Only this time, I know what I’m risking.
But I kiss him anyway. This kiss is gentler than the one before. It’s as though he’s trying to reassure me I can trust him and lower my guard.
In the middle of that sweet, gentle kiss, I relax again. My fingers find their way back to his shirt. They slip beneath the fabric to explore the chiseled planes and hard lines of his stomach.
“If we were hoping to get any rest tonight,” I whisper, “we’re going about it the wrong way.”
His breath is ragged. “I’d rather not sleep.”
The shirt comes off. His skin is warm under my palms. I relish the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. He leans in. His lips trace a tantalizing path down my neck, skim my collarbone, and tease the edge of my bathrobe.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs against my skin.
In response, I push the robe off my shoulders.
He seems thrilled at my silent invitation. His mouth ventures lower. My hands find purchase in his hair, tugging gently, then not so gently, when he presses me into the wall with his hips.
I can feel all of him, and it’s exhilarating.
He’s no longer gentle, and I’m completely fine with it. I match him, rough for rough. Even in my happiest early years with Geoffroy I don’t recall being this wild, this ravenous. All my senses are heightened, every inhibition stripped away. If Alex holds a standard of femininity he expects me to live up to, he hasn’t shared it with me. And, frankly, I wouldn’t care if he had.
I moan. I grope. I bite softly. I feast my eyes on the muscles of his arms flexing as he moves against me. My own hands run over his defined chest and abs. The intense focus of his gaze on my breasts makes my lower belly clench with need.
I don’t dare slide a hand down to his cock, but boy, I want to!
The combined scent of our skin fills my senses. There’s a tang of sweat mixed with the sweet musk of desire. We rub against each other, stroke, knead, press, lick… It’s pure, unrestrained want, fueled by all the pent-up tension from the past week… the past years.
My bathrobe is already half open. My arms are free, the sleeves abandoned to give Alex unrestricted access to my breasts. I trace the lines of his face, his jawline, fingers trembling with the thrill of his perfection.
The belt around my waist is the only thing keeping the fabric from surrendering entirely. The robe didn’t bother me until moments ago. But now, I resent the barrier it forms between hishands and my skin. It feels too thick, too heavy. It clings to my hips, obscuring the curve of my ass, when I crave his touch there, the press of his palms against bare skin…
With deliberate slowness, I find the knot of the belt and tug it loose. The robe slips down my body in a rustle of terry cloth, leaving me utterly exposed.
Alex steps back.
His breath hitches. The hunger in his eyes makes my knees weak. His chest rises and falls with uneven breaths. His pupils darken until they are pools of pure black. The air between us crackles with unspoken desire.
He closes the distance, and my hands find his belt. I fumble with the buckle. It resists as if mocking my urgency, but I don’t relent. I tease the leather free, my determination unwavering, until the belt slides out with a soft hiss.
The sound feels like victory.
And surrender.
And a promise of something I’ll savor—only to regret tomorrow.
9
EVA
Alex’s pants hit the floor. Shoes thud as he kicks them aside. Then his hands are on me again—urgent, greedy, everywhere at once. He groans into my mouth as he presses me against the wall like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he doesn’t hold me there.
My belly tightens. I’m soaking wet and aching for him to fill me.
I reach between us. No more delaying the gratification I crave! I need to touch him.I need to feel him.
My palm cups his hard cock.
He makes a sound in the back of his throat, low and feral. Then his hand slides between my thighs and strokes me with ruthless efficiency. My clit sings. My vagina pulses and contracts around the long fingers he thrusts inside. Release crashes over me in seconds, staggering in its swiftness and force.
