Chapter 13 #4
There was something so different about this kiss. Or maybe it was that they were both fully, like really fully, engaged, and knew where this was going. They couldn’t get close enough, be close enough, bodies rubbing, hands all over each other, and…and the most ridiculously loud sounds…
Amanda broke away for just a second. “Is that us?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he confirmed, his voice thick in accent and desire. He demonstrated again, using his mouth in expert precision to extract those same loud noises from her, and answered each in kind. Loud smacking sounds came next, and they both snorted and laughed.
“That is ridiculous!” Amanda exclaimed.
“Tell me about it.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “I’ve been waiting a long bloody time for this, Amanda.”
“Please don’t wait any longer,” she whispered.
“I couldn’t if I wanted to. And I don’t. Want to.”
He kissed her again, pulling her head back just where he wanted her, and went in so deep she felt it all the way to her center.
She’d just wrapped her leg around his waist, thanks to the slit in her dress, and Alex’s large, warm hand spread across her back, when the doors opened, and she froze in horror.
“Nooo,” she cried out and Alex swore.
“Sorry, concierge floor,” he muttered, but they didn’t move. Instead, he gave her another scorching look and kissed her senseless. When he stepped away to press the “close door” button, she started slipping to the floor like a rag doll, but he grabbed her just in time.
“Three minutes tops, sweetheart,” he said, anchoring her to his side. “Ready?”
Amanda half laughed, half groaned, and grabbed his shirt. “Bloody hell, Montgomery, why’d you have to push the button?”
He gave her a lopsided grin and pulled her close again, leaning back against the closed doors.
She shivered as his teeth grazed the hollow of her shoulder, and then he was kissing her again, his hand wrapped around her leg.
They missed the ping, so when the doors opened, they fell out onto their floor.
“Left side,” Alexander said, his voice hoarse. “2602.”
Amanda looked at the plaque and corrected him. “Right.”
They kissed their way down the hallway. “Passed it,” she said, giggling. He turned them and pressed her against the door while he fumbled with the key card. “Alex!”
“I’m trying!”
“Try harder!”
They laughed as the door swung open and they went in with it. He turned around, looking for the way to the bedroom. “Bloody hell, we should have gotten a smaller suite.”
“I would have been happy with the elevator.”
Alexander growled as he went back in for more of her.
He got them to the bedroom and to the bed.
Then Amanda started tugging at his jacket.
He helped her help him out of it. Clothes started flying after that.
Shoes, shirt, and slacks. And thanks to Amanda’s backless dress, once it was off, she was already down to just a thong.
“Bloody hell, Amanda. You are so beautiful,” Alexander said, his voice a low growl. He traced his hands over her, watching as her eyes went wide and she arched her back. He did it again, just to see her reaction, this time skimming the delicate lace covering her.
“Alex!” she cried.
“Shh.” He was enjoying himself immensely, and traced her body again, using his palm to apply pressure as he rubbed his hand against her. She arched into him, and he gave her what she wanted.
He almost came when his fingers slid against her.
Hot, wet, his. He gave a gentle push against her chest with his hand and she fell to the bed and the mountain of pillows.
He followed her down and lay next to her, moving the tiny strip of cloth to the side and sliding his fingers down her center again.
He almost chuckled at her bloody hell, then pulled her in tight, pleasuring her until she arched against him. He was so close to losing himself, he didn’t know if he would make it until he was inside her. Frantic hands, hers and his, removed her thong. Then she motioned for him to come to her.
“Please,” she whimpered.
He was trying to be gentle, but Amanda was tugging on his shoulders and pulling at him. He moved her just where he needed to so he could finally thrust himself completely inside. Home. He waited for her body to uncoil, looking at her the entire time. Then she grinned and nodded.
“More, Alex. Make love to me, please.”
He did. Luckily it was still early, and they made love lazily throughout the night, lightly dozing in between.
They took two long showers together and after their last bout of lovemaking, Amanda cried mercy and asked him to soak with her in the clawfoot tub, which he did gladly, even trying his hand at modern-day multitasking by picking up the hotel phone while his wife lay against him to order champagne, Amanda’s favorite.
She sighed with satisfaction and tapped his chest to get his attention, suggesting it might taste better with a club sandwich and house-made chips. She was correct.
As he lay in bed shortly after dawn, holding Amanda snugly at his side, he realized that nothing else mattered besides what they had now. Where they were now. They were safe, and alive, and together; their children were healthy, happy, and well-adjusted, considering.
What did it matter, actually, if Amanda ever remembered those brief—though exhilarating—months together? Isn’t it better to live in the moment, whenever the moment is—eighteenth century or twenty-first—and not dwell on what no longer is?
To hell with the past—all of it.