The elevator doors open into the penthouse. She starts to take a step inside.
“Wait,” I bark. She pauses, looking at me questioningly over her shoulder. I scoop her up—one arm under her knees, the other around her back—and lift her off the floor.
She gasps, her hands flying to my shoulders. “What are you?—”
“It’s tradition.”
I carry her over the threshold. She weighs nothing, and I hold her too long, aware of how she fits here—her head near my shoulder, her fingers curling into the fabric of my suit jacket.
I set her down inside but don’t release her waist. Her hands stay on my shoulders. We stand in the dim foyer, staring at each other.
“Hungry?” I finally ask when my voice returns.
She shakes her head.
“Tired?”
A nod. Her teeth catch her lower lip. That goddamn lip. I’ve been watching her bite it for days, and every time, my cock takes note.
I force myself to let go and step back. “We should talk.”
It’s time to acknowledge the elephant in the room.
The wedding night. What happens now? What she expects. What I want.
“Nora.” I angle toward her. “I meant what I said. I won’t push you into anything physical.”
“I believe you.”
“But I’d like us to sleep in the same bed from now on.” I choose each word with care. “What we do there depends entirely on you. If all you want to do is sleep, we just sleep. You’re in control. You dictate what does or doesn’t happen.”
Nora doesn’t seem to know what to do with that—clearly no one’s ever given her control before.
Her fingers twist in her lap. “In your bed?”
“Our bed.”
She blushes. “Okay,” she says, the pink spilling up her neck and into her cheeks.
“Okay?”
She knows, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. “Okay.”
The victory is small yet enormous.
She disappears into the bathroom to change. I strip down, put on a pair of sleep pants, sit on the edge of themattress, and scroll through security updates on my phone without absorbing a single word.
I can hear water running. A cabinet opening and closing. I picture her in there—my bride, getting ready for our wedding night—and force the image away before my body takes over.
This is not about what I want. She’s innocent, skittish, and I have to take my time with her. Every move must be made with care.
The bathroom door opens.
She’s wearing a satiny night shirt sort of thing that hangs to her mid-thigh. Her legs are bare. Her hair falls around her shoulders.
I forget how to breathe.
“You look beautiful.” My voice doesn’t sound right. Too low, too raw.
