Chapter 17
I can’t see a damn thing.
The blindfold is silky soft, but it’s tied tight enough that all I have left is sensation. The scratch of expensive sheets against my back. The whisper of heated air from the hotel’s climate control. The faint scent of the luxury candles the Asheville Grand always keeps in their rooms.
And Alexander’s mouth. Oh, god, his mouth.
My hands pull against the restraints tying my wrists to the headboard, and the silk doesn’t give. Not even a little. My breath comes in short, desperate gasps as his tongue—
A sound tears from my throat I don’t recognize. High and needy and completely undignified.
“There you are,” Alexander murmurs against my inner thigh, his voice dark with satisfaction. “I was wondering when you’d stop being so stubborn.”
“I’m not—” The words dissolve into another gasp as he does something with his tongue that makes my back arch clean off the mattress. “—stubborn.”
His laugh is low and wicked. “No?”
“No.”
He pulls back, and I make a sound of protest that would embarrass me if I had any brain cells left to spare. Which I don’t. They’ve all melted into a puddle of please-don’t-stop.
“Then apologize,” he says, his breath ghosting over sensitized skin.
I laugh even though my whole body is strung tight as a bow to an Asheville luxury hotel headboard on Christmas Eve. “For what?”
“For saying I drive like someone’s grandmother.”
“That’s because you do.” I gasp as his fingers trail higher. “And I’m not apologizing for telling the truth.”
“No?” His fingers trail up my calf, achingly slow. Teasing.
“If you make us late for Christmas Eve lunch,” I manage, my voice breathy and wrecked, “you can explain to my parents why we missed it.”
The sharp crack of his palm against my hip makes me yelp—and then moan because apparently my body has decided that’s exactly what it wants. Heat blooms across my skin, delicious and intense, and something low in my belly clenches hard.
“You get very mouthy in bed,” Alexander murmurs, and I can hear the smirk in his voice.
“Not as mouthy as you,” I shoot back. His answering chuckle is dark and promising. Then his mouth is back between my thighs, and—
My mind whites out. There’s nothing but sensation.
His tongue, his fingers, the scrape of his stubble against my inner thigh.
I pull against the restraints again, needing something to hold onto, something to anchor me, but there’s nothing.
Just the silk holding me in place while he takes me apart piece by piece.
“Alexander.” His name comes out strangled. “Please.”
“Please, what?” He lifts his head, and I feel the loss of his mouth like a physical ache.
“Don’t stop.”
“Are you going to apologize?”
“Never.”
He laughs, the sound vibrating against my skin. “We’ll see about that.”
Then he shifts, and I feel the weight of him settling between my thighs, the blunt pressure of him exactly where I need him most. My breath hitches.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, one hand sliding up my side, thumb brushing the underside of my breast. “Tied up and desperate. Do you know how beautiful you are like this?”
“Alexander—”
“Tell me what you want, Olivia.”
“You know what I want.”
His fingers trail down my stomach, maddeningly gentle. “Say it.”
“Jerk.”
“And yet here you are.” His voice drops lower, intimate and commanding. “Now tell me what you want.”
My pride makes one last valiant stand. Then crumbles completely.
“You,” I breathe. “I want you. Please.”
“Good girl.”
Then he pushes inside, and my mind just... stops.
Everything narrows to this moment. The fullness of him, the stretch, the way my body yields and accepts and demands more all at once. A whimper escapes my throat, high and desperate, and his hand tightens on my hip.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “Let me hear you.” He moves, slow and deep, and I can’t stop the sounds spilling from my lips. Every thrust sends pleasure spiraling through me, building and building until I’m trembling beneath him.
“You feel so perfect,” he says, his breath hot against my ear. “Like you were made for me.” I try to respond, but all that comes out is his name, broken and pleading.
“That’s right,” he whispers, his pace increasing. “Say my name. Let everyone in this hotel know who makes you feel this good.”
My back arches as he hits that perfect spot inside me, and I cry out, not caring who hears. His hand slides down between us, finding the bundle of nerves that makes me see stars, and I shatter.
The orgasm crashes through me in waves, and through it all, Alexander keeps moving, drawing it out until I’m gasping and shaking and completely undone.
“Beautiful,” he breathes, and then he’s following me over the edge, my name on his lips like a prayer.
For a few minutes we stay like that, our hearts pounding in tandem.
The world comes back slowly.
First, the sound of our breathing. Then the feeling of Alexander’s hands on my wrists, gentle as he unknots the silk restraints. The blindfold comes off next, and I blink against the sudden brightness, my eyes adjusting to the late morning light filtering through the hotel’s gauzy curtains.
“Hey,” Alexander murmurs, his face coming into focus above mine.
“Hi,” I manage, my voice rough.
He gathers me into his arms, impossibly gentle now, and I curl against his chest like a cat.
His lips brush my temple, my cheek, soft kisses that make my chest ache in an entirely different way.
This Alexander, affectionate and attentive and looking at me like I’m something precious, is almost more devastating than the commanding one from five minutes ago.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
I nod against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him. “Better than okay.”
His fingers comb through my hair, careful with the tangles. “Good.”
We lie there for a moment, just breathing, and I can feel the shift in him. The tension bleeding away, replaced by something softer. He presses another kiss to my forehead, then reaches for the water bottle on the nightstand and hands it to me.
“Drink.”
I take it, grateful. The water is cold and perfect, and I drain half the bottle before coming up for air.
“I should have known something was up,” I say, settling back against him, “when you volunteered to drop off Mom’s delivery order in the city this morning. And insisted I come with you.”
His chest rumbles with silent laughter beneath my cheek. “I needed an excuse. Now that my parents are in your house all the time, I barely get a minute alone with you.”
It’s true. It’s just been two days since the engagement, yet our mothers have been in full wedding-planning mode, which apparently requires both families to occupy the same space at all times. It doesn’t matter what we say about the wedding, they have their own ideas.
Christmas preparations have only made it worse. Yesterday when Alexander and I returned for breakfast, we walked into the kitchen only to find Victoria and Mom debating centerpieces while Dad and Jacob argued about the best way to hang garland. It had been one day since our engagement.
It’s chaos.
“Mom’s going to wonder why we’re taking so long. She’s going to know,” I point out.
“What, that we’re having sex?” Alexander’s voice is perfectly casual. “Pretty sure everybody knows that.”
“That we got a hotel room in Asheville to have sex when we were supposed to be making a delivery run.” I tilt my head back to look at him. “Our mothers will be mortified.”
His grin is absolutely wicked. “Then let’s keep it between us.”
I laugh, pressing my face back against his chest. “Deal.”
We shower together—which almost derails the entire plan to get back in time for lunch when Alexander decides that soaping my back requires both hands and a lot of kissing. But eventually we make it out of the bathroom, wrapped in the hotel’s plush towels.
I find my bra on the floor—how it ended up all the way over there, I have no idea—and hook it on, then locate my pants draped over the velvet armchair by the window.
Alexander is already dressed in his pants, bare-chested and gorgeous, and I let myself enjoy the view for a moment.
Dark hair, lean muscle, that line of his hipbones disappearing into his waistband.
“You’re staring,” he says without looking up from buckling his belt.
“You’re pretty.”
He looks up at that, one eyebrow raised. “Pretty?”
“Like a really expensive suit commercial.” I pull on my pants, hopping a little to get them over my hips. “Or a cologne ad. Very aspirational.”
He looks up, a smile playing at his lips. “Should I be flattered?”
“Extremely.”
His eyes narrow. “Come here and say that.”
“Why? So you can get me back on the bed? I don’t think so.” I grab my shirt from where it’s somehow ended up on the desk and pause before putting it on. “Listen, we need to talk about something.”
Alexander’s hands still on his shirt buttons. “Should I be worried?”
“Maybe.” I turn to face him, arms crossed over my bra. “Once we’re back in the office after the holidays, we have to be professional. That means you can’t just... grope me in the office or whatever.”
His expression turns innocent. Too innocent. “I would never grope you.”
“Alexander.”
“In front of anyone,” he adds, his mouth curving into a smirk.
I flush. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.” He crosses the room in two strides, and suddenly I’m backed against the wall with his hands braced on either side of my head. His bare chest is inches from mine, and I try not to focus on that little detail. “I’m always serious when it comes to you.”
My mouth goes dry. “If you grope me at work, I’ll bite you.”
His eyes darken, and the smirk turns absolutely wicked. “Will you? Where?”
I tilt my chin up, even though my heart is hammering. “Wherever I want.”
He leans closer, close enough that I can count the individual shades of gray in his eyes. “There’s one place I’d be very happy if you put your mouth.”
My face goes nuclear. “Alexander Castellano—”