Chapter Three
Three
While I’m digging into my backpack for my wallet, he’s already dropping a handful of crisp twenties onto the table.
“I’ve got it,” he says.
“Thank you.” I’m hyperaware of every movement I make as I stand up and smooth my dress down my legs, because I know he’s watching me from behind.
Before I can, he grabs the handle of my suitcase and then pulls my backpack from my shoulder, stacking and wheeling them between us as we make our way out of the now-empty bar and back to the lobby.
He keeps a weird distance all the way to the elevators.
Like we’re two strangers, coincidentally moving in the same direction.
I don’t question it; I can’t really devote much conscious thought to anything but breathing and walking.
The edges of my vision blur with wine and lust and fatigue.
Alec’s expression is distant, too, as he holds the elevator door for me and follows me into the empty car.
And as soon as the doors close, I expect him to crowd closer—after all, we have twenty-six floors to climb and an ocean of sexual tension lapping at our toes.
I expect him to back me into a corner, tease me with those long, silent looks, but he leans against the opposite wall instead, crossing one foot over the other, and pulls out his phone to type something.
He hits send, and slides the slim phone into his pocket, but then tilts his face to the ceiling, taking a deep breath.
Confusion makes me mute. Maybe I wasn’t clear as to why I wanted to go up to his room.
Maybe he thought that was me putting the flirting on ice?
God, I hope not. The power of his physical presence is suffocating—the unreal length of his legs, his strong hands reaching back and gripping the handrail running the perimeter of the car, the lean bulk of his chest beneath his white dress shirt.
He exudes sex and confidence but seems paradoxically hyperaware and unaware of it.
The idea that I might be told to go to bed alone after all that sexual tension is like being told to cut off a sneeze, mid-sneeze.
I guess he senses the thick silence, too, because he clears his throat. “Cameras,” he says quietly, pointing a finger at the ceiling. “I don’t want to get caught on video being naughty in an elevator.”
“Oh.” Relief adds to the intoxicating mix simmering under my skin and I tilt my face up, slowly sucking in a lungful of air.
“Your neck is so flushed,” he murmurs.
I look back at him, and when our eyes meet, heat streaks through my chest so abruptly that I feel a weird swell of emotion rise. This is crazy. And I don’t care.
Have I ever wanted something physical the way I want this?
I remember being attracted to Spence—especially in our early days—but I never felt like I was choking on a tangible need for him.
I dig my teeth into my lower lip, working to keep a cry from escaping my throat.
He hasn’t even touched me yet and my thighs already feel warm.
He angles his body toward me, nostrils flared. “Do you blush like this when you come?”
“I don’t know,” I admit with a fragile edge to my voice. “I feel…”
“I know.” The elevator dings, the doors open, and Alec bursts forward, catching my wrist in his grip and pulling me out after him.
I want him to wheel on me here, shove me against the wall.
I want his hungry hands to dive under my skirt, bunch the fabric in his fists.
I want to drag his zipper down, pull him free, and watch his face as he first feels me.
I am nothing but hollow ache; my skin feels prickly and tight.
He wordlessly marches me down the hall, almost like I’m in trouble, his long legs pulling my shorter ones into a jog behind him.
With his free hand, he swipes his keycard, pushing the door open and propelling me inside.
The door swings closed with a heavy thud, and my suitcase collides with the wall at the same moment he grabs my waist with both hands, turning me into him.
His body comes up against mine and he pivots us, trapping me against the wall.
Alec’s mouth comes to my neck, hot and open, sucking right where it seems my heart beats the wildest. I finally feel the broad expanse of his back, sliding my hands up to his neck and into his hair.
He speaks into my skin. “Where do I start with you?”
I want to start at the end, with his body inside mine, but I want, too, to slow time and get there in tiny increments.
We haven’t even kissed yet and I’m sharply aware that I get this only one time in my life.
Not just this night with Alec Kim but this kind of night ever, this kind of sex where there aren’t rules, there’s no emotional fallout, there’s only the intensity of need that seems to expand now that we’re touching.
I turn my head, urging his mouth to mine.
He groans at the contact and my legs nearly give out.
His soft candy lips, firm touch, that cherry-pout mouth sucking at my bottom lip, nudging me open with a sigh.
He tastes like whiskey and kisses like he’s already fucking, with growl and heat. Alec Kim isn’t here to mess around.
He reaches down, bunching the hem of my dress in his hands and drawing it up my body and over my head, tossing it into a red puddle at our feet. Reaching back, he flicks the clasp of my bra and slides it down my arms before discarding it somewhere to the side, his eyes fixed on my naked skin.
I have nowhere to go, but when he takes a step back to look down the length of me, naked and pressed against the wall, I wouldn’t move even if I could. I’ve never seen this degree of unmasked lust on a man’s face before.
He braces one hand on the wall beside my head and with the other reaches forward, gently pulling my hair loose from the makeshift bun.
It spills, soft and cool, over his hands, over my shoulders.
Alec slowly draws his index finger down my throat, between my breasts, and along my stomach.
My nipples are hard, a blush crawling down my neck and across my chest. Biting his lip, Alec watches his fingers slide up over my ribs, cupping my breast, and then he bends, opening his mouth and closing it around the peak.
At the wet slide of his tongue, I feel the first sound tear out of me, my hands going to his hair, fists forming around the silken weight of it. He sucks and then drags his teeth over my nipple, sending his other hand down my back and around the curve of my ass.
Digging my hands between us, I tug the hem of his shirt from his dress pants and unbutton it from the bottom up, pushing it away from his chest so I can get my hands on him.
He’s warm and solid under my palms: his smooth chest, ribs that contract and expand under the pace of his breathing, the lean line of his waist. When he pulls my body into his, the first sensation of his skin on mine is obliterating.
Whatever patience he was able to muster is gone as he wrestles his arms out of his shirt, throwing it onto the floor.
Alec grasps my hips, turning and walking me backward with his mouth working up my neck until we collide with the arm of the couch. Laughing against my throat, he lifts me up, wrapping my legs around his waist.
“Bedroom?” he asks.
I nod, sending my arms around his shoulders, kissing the sweet heat of his neck, biting down the unreal length of it, sucking my way back up.
He walks us down the hall, into the bedroom, holding me until my back hits the mattress and he rests over me.
Pulling my leg higher up over his hip, he dry-fucks me with slow, hard thrusts, his mouth working along my jaw and collarbone, hand finding its way from my waist to my breast where he squeezes, plumping me for his tongue, his body bending to suck me deep.
I have too many thoughts to sort and let them fly through me unfiltered.
The wet slide of his tongue around my nipple.
The heat and suction of his full lips over my breasts.
The hard press of him between my legs and how wet I am and how it’s going to be all over his clothes.
He slows his tongue into lazy circles; his hips slow, too, and he finally pushes up onto his arms, looking down at me. “You okay?”
“I’m perfect.” My exhaustion fell away with my clothes. Sleep is the last thing I want right now. I run my hand up from his stomach to his chest and can feel his heart under there, pounding. “Are you?”
“Yeah, I just—” He nods, dropping his head. “I never get this.”
I laugh, drawing spirals on his chest. “Alexander Kim, I have a very hard time believing that.”
“No—I mean—like this,” he says. “I should take my time.” He studies my mouth. “Three hours ago I wanted to just be at my hotel in LA. Now I want tonight to last a week. It’s never like that anymore. Being with someone—it’s always so loaded.”
Sinking my teeth into my lower lip, I stare up at him. I think I know what he means; it’s true for me, too. For the first time in a long time, sex can just be sex, but that doesn’t make it meaningless, either. Sliding my hand around his neck, I pull him down for a kiss.
It’s slower this time, deep and claiming, and he cups my jaw with his hand, his thumb stroking just next to where our mouths move together in such a natural way.
Now that we’re in bed, it feels like we have an eternity.
I sense the cocktail of giddiness and devastation brewing in my blood; I know what he means when he says he wants this night to last a week.