Chapter 4
The clock in the lodge lobby chimed nine as I stepped out of the elevator onto the top floor. The hallway was quiet, the carpet thick beneath my boots, the air scented with cedar and something richer—whiskey, maybe, or the faint musk of old money. Harold’s suite was at the end of the hall, the door a dark wood so polished it reflected the dim sconces like liquid.
I knocked.
The door opened before my knuckles had fully left the wood. Harold stood there, already dressed in a cashmere sweater the color of storm clouds and dark slacks that hugged his thighs. No shoes. He held a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light. “You came,” he said. Not surprised. Pleased.
“I always honor my debts,” I replied, stepping inside.
The door clicked shut behind me. The suite was spacious, all dark wood and leather, the fireplace casting a warm glow over the king-sized bed and the floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the mountain like a painting. The scent of cedar and whiskey wrapped around me, mixed with the expensive, woody notes of his cologne.
Harold gestured to one of the leather armchairs. “Sit. Drink?” He didn’t wait for my answer, simply swirled the ice in his glass and settled into the chair across from me, his legs crossed, his gaze steady. “You were magnificent on the gondola,” he murmured. “The way you tried to resist… the way you finally surrendered.” His smile was slow, knowing. “I’ve been thinking about it all day.”
Harold set down his glass. “Stand up.”
I obeyed, my pulse quickening as I rose to my feet. The firelight flickered against my skin, the silver necklace at my throat glinting like a secret.
“Take off your jacket.”
I shed my white puffer, letting it fall to the chair. The cool air of the suite hit my bare arms, my pink sports bra a stark contrast against my skin.
“Your top.”
I reached behind me, unhooked the clasp, and pulled the fabric away. My breasts spilled free, my nipples hardening in the cool air. Harold’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t move. Not yet.
“Your shorts.”
I unzipped them, the sound loud in the quiet room, and stepped out. The black lace panties were all that remained, the silver necklace still resting against my collarbone.
“The panties stay,” he said, his voice a low growl. “For now.”
He stood, walking around me in a slow circle, his fingers tracing the line of my spine, my shoulders, the curve of my waist. He didn’t touch my breasts or between my legs—just the safe places, the places that made my skin prickle with anticipation. “You’re even more beautiful than I imagined,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear.
Then he guided me to stand in front of the full-length mirror on the closet door. “Look at yourself,” he said, standing behind me, his hands resting on my hips. I did. I saw the flush in my cheeks, the hardness of my nipples, the way the silver necklace glinted against my skin, the dampness already darkening my panties. I saw Harold behind me, broad and solid, his hands possessive on my waist.
“This is what power looks like,” he said, his voice a dark promise. “Not taking. Giving.”
He led me to the bed. He didn’t undress completely—just unzipped his slacks and freed his cock. It was thick, hard, already glistening at the tip. He lay back against the headboard, the dark wood frame a stark contrast to his crisp sweater, pillows stacked behind him. “Ride me,” he said. “But face the mirror.”
I straddled him, my knees sinking into the mattress, my hands gripping his shoulders as I positioned myself over his cock. I looked at the mirror—saw myself lowering onto him, his length disappearing inside me, my body stretching to take him. The stretch was exquisite, the way he filled me sending a fresh wave of heat through my body.
Harold didn’t thrust. He didn’t need to. He let me control the pace, his hands resting on my hips, his grip firm but guiding, not forcing. “Look at yourself,” he reminded me, his voice rough. “Watch your face. Watch your body.”
I did. I saw my breasts bouncing with each movement, my mouth open in a silent gasp, my eyes half-closed with pleasure. I saw Harold behind me in the mirror, his jaw tight, his eyes dark with hunger, the way his fingers dug into my skin. I sped up, my hips moving faster, my body responding to his commands, to his touch, to the way he let me take what I wanted.
“You’re so beautiful when you take what you want,” he murmured, his voice a dark promise.
The pleasure built inside me, a coiling, tightening sensation that was deeper than the gondola, more deliberate. I was in control now, and he was letting me be. My orgasm crashed over me like a slow, rolling wave, a long, shuddering moan tearing from my throat, my inner walls clenching around him. I kept riding through it, my body trembling, my breath coming in ragged gasps. Harold groaned, his grip tightening on my hips, his voice rough with satisfaction. “Now me,” he said. “Don’t stop.”
I obeyed, my hips snapping against his, my body moving faster, harder. His composure cracked—he was no longer calm, no longer collected. His head fell back against the pillows, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his eyes dark with need. I could feel his release building, his body tensing beneath me.
He came with a low growl, his cock pulsing inside me, the heat of his release filling me completely. I stayed on top of him, catching my breath, his hands still resting on my hips. The mirror showed us both—flushed, satisfied, connected.
Harold pulled me down, wrapping an arm around me, his lips brushing my forehead. Not passionate. Tender. “You’re a natural,” he murmured. “The Code suits you.”
We lay there for a long moment, the fire crackling in the hearth, the mountain dark and endless beyond the windows. He traced the silver necklace, the charm resting between my breasts, his touch light, possessive. “I’m here for three more days,” he said, his voice a low purr. “I’ll request you again. But not because I have to.” His fingers tightened slightly. “Because I want to.”
I smiled, still breathless. “The Code doesn’t take breaks.”
He laughed, the sound rich and warm. “No. It doesn’t.”
I dressed slowly, my body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, the weight of his gaze on me as I pulled on my clothes. Harold didn’t move from the bed, his eyes warm, his glass of whiskey now empty on the nightstand.
At the door, I turned back. “Goodnight, Harold.”
He raised his glass—now refilled—in a silent toast. “Goodnight, Tessa. Sleep well.” His smile was slow, knowing. “Tomorrow’s another run.”
I stepped into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind me. The air was cooler out here, but my body still burned. The silver necklace was warm against my skin, the charm a quiet reminder of what I’d chosen. Of what I was.
I touched the charm, my fingers lingering against the cool metal. “I’m still wearing it,” I whispered. “I didn’t take it off.”
One bet lost. One night claimed. And I was already looking forward to the next gondola ride.