Chapter 16
For a moment, she could only stare at him, her breath caught somewhere between disbelief and wonder. He kept saying the most wondrous things, but this … this was different. It was raw and certain, stripped of everything but truth. This was real.
Her fingers trembled as she cupped his face, her thumbs tracing the faint stubble along his jaw. Words failed her — at least for now — so she showed him instead.
She kissed him again, slow and sure, pouring into it everything she couldn’t yet say aloud. All her hopes, her longing, the quiet promise of something lasting.
He drew her closer, the hard press of his body unmistakable, his breath quick and uneven against her skin. The air between them seemed to thrum, charged with need and unspoken understanding.
Justin broke the kiss, his forehead resting against hers as he tried to steady his breathing. “Bedroom,” he rasped, his voice rough. “Now,” he murmured.
Suzette turned, her pulse hammering, and crossed the room with him close behind — each step thick with anticipation and the certainty that this was her Rubicon. There was no turning back.
Nor did she want to.
Slipping off her sandals, she kicked them aside and moved farther into the room.
She stopped at the foot of her bed, suddenly aware of the mess.
The soft glow from the bedside lamp illuminated the evidence of her earlier wardrobe crisis — clothes strewn in careless disarray. Perfect. He’d think she was a slob.
But then his hand brushed her spine, found the zipper, and tugged.
The sound was quiet, intimate, and suddenly her thoughts were gone, lost in the hush as her dress slid to the floor.
His hands came to rest on her hips, anchoring her.
His breath brushed her neck, hot and uneven, before his lips found the tender place just beneath her ear.
“Look at us, Suzette.”
She frowned in confusion, until the gentle pressure of his hands turned her toward the mirror in the far corner. The sight stole her breath — his body behind hers, his gaze locked on hers in the glass. Her wearing nothing but matching pale green underwear and a beaded pendant.
The sheer surrealness of it all broke through the haze — JK Kenzie, silver-screen heartthrob, her lifelong crush, stood behind her.
A ripple of panic surged through her.
What on earth are you doing, Suzette?
As if he’d heard her thought, his voice came low and certain against her ear. “Whatever thought you just had — discard it. This is about us, Suzette. You and me. Whatever lies beyond this room is just noise.”
Her pulse still raced, but the panic that had spiked a moment ago ebbed as his words sank in. He’d chosen her. Out of everyone, her. He’d sought her out, crossed an ocean to stand here, to be with her.
In the mirror, his gaze held hers, steady and unguarded. She felt the truth of it in every breath. “You chose me,” she whispered, her voice trembling but sure.
His lips brushed her temple, a promise more than a kiss. “I will always choose you, Suzette.”
The thought shuddered through her again — he’d chosen her.
He was in her bedroom, undressing her, about to make love to her.
And somehow, impossibly, there was a rightness to it.
There was no room for doubts. Not here. Not now.
And tomorrow? Tomorrow would look after itself.
They had now.
She slumped back against him, feeling the hard press of his need — for her — in the small of her back.
Gaze still locked with hers in the mirror, he murmured, “She’s back.”
Her lips curved, breath catching. “I’m back.”
Justin trailed his lips across her shoulder, reigniting the spark of her desire. Her breasts strained against the confines of her bra, aching for release. For his touch. Her lips parted to urge him on, but he seemed to read her mind.
His fingers traced a slow path up her midriff, then higher, and released the clasp holding her bra together with deft precision. He eased the soft green silk aside, revealing her to him. “Beautiful,” he whispered.
In the mirror, the pendant lay like a drop of seafoam against her skin, the agate beads catching the lamplight in soft glimmers. His finger slid beneath the weighty stone, lifting it gently from her skin.
And then … then he swept it from side to side, the cool beads rolling over her sensitive nipples. Her breath hitched. So, he did it again. And again.
Her pulse hammered, her breath quickened.
A smile played on his lips. “So responsive.”
“You’re wicked.”
“Very.”
He removed the pendant and stepped back, placing it carefully on the dresser. She used the moment to slip the straps of her bra down her arms, then turned to face him.
“Uh-uh,” he murmured, his hand gentle but firm as he shifted her back toward the mirror.
For a fleeting moment, panic returned. What madness is this, Suzette?
But then his hands touched her breasts, and her thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind, leaving only sensation. The rasp of his palms against her skin. The sure glide of his fingers tracing and teasing until she could barely breathe.
When one hand slipped lower, disappearing under the silk, seeking her hidden warmth, she gasped, every nerve sparking at his touch.
They both groaned, the sound raw and shared.
She arched back into him, his arm tightening to hold her against him, his breath hot against her neck, his lips and teeth finding her skin — nipping, tasting, soothing.
She wanted to close her eyes, but the image in the mirror held her spellbound. Their reflections moved in perfect rhythm, her breath rising and falling with his, desire pulsing at the very center of her being.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against her ear, voice rough with feeling. “So responsive … Come for me, my love.”
His words were the final push. The world seemed to dissolve around her — light, breath, and heartbeat tangling into one fierce rush. When the trembling passed, she sagged against him, boneless and spent.
Justin caught her easily, his strength the only thing keeping her from sliding to the floor. Holding her until the trembling eased, his chin resting in her hair, his thumb tracing lazy circles along her ribs.
For a long moment there was only sound — the uneven rhythm of her breathing, the slow thud of his heart against her back, the hush of the sea beyond the window.
From somewhere below drifted the mellow cry of a saxophone, the slow pulse of a drum keeping lazy time beneath it, the faint hum of conversation from the dinner terrace.
The sounds felt distant, belonging to another world entirely.
Here, wrapped in the circle of his arms, the lamplight pooling around them, they were cocooned in their own quiet universe.
Safe, suspended, untouched.
When she finally lifted her head, she caught their reflection again: two figures wrapped in shadow and lamplight.
His unwavering gaze held hers in the mirror and something inside her shifted. It wasn’t about desire anymore; it was about belonging.
To him.
The realization swept through her, dissolving the last lingering shadow of her feelings. “You’re my everything,” she whispered
His gaze darkened, heat sparking low in his eyes — something raw, almost feral. “Damn straight I am,” he growled.
*
His words were roughened by want — and something deeper he couldn’t quite name. Possessiveness, maybe.
No, craving.
He needed her like a parched man craves water, and unlike that poor bastard, he wasn’t stranded in any desert.
No, sirree.
Suzette was right here, warm and soft and very much in his arms.
And his dick was crying out for relief.
He focused on their reflection — a beautiful woman, bare but for the scrap of silk clinging low on her hips.
His.
For now, for always, if he had any say in it.
“There’s a bit of inequality going on here,” she said, turning, her voice soft but teasing.
He arched a brow. “How so?”
“Well,” she said, lips curving. “I’m naked. You’re not. I’ve come. You haven’t.” Her fingers touched the placket of his shirt.
He gave a short laugh. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”
“Doesn’t seem fair,” she teased.
“No, ma’am,” he murmured, his voice dropping low. “And I’m all about keeping things fair.”
“Maybe I can be of assistance?” she offered, lips pulling at the corners.
He grinned. “By all means. Have at it.”
Her fingers worked slowly, deliberately, each button slipping free under her touch. The air between them thickened, heavy with heat and anticipation. He watched her through half-lidded eyes, feeling every brush of her knuckles as she eased the fabric apart.
When she reached the last button, she smoothed her palms over his chest, skimming the hard lines of muscle before pushing the shirt from his shoulders.
He lifted a hand, trailing it along her jaw. “Fair enough yet?” he asked, voice a low rumble that sat somewhere between laughter and longing.
“Not even close.” Her gaze dipped, a teasing spark lighting her eyes. “Lose the shoes, mister.”
He huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Bossy little thing, aren’t you?”
“Only when I’ve got leverage,” she shot back.
Her smile — slow, sure, utterly devastating — nearly undid him.
He loved her playful side, and toed off one shoe, then the other, each thud on the floor a soft punctuation in the hush of the room. “How’s that for fair?” he murmured.
“Hmm. We need to take care of the belt,” she said, her tone thoughtful but teasing. She put action to words, unfastening the buckle and letting the two ends hang loose.
He drew in a sharp breath when the back of her fingers brushed his skin as she slipped the button of his pants free.
Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, a small, nervous gesture at odds with the boldness of her gaze.
Heat shimmered in the space between them, her attention caught on the last barrier that separated them.
“Shall I?” he offered.
“Nope.” The p popped softly in the quiet, a sound that made his pulse kick.
With deliberate care, she took hold of the zipper tab, fingers trembling just enough to betray the composure she pretended to have. The sound of metal sliding open was soft, deliberate, drawn out one breath at a time.
Justin held perfectly still. The air seemed to turn the air thicker, heavier.
She was careful, excruciatingly, deliberately taking her time, making him feel every second of it.
The way her fingers moved told him she wasn’t shy anymore.
She was choosing this, choosing him, and that knowledge hit harder than anything else.
He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Careful,” he murmured, half teasing, half prayer.
She lifted her gaze, smiling. “I’ve decided careful is overrated,” she whispered.
Her fingers lingered where they were, caressing him, teasing the edge of his control. Neither of them moved, suspended in a quiet that felt alive — filled with the beat of their hearts and the faint music drifting up from the terrace below.
“You make it hard to breathe, you know that?” Her voice was soft, almost wondering.
“Ditto, baby. Ditto.” Then he moved, impatient now, and hooked his fingers on his waistband, tugging pants and boxers down in a quick move and stepped out of them.
Naked as the day he was born, he folded his arms across his chest, one brow arched in mock challenge. “Maybe you’d like to even the playing field?”
A light blush pinked her cheeks as she dragged her gaze upward to meet his. “Guess I can do that.”
She didn’t look away. Holding his eyes, she eased the scrap of silk down her hips. In a heartbeat the last barrier between them was gone, leaving nothing but warmth, labored breath, and the charged stillness between them.
“Damn, woman,” he murmured, awe edging his voice. “You steal my breath. Every time.”
Her lips curved, the blush deepening as her gaze held his. “Hope you’ve got some left for the next step.”
He laughed softly, the sound low and rough, full of affection.
The tension that had been all heat and hunger softened into something steadier — connection, trust, the quiet hum of two people completely in sync.
He tilted his head, a lazy grin curving his mouth. “Next step, huh? You planning this out, or just making it up as you go?”
She shrugged, a spark in her eyes. “A little of both.”
He chuckled, the sound rolling out of him low and genuine. “Works for me,” he said, giving her a gentle shove so she toppled back onto the mattress with a soft bounce. “As long as I’m part of the plan.”
He bent to scoop up his pants from the floor and tugged out the strip of condoms.
“Six?” Her brows arched. “Testing your stamina, are we?”
He paused, taking in the sight of her sprawled across the bed — naked, glorious, looking at him like he was the only man alive. Heat surged through him, sharp and undeniable. “Absolutely nothing wrong with my libido, woman,” he growled, voice thick with need.
She pushed up onto her elbows, lips pursed in thought, a small frown drawing between her brows. “From my side, there’s no need for condoms. I’m well past childbearing age.”