatter regarding a high-value target." He sits beside me, pulling me into his lap despite the chair not really being big enough for both of us. I end up half on him, half on the armrest. "Nothing concrete. Just... noise."
"And you're wondering if we should cut our holiday short."
"No." He kisses my temple, and I feel some of the tension leave his shoulders. "Sawyer can handle it. That's why I left him in charge. I'm wondering why everything in me is screaming that something's wrong."
I know that feeling—the sixth sense that keeps people like us alive. The one that made me look up half a second before Julia's husband pulled a gun at our wedding. "Your instincts are usually right."
"Usually. But they've also been known to go into overdrive when you're involved." He finds my hip, holding me close. Thumb stroking circles through the robe. "I don't want to be that guy, Jordan. The one who can't unplug. The one who ruins every holiday with work paranoia."
"You're not ruining anything." I turn in his lap to face him, straddling him properly now. The robe gapes open, but we're four floors up with no neighbors. "You're being you. The man who keeps people safe. The man who thinks six steps ahead. I married that man. I love that man."
"Even when he's a controlling bastard?"
"Especially then." I kiss him, soft and sweet, tasting coffee on his lips. "How about a compromise? You make one more call—check in with Sully, have him run his magic on whatever Sawyer's concerned about. If nothing's actionable, we put the phones away until tomorrow. Deal?"
He considers this, then nods. "Deal. But if I'm calling Sully, you're calling Adam. Make sure Baker Street is still standing."
"Fair enough."
We make our calls—mine to Adam, who assures me that Christmas Eve at the club is progressing smoothly, with only minor drama involving a sub who tried to top from the bottom during a demonstration. Standard Tuesday, really. Fitz's call to Sully takes longer, and I study his face. The micro-expressionsI've learned to read over the years. The tightening around his eyes. The way his free hand curls into a fist.
"What is it?" I ask when he hangs up.
