14. Alana
Alana
The change in Grae is almost instant. When we arrived at the hotel, he still carried that eager-to-please energy.
But now the man standing in front of me is fully dressed, eyes burning with a lustful rage that has devoured every trace of puppy-dog softness.
A cinnamon roll turned alpha with a single threat.
There’re a million reasons for me to run. They keep creeping into my thoughts, but it’s been so long since I felt anything like this.
When men look at me, they see ways that I can make them more powerful. Or something to restrain and crush because they’re afraid. But Grae, he wants me to feel desired.
“Tonight you’re mine.”
Three words, and I melt. All my logical senses have been shot and buried. You’re mine. He’s the only one who has ever said that to me, and I want it to be true.
“Tonight.” One and done. Let him please you and get it out of your system. This is just a Reykjavik event, no spilling over to my real life. Then tomorrow I can keep him out of the line of fire.
I can do this. Easy.
“Take off your clothes.” He motions to the chair by the bed. Then clears his throat and slips back into command. “Brace your hands on the arms of the chair and wait for me.”
When other men try to dom me, it doesn’t work. I fight it, push back, because Alana can never show weakness. But for tonight, I can be Kinsley and let my brain check out for a little while. I shed every layer of my clothes and let the cool air of the hotel room bite at my skin.
He places my hands where he wants them, bracing my weight on my arms. Then spreads my legs around the base of the chair and steps away, leaving my ass hanging in the air.
“Close your eyes,” he says. “And wait.”
Blood rushes as my legs tremble. My whole body feels electric. What will he do? How long will he take? The tension is unreal. I have never wanted anything the way I want him.
I hear his footsteps moving in behind me.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. “Waiting for me.” I hear the tearing of a condom wrapper and clothes hitting the floor.
His fingers trace up my inner thigh so lightly I’m not even sure it’s real.
My eyes stay shut and my legs are wide open.
His body shuffles as he drops to his knees.
His hot breath glides across my exposed entrance.
Grae moans as his tongue licks my clit, a light flutter.
And whatever restraint he’s held on to vanishes as he feasts on my pussy.
I cry out, gripping the chair until my knuckles turn white.
My nipples rub against the back of the chair, providing extra stimulation but not any relief.
His two hands grip my ass cheeks as his tongue ravages between my clit and my pussy.
I’ve wanted to give myself over to him, to be this raw and open since we boarded the plane.
My body shutters and twitches as a small orgasm hits me fast. He stops and lets out a low growl. “I didn’t say you could, did I?”
Before I could argue, a sharp smack lands across my ass. The sting explodes. Then his fingers plunge into me, sending me straight to the edge. Another smack. His fingers find my G-spot and stroke.
A third smack and I come, harder than ever before. My body is awake and wrecked all at once. I didn’t notice him taking his fingers out until they’re gripping my hips.
He slides into me without warning while I’m still shaking. He moves slowly, deeper than I remember. Then pulls out completely and slams back into me.
Again, slow and deep. Again, gone. Again, hard.
“God, yes,” I moan, feeling every inch of him inside me.
His hand glides up my back. His thrusts grow faster, not as deep but just as devastating. One hand finds my clit and moves in perfect rhythm with his hips. I can’t keep my pleasure at bay.
I don’t recognize my voice as I beg, it’s so desperate, like I'm barely hanging on to a thread. “May I come again?”
“As much as you need to.”
His cock hits the same spot his fingers did moments ago. This orgasm crashes over me faster and harder. He grabs my hair and pulls, dragging me even farther over the edge. I scream his name.
“Fuck, Alana,” he groans as his body tightens and spills into me.
He collapses, wrapping his arms around my stomach, holding me as best he can. When he withdraws, the warmth leaves with him. He remedies that quickly, spinning me around and crushing me to his chest. His gaze locks onto mine, his whole face filling my vision, lips parted. They look soft. Sweet.
But I see it behind his eyes. Overthinking. The spiraling. Some things never change. He closes his eyes and pulls back.
“Rules,” he whispers. Is he reminding me or himself? We’ve been kissing this whole day, why is it different now? “You are beautiful, but exhausted.” He points toward the bed. “Go. Time for aftercare.”
“Aftercare?”
He wipes sweat from his forehead. “Water. Snacks. Massage. Skin-to-skin contact.”
I squint. “That sounds like snuggles.”
“No.” Two versions of him battle behind his smirk. “Aftercare is professional and emotionally detached—” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine. It’s snuggles. Now get in bed so I can snuggle the shit out of you.”
“Whoa, buddy. We’ve done a lot of sex stuff, but I have boundaries, and I am not that kind of girl.” He throws his head back and laughs.
I wobble toward the bed, watching him as he disappears into the bathroom. Now I can really appreciate his body. He has always been lean and strong, but now his shoulders are broader, his back thick with muscle. Tattoos turn him into art.
I crawl beneath the sheets, blissed out and ready to let my body drift. He joins me, pulling me close and resting my cheek on his chest. One arm wraps around my waist, the other rests above his head.
I’m sticky. He’s a mess. Neither of us cares. It’s just sex, another way for me to win the best city bet. Just a few more days of fun and getting the most out of this free trial. No reason to get all sentimental.
I listen to his heartbeat. The last time I lay like this with him, his heart sounded like a machine gun. Now it’s steady. This man is different. Stronger. Calmer. He has spent a decade becoming better.
I lift my head and I say softly. “The energy you’ve put into your mental and physical health is incredible.”
He squeezes his eyes shut. “Rules,” he chokes.
“I’m not kissing you,” I say, tracing his cheek. “Besides, we've been ignoring that all day.”
His jaw sets. “You’re giving me the look.”
“I don’t know what look you mean.”
“You’re starting to look at me like I’m worth being proud of,” he says thickly. “Like I matter. It isn’t lust or admiration or calculation. It’s just… real.”
Oh shit, he’s right, deflect and distract. “That’s not fair,” I murmur. I quickly kiss his cheek before settling back on his chest. “You’ve been staring at me like that since you saw me in line.”
We lie in silence. His fingers trace my back, and his scent fills me. But his mind is on fire.
“What are you fighting right now?” I ask. He groans in defeat, rolls me onto my back, and cups my face.
“You,” he says. “I’m fighting you.”
His lips brush mine. Soft. Sweet. Then again, deeper. By the third kiss, I surrender if only for a moment. I let my armor drop and entertain the thought: what if this wasn’t a game? If we had no rules or time limit, how bad could it really be?