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"Look at you," he breathes. "Taking all of me."

I rock my hips. It's slow at first. I rise and feel the thick ridge of him drag along my walls, then sink until he presses against something deep inside that curls my toes. His arms wrap around me, one across my back, one hand cradling my head, holding me so tightly against his chest that I feel his heart slam against my breasts.

He won't let me hurry. Every time I try to move faster, his arm tightens and slows me down, so I feel everything. The heat of him. The fullness. The twitch of him inside me every time I clench.

His lips wander over my throat, my jaw, my mouth. We kiss while I ride him, slow and deep, and it feels more like the first time than anything that happened in London.

The pleasure builds heavy and low, but it won't break. I'm hovering right at the edge, trembling, and I can't get there at this pace.

Ross feels it.

"I've got you," he says against my lips.

Then he takes over.

His hands clamp onto my hips. He lifts me and pulls me down onto his cock as he thrusts up. Hard. The slap of skin on skin cracks through the room. My breasts bounce against his chest. He plants his heels on the rug and drives up into me, faster, every stroke hitting that spot, until all I can do is hold on to his shoulders and take it.

"That's it," he grits out. "Ride my cock."

I grind down on him, rolling my hips to meet his. Sweat slicks between us. He grips my ass and spreads me wide, driving deeper, and my climax slams into me so hard I scream. It doesn't stop. It rolls on and on while he keeps pounding up into me, my wetness running down his shaft and soaking his thighs.

His rhythm breaks.

He buries his face in my neck and drags me down onto him one last time, holding me there as deep as he can go. His whole body turns rigid. A raw groan tears out of his chest, and I feel him throb inside me. Hot spurts of his cum flood me while his fingers bruise my hips and he empties everything he has.

We stay like that.

His arms stay locked around me. His breath shudders against my neck. I feel his heartbeat everywhere, in his chest and in the cock still twitching inside me. A log shifts and pops in the grate.

When I finally lift my head, his eyes are softer than I've ever seen them. He brushes the damp hair off my face and says nothing.

I lift myself off him slowly. His cum slides down my inner thigh. I settle beside him on the sofa, legs draped over his, and reach for my wine with a hand that isn't steady. I take a long sip, then hold the glass out to him.

He drinks, watching me over the rim. He sets the glass on the table, turns, and kisses me again.

It isn't a goodnight kiss.

I glance down. He's hard again, thick against his stomach.

My lips part. "Already?"

The corner of his mouth lifts.

"I've had years to think about this."

He slides off the sofa and takes me with him. We land on the soft throw in front of the hearth. The fire is close enough to heat one whole side of my body, and it turns his skin bronze as he settles over me, braced on his forearms between my thighs.

For a moment, he just looks at me. Then he kisses me. Slow. Soft. My lips, my cheek, my eyelids, my throat. He works his way down my chest and back up again, and the gentleness of it unravels me more than anything else tonight.

He reaches between us, fits himself to my entrance, and pushes in.

I'm still slick and swollen from him, and he glides in all the way on one long stroke. My legs wrap around his waist. He draws almost all the way out and sinks back in, slow and deep, then holds there and grinds against my clit.

He takes his time. Long, rolling thrusts. He laces his fingers through mine and pins our hands above my head. His eyes never leave my face.

"Blaire," he whispers.

Just my name. The way he says it makes my throat ache.