He lowers himself over me. Kisses my mouth, my jaw, the hollow of my throat. His hand slides inside the robe and palms my breast, thumb dragging over the nipple until it peaks againstthe lace. He tugs the cup down and closes his mouth over bare skin, and my back arches off the white sheets.
He takes his time. Works one breast with his mouth, the other with his hand, sucking and licking and grazing his teeth over my nipples until they're swollen and aching and I'm writhing underneath him. His mouth moves lower. He presses his lips to my stomach, to the soft skin below my navel, and I feel the deliberation in it. Every kiss placed on the parts of my body I've been most insecure about. The softness I can't diet away. The stretch marks on my hips from decades of fluctuating weight. He finds each one and claims it with his mouth.
He hooks his fingers into the lace and slides my underwear down. I lift my hips and he pulls them off, tossing them somewhere behind him. His hands spread my thighs and he settles between them, and the first stroke of his tongue through my folds makes me cry out.
He eats me thoroughly with long, slow licks from my entrance to my clit, circling the swollen bud, drawing it between his lips with gentle suction. His fingers slide inside me, two, curling against the spot that makes my vision blur, and the combination builds me fast and hard.
"Don't stop," I gasp, my hand fisting the sheets. "Right there, don't..."
He doesn't stop. He works me relentlessly, tongue and fingers in perfect rhythm, until the orgasm hits me like a wave breaking. I come with his name on my lips, my thighs clamped around his head, my hips rolling against his mouth as the pleasure pulses through me in long, shuddering contractions.
He kisses his way back up my body while I'm still trembling. I reach for his belt, unbuckle it, shove his jeans and boxers down. His cock springs free, hard and thick, and I wrap my hand around him and stroke. He groans against my neck, his hips pushing into my fist.
"Condom," I breathe.
"Back pocket."
I almost laugh. He came prepared. Of course he did. The strategist's protégé. I fish the condom from his discarded jeans, tear it open, and roll it down his length while he watches me with dark, hungry eyes.
He settles over me. Lines himself up. And then he stops. Looks down at me with those hazel eyes, and the humor and the hunger are still there, but underneath them is something so tender it makes my chest ache.
"I love you," he says. "Not because of some mountain or the danger or the proximity. Because you're you. And I'll spend however long it takes proving that."
I pull him down and kiss him. "I love you, too, Hayes. Despite all my fears, I love you too. Now get inside me."
He drives in. One long, deep thrust that fills me completely, and we both groan. He's thick and hard and the angle is devastating, his hips pinning mine to the mattress, his cock buried to the hilt. He holds there for a breath. Two. Letting me adjust. Letting us both feel the full, overwhelming sensation of being connected again after three days that felt like months.
Then he moves.
Slow at first. Deep, rolling thrusts that drag against every sensitive nerve. His forehead presses against mine, and we breathe each other's air, and the intimacy of watching his face while he moves inside me in my bed, in my world, a thousand miles from the mountain, confirms everything I already knew.
This is real.
"Harder," I murmur against his mouth.
He gives me harder. Plants his hands beside my head and drives into me with force, the bed rocking beneath us, the headboard tapping the wall in a rhythm that matches his thrusts.I hook my leg over his hip, changing the angle, and he hits deeper. A spot that makes sparks shoot through my core.
"There," I gasp.
He adjusts, angling his hips to hit that spot with every stroke, and the pressure builds fast. He reaches between us, his thumb finding my clit, circling with firm, steady pressure while his cock fills me again and again. The dual sensation is overwhelming. I grab his shoulders and hold on.
"Come for me, Lex." His voice is raw, wrecked, barely controlled. "Let me feel you."
I shatter. The orgasm tears through me, deeper and more intense than any before, my pussy clenching around his cock in rhythmic waves. He thrusts through it, extending it, and the tight grip of my body pulls him over the edge. He comes with a guttural groan, burying himself deep, his cock pulsing inside me while his arms shake and finally give, his weight settling over me, warm and heavy and perfect.
We lie there. His face in my neck. My hands stroking his back. The city lights glow through the bedroom windows, and somewhere forty-two stories below, San Francisco lives its complicated, beautiful life without any idea that the woman in the penthouse just surrendered the last fortress she had.
He rolls to his side, pulling me against his chest. His hand finds my hair, loosening the ponytail, spreading platinum strands across his shoulder. His lips press against my forehead.
"So," he says. "Your world. Your bed. Your city." He tips my chin up. "Still real?"
I trace the line of his jaw. The dimple that appears when his mouth curves. The laugh lines around eyes that see me more clearly than anyone ever has.
"Still real," I say.
"Good." He pulls me closer. "Because I told Deck I'm taking a leave of absence. Two weeks. I want to be in your life, Lex. Notjust on the mountain. I want the boardrooms and the galas and the boring Tuesday nights. I want the real thing. Whatever that is to you."
"Two weeks in San Francisco? You'll hate it."
