“Turn.”
He drew back just enough to free her, then rotated her under his hands, sliding her off the keys and onto the bench. The moment her knees were stable, he guided her forward again, her palms bracing on the keys as bright treble skittered up on one side, the boom of bass on the other.
Bea gasped, silky hair wild, and he slid back into her with one ruthless stroke. She had nowhere to go except back onto him, which was exactly where she belonged. From this angle, he could drive deeper. He watched her take it—the arch of her spine, the way each thrust anchored her more firmly against the instrument—and tightened his hold at her waist. His fingers found the sensitive place that made her knees weaken, matching the movement of his hips until she was shaking.
Bea’s voice rose, raw and perfect.
“This is how I want you,” he growled into her ear. “Bent over something expensive, while I make you sound like that.”
He felt the shift in her before it crested. The subtle tightening, a single warning pulse. Then she shattered, head thrown back, his name wrenched from her lips with a kind of stunned ecstasy.
He’d intended to ride it out, but the sight of it, the feeling of her seizing around him hauled him under. He gritted her name through his teeth and drove forward, release tearing through him in answering surges.
Afterward he stayed there a little longer, unwilling to relinquish the view, savoring the way she fit beneath him.
The room quieted, save for their breathing.
When he finally withdrew, he flipped her and pulled her into his lap as he sat. He found the warm curve of her neck and inhaled, slow and satisfied—sweat, sex, and the drug that was his wife.
“I can’t believe we just did that on my piano.”
He tapped his head against hers. “You sounded better than anything you’ve played on it yet.”
She laughed, mortified, blushing now even though minutes ago her hands had been clawing at the keys.
“Do you think Alice or Teresa heard us?” she asked, suddenly remembering. Her brow furrowed.
“We can ask tomorrow.”
“Don’t you dare.”
Rafael kissed her shoulder. “Since we’re testing the soundproofing,” he murmured against her skin, his hand already traveling upward, “we should be thorough.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Three months later
This was not how Bea had envisioned spending her birthday: seated in a Canadian federal boardroom, her name stamped into the day’s schedule in crisp black ink.
Maris Chen sat to her left, immaculate as ever, wearing the moment like it was just another Wednesday at Monaghan & Stowe. Around them were delegates from the UR, including two senior officials from the Ministry of Social Affairs and Domestic Security, as well as the ambassador. Their faces were set in that trained neutrality Westhaven did so well.
Rafael didn’t sit. Technically, he wasn’t part of the envoy. He stood along the glass wall perpendicular to her, arms folded, a silent sentry. Jack and Channing were outside; their clearance didn’t extend past the threshold.
Beyond the glass, Ottawa lay pale in fall light, grey stone and orderly streets stretching toward the river.
A man at the head of the table in a severe suit adjusted his papers.
“Good morning,” he said, cordial in the way governments are. “My name is Brian Callahan, Deputy Minister for Justice Policy.” He indicated the Canadian side of the table, a neat line of suits and notebooks. “On behalf of Canada, I want to thank the United Republic for accepting our invitation. We hope today marks the beginning of a bilateral framework that can serve as a model internationally.”
A few nods. A soft shift of chairs.
Brian’s voice cooled a degree. “As you’re aware, one of the primary catalysts for this meeting is the ongoing case involving Mr. Oliver Fox.”
One of the UR officials spoke without preamble. “He remains detained under UR law. The United Republic is grateful for Canada’s full cooperation.”
Bea’s fingers laced together under the table, knuckles pressing faintly white. The investigation was all over the news thanks to the virality of the interview.
A Canadian official spoke next, grey hair cut as precisely as her tone. “Additional women have come forward, above those initially suggested. Forty-three thus far, spanning most of a decade. A majority described feeling they had no safe alternative but to comply. Few had the resources to fight him legally.”
