Chapter 27 Manuela
MANUELA
The house is silent when we slip inside, our steps hushed even though we don’t need to be. Everyone’s still up there on the mountain, and it feels like we might be the only two people remaining in Switzerland by the sounds of it.
Here, in this moment, it’s just us.
I can still feel the gondola swaying under my feet, the kiss pressed hard against my lips. My heart hasn’t slowed since.
Connor glances around the empty living room like he doesn’t trust the quiet. Then his grin cracks wide, all dimples and trouble. “We’ve got the whole place to ourselves.”
I roll my eyes, but it comes out shaky. “Are you saying I should be worried?”
“Exactly.” He steps closer, heat radiating off him. “You should be very worried.”
Long gone is that man that looked terrified up in the mountain, and in his place is a cocky, confident one who drags his eyes from top to bottom, then stops at my lips before bringing his gaze to my eyes. I laugh, but it’s cut off when his mouth finds mine.
It’s nothing like the quick stolen kiss in the ice tunnel or the frantic one in the gondola. This is open and pressed-up-against-the-wall hungry, his hands sliding over my hips like he can’t get enough.
My cardigan slides off one shoulder, half falling to the floor before I shove it the rest of the way. He breaks away long enough to glance down at the heap of fabric, smirking. “Finally.”
I swat at his chest, breathless. “Shut up.”
But he’s already tugging me toward the stairs, kisses stuttering against my jaw, my throat, both of us laughing as we stumble dangerously up the steps. We bump into a door, then another, until he shoulders one open—
And I freeze. I mean, this house is ridiculous, but I was not ready for this level.
The bathroom is huge, probably double the size of the one in my room, warm tile glowing in the late afternoon light, and right in the center is a standalone tub big enough to fit four people. Beyond it, a picture window looks straight out over the lake glittering silver blue in the sun.
Connor glances back at me, smug. “Not bad, huh?”
“You knew this was here?” I demand, still staring. My brain is not computing how over-the-top this whole trip has been.
He smirks. “Of course I knew. It’s my bathroom.”
I shake my head, laughing as he pulls me inside. “You’re annoying.”
“Correct.” He flashes me a grin, then tugs me forward. Clothes fall in a messy trail across the tile, laughter spilling between kisses. I shove at his jeans when they stick at this angle; he groans dramatically about my “patience issues.”
Connor reaches back blindly and fumbles with the chrome tap until water gushes out, hot and loud against porcelain. Steam curls instantly into the air, fogging the glass as the lake outside blurs into smears of light.
“Multitasking,” I tease, tugging at his underwear until it’s gone.
“Try not to break my neck on the tile while you strip me,” he shoots back, voice muffled against my mouth.
I laugh into the kiss, the sound swallowed when he presses harder, hungrier, until we’re both half-undressed and the tub is nearly full. He twists the tap off without looking, then scoops me up like it’s nothing.
“Connor…” I squeak, clinging to his shoulders as he lowers us into the water with a huge grin on his face. “You’re going to flood the bathroom!”
“I don’t give a shit,” he mutters. The water is hot enough to sting before it soothes, a rush that makes me gasp.
It rushes over my skin as he settles between my legs, the length of him pressing against me under the surface.
His jaw drips, hair plastered to his forehead, eyes locked on mine like he’s starving.
“This feels illegal,” I whisper, staring past his shoulder at the massive window and the lake and mountains glittering beyond. His hand slides down, fingers teasing me under the surface, the heat of the water nothing compared to the way my body burns from the inside.
“Connor.” My voice breaks.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers, lips brushing the corner of my mouth. His free hand braces at my hip, steadying me as I arch into him. “Always.”
The water rocks against the porcelain and sloshes high over the sides of the tub as he sinks his fingers into me, slow and deliberate, until I can’t hold back the broken sound that rips from my throat.
“Jesus,” he groans, forehead pressed into mine. “You feel—” His voice fractures into a curse that I don’t understand, a dozen unintelligible words that make me flush with want.
My fingers fist in his wet hair, tugging him closer. “Move,” I whisper, almost begging.
His laugh is low, ragged. “Give me a second, baby.” But his fingers keep moving, steady and deep, each curl sending a ripple through the water and a sharper one through me, leaving me gasping.
I clutch his shoulders, nails digging into slick skin. His free hand slides up to cup my breast, thumb brushing lazily over my nipple until I moan.
Connor’s breath is hot against my mouth, his rhythm faltering slightly. He pulls back just enough to catch my jaw, thumb dragging along my cheek. “Up,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. I can see his pulse fluttering, and I want to lick him so bad. “Stand with me.”
I blink at him, dazed, but his hands are already guiding me up. Water cascades down my skin, dripping loud against the porcelain as he straightens behind me. My legs tremble, but he steadies me easily, palms spanning my hips.
Our backs face the window now, and the golden hue of the late afternoon sun is streaking through the pane, casting long shadows in front of us.
Connor presses in close, chest to my back, his lips brushing the curve of my shoulder. One hand keeps me steady at my hip while the other trails up, slow and sure, cupping my breast, rolling my nipple between his finger and thumb.
“God, look at you,” he rasps, grinding forward so I can feel every inch of his hard cock against the curve of my ass. “Turned on for me like this.”
My hand slaps against the standalone faucet, desperate for something to hold on to.
Heat floods my face as he fumbles briefly for a condom, the rip of foil sharp under the sound of water and my breath.
He rolls it on with shaking hands, then grips my hip and sinks into me, slow but deep, the angle forcing me to arch back into him.
The water ripples wildly around our calves, splashing with every thrust, but I don’t care.
“Look,” Connor rasps, his hand leaving my hip to tilt my chin toward the wide mirror over the sinks.
Our reflections glow in the golden light, steam curling around us, my body bent against his, his body moving with mine, the raw need in his expression—like he’s never seen anything so perfect. I’m shaking.
“Oh…” It’s half a plea, half a curse.
“Yeah,” he groans, biting at my shoulder before dragging his tongue over the mark. “Say it. Tell me you see it.”
The words catch in my throat, tangled with moans, but the truth slips out anyway. “I see it. God, that’s so hot.”
He drives into me harder, and the reflection of our bodies blurs through the steam. His arm wraps around my waist, pulling me against him, his other hand sliding down to touch my clit until I’m gasping again, eyes locked on the image in front of us.
His fingers circle, working me in time with his hips, until I’m whimpering, every nerve sparking like the sunlight burning through the window. My body clenches tight around him, pulling him deeper, sharper, until the pressure crests so hard it’s almost unbearable.
“We’re perfect like this,” he growls, breath hot against my ear. “Fucking perfect.”
The words detonate inside me. My vision blurs, the lake and the mountains in the mirror smearing gold and white and green beyond the glass, but I can feel him inside me and against me, everywhere.
He drives in once, twice more before he follows me over, hips jerking, forehead pressing to the back of my neck. His arm tightens around me like he’s afraid I’ll vanish, like I’m the only thing tethering him here.
We sag together, trembling. “You’re unreal, Manu. Absolutely fucking unreal.”
“Connor,” I choke out, holding on to the arm wrapped around me, breath slowly leveling. For a long moment, the only sound is our breathing, ragged and uneven, the water moving faintly around our thighs.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers again. I sag back against his chest, still trembling, his hand smoothing over my stomach, up to cup my breast, then back down like he can’t stop touching me. He kisses the wet curve of my shoulder, softer now, reverent.
My pulse finally begins to slow, but the ache in my chest doesn’t ease. This was supposed to be easy. Temporary. A no-pressure thing.
Instead, I’m standing here, watching us in the mirror, my body still echoing with him, my heart hammering like I’ve just admitted something I can’t take back.