Chapter 7
seven
. . .
Alice
The limo door shuts with a soft thunk that seals us into our own private world. The partition between us and the driver is already up. Alexander's scent—expensive cologne with undertones of whiskey and something uniquely him—fills the confined space. My heart hammers against my ribs like it's trying to break free. His eyes haven't left mine since we slid into the backseat, dark and hungry in the dim lighting. I feel more naked under his gaze now than I would if he'd actually undressed me.
"You've been driving me crazy all night," he says, his voice a low rumble that I feel more than hear.
I wet my lips nervously. "I haven't done anything."
"That's not true." His hand finds mine in the darkness, our fingers threading together. "You existed. You smiled. You blushed when I touched you."
The car pulls away from the curb, the gentle motion pushing me slightly closer to him. Neither of us moves away.
"That kiss..." I start, not sure how to finish the thought.
"Was overdue." Alexander's free hand rises to my face, his thumb tracing the outline of my bottom lip. "I've wanted to do that since the first day I saw you."
My breath catches.
I stare at him, and his eyes smolder down at me.
Oh god, he’s going to kiss me again.
When his mouth meets mine, it's different from the kiss at the gala. That was a statement, a claiming. This is an exploration. His lips are soft but insistent, moving over mine with deliberate pressure. I respond hesitantly at first, then with growing confidence as his approval rumbles through his chest.
His tongue traces the seam of my lips, seeking entry. I part for him, letting him taste me more deeply. The sensation shoots straight through me, a bolt of liquid heat that pools between my legs. I make a small, needy sound that I've never heard from myself before.
Alexander's hand slides from my face to my neck, then lower, skimming over my collarbone. He doesn't yet touch anywhere truly intimate, but the promise is there in the heat of his palm through the thin silk of my gown.
"Come here," he murmurs against my lips, guiding me with gentle pressure until I'm straddling his lap, my knees on either side of his thighs. The position hikes my dress up to mid-thigh.
I should feel exposed, vulnerable. Instead, I feel powerful as his eyes darken further, drinking in the sight of me above him.
"Beautiful," he breathes, his hands settling on my hips.
And then I feel it—the hard ridge of his arousal pressing against the thin barrier of my underwear. My eyes widen, and I instinctively shift, trying to adjust to the unfamiliar sensation.
Alexander hisses through his teeth. "Don't move like that unless you mean it."
"I don't know what I'm doing," I confess, heat flooding my cheeks.
His hands tighten on my hips, stilling my movements. "What do you mean?"
I drop my gaze, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. "I haven't...I'm not...experienced."
His finger tilts my chin up, forcing me to look at him. "I already know you’re a virgin Alice, but just how inexperienced are you?"
The question feels like a test. I swallow hard. "Very."
Something flashes in his eyes—surprise, followed quickly by something darker, more primal. "Have you ever been touched? By anyone?"
I shake my head silently.
"Kissed? Before tonight?"
"Yes, but...nothing serious. Nothing like this."
A flash of satisfaction crosses his face. “Good girl,” he nods. “Glad you recognize that this is serious. I am serious about you.”
I start to protest, but his hand slides from my hip to my lower back, pressing me more firmly against him. "So what you're telling me is that no one has ever made you come."
The crude word in his refined mouth sends a shameful thrill through me. I shake my head again.
"Not even yourself?"
My face burns hotter. "Alexander..."
"Answer me." His voice is gentle but brooks no argument.
"No," I whisper. "Not...not really."
The smile that spreads across his face is possessive, triumphant. "I'm going to be your first. In every way that matters."
His mouth claims mine again, harder this time, hungrier. His hands roam my body with more intent—skimming my sides, tracing the curve of my waist, brushing the undersides of my breasts through my dress. Each touch leaves fire in its wake. I'm trembling, not from fear but from want.
"I need to touch you," he breathes against my mouth. "Let me touch you, Alice."
I nod, beyond words now.
His hand slides up my thigh, beneath the hiked-up hem of my dress. His fingers find the edge of my underwear, tracing along the seam where it meets my skin. The touch is both too much and not enough.
"You're shaking," he observes, his voice strained with restraint. "We can stop."
"Don't stop," I manage. "Please."
Something like a growl rumbles in his chest. His fingers hook into the fabric and pull it aside. When he touches me directly for the first time, we both groan.
"You're soaked," he says, his voice threaded with wonder and satisfaction. "All this for me?"
I can't answer, can barely breathe as his fingers explore me with exquisite gentleness. He finds places I didn't know could feel so good, circling and stroking with devastating precision. All the while, his eyes hold mine, watching every reaction, learning what makes my breath hitch and my hips jerk forward seeking more.
"That's it," he encourages when I unconsciously grind against his hand. "Show me what you need."
I couldn't articulate it if I tried, but my body knows. It moves against his skilled fingers, seeking something just out of reach. The pressure builds inside me, unfamiliar but undeniable.
"Alexander," I gasp, clutching at his shoulders.
"I've got you." His free hand tangles in my hair, guiding my face to the crook of his neck. "Let go for me, Alice. Let me feel you come."
His fingers move faster, more deliberately, finding a rhythm that has me panting against his skin. The sensation builds and builds until I'm certain I'll shatter from it. And then his thumb presses just right, and I do shatter—breaking apart with a cry that his shoulder muffles.
Wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me as he works me through it, his touch gentling but not stopping until the very last aftershock subsides. I'm boneless against him, dazed by what just happened, by what he just gave me.
"Perfect," he murmurs into my hair. "So fucking perfect."
I become aware that he's still hard beneath me, maybe even more so than before. His hips shift restlessly, seeking friction. Without thinking, I rock against him, pressing the damp center of my underwear against the rigid line of his erection.
Alexander's hands fly to my hips, not stopping me but guiding, setting a rhythm that makes his breath come faster. His forehead presses against mine, our panting breaths mingling in the scant space between us.
"Keep going," he urges, his voice strained. "Just like that."
I follow his lead, grinding against him in slow, deliberate circles. His hands tighten painfully on my hips, but the discomfort only heightens my awareness of his pleasure, of the power I have over this powerful man.
"Alice," he groans, the sound raw and desperate. "Fuck, Alice, I'm going to?—"
His words cut off as his body goes rigid beneath me. His hips jerk upward once, twice, three times, and then he holds me tight against him, grinding me down onto his pulsing hardness. I feel the wet heat spreading between us, soaking through the fabric of his expensive suit pants.
For a long moment, we stay like that—foreheads pressed together, bodies locked in an intimate embrace, breathing each other's air. His hands gentler now, stroke up and down my back in soothing motions.
"I made a mess," he finally says, a hint of rueful amusement in his voice.
"I don't mind." And I don't. There's something thrilling about having undone him so completely.
He kisses me softly, reverently, so unlike the heated kisses of moments ago. "You're extraordinary, Alice Reynolds."
I smile against his lips. "For someone who's never done this before?"
"For anyone." His hand cups my cheek. "And I'm going to enjoy showing you everything you've been missing."
The promise in his words sends a renewed flicker of heat through my body, even as satisfaction still hums in my veins. Outside the tinted windows, the city slides by unnoticed. Inside our private bubble, the only thing that matters is the man beneath me and the promise of what comes next.
Suddenly, belonging to Alexander Grant for thirty days doesn’t seem so bad.