Chapter 26
ALEX
Ihad never gone to bed with someone before. I’d taken women to bed, sure. Plenty of them, but it had always gone the same way.
Drinks. Hotels. Sheets I didn’t own. Bodies I didn’t intend to remember.
But then I’d left.
Always.
As soon as I’d caught my breath in the aftermath, I’d always gone back to my own place to sleep. Even on the rare occasion when I’d dozed off for a few minutes or a few hours, as soon as I woke up, I was gone.
This, however, was different.
Jane was asleep beside me, one arm tucked between us, her forehead nearly touching my shoulder, and the realization landed as I opened my eyes that I wasn’t going anywhere. More than that, I didn’t want to leave this bed.
The storm outside hadn’t let up. Snow slammed against the windows hard enough that even the thick old glass rattled. Despite the fact that the sun had risen at least an hour ago, it was still dark. As I came fully into consciousness, I realized that the power was also out.
There was no hum of electricity and no lights, no heat drifting from the vents. The room was cold everywhere except right here. This bed was the only warm place in the house until we lit the fires again. The embers of the one in my room still glowed but that wouldn’t last long.
I shifted slightly, careful not to wake her, and felt her move with me, instinctively closing the gap again without opening her eyes.
Her hand slid over my chest, her fingers curling like she expected me to still be there.
I exhaled through my nose when I realized that right now, this was better than sex.
While my brain insisted that I had to get up, get away now that I was awake, my instincts weren’t saying the same thing. I lay there longer than I meant to, just staring up at the ceiling, listening to the storm and the slow rhythm of her breathing, not a single muscle in my body wanting to move.
Every once in a while, she’d sigh, or her knee would brush mine, or her fingers would flex. Each time, it sent a low, sharp reminder straight through my body. We shouldn’t be doing this, but we already are.
I swallowed a low groan, my cock already as stiff again as it had been when I’d finally fallen asleep.
Shit, I was no saint and I sure as hell wasn’t a martyr or into denial.
I had no idea how long I was going to be able to take this before I snapped, but when I finally got inside her, I wouldn’t be wondering if she was tipsy or if she’d regret it in the morning.
After last night, when—and not if, but when—we went there, we’d both be stone cold sober and wanting it so bad, there could be no regret. No going back.
My train of thought was cut off when she stirred, waking gradually and not all at once. I felt it before I saw it, the way her breathing changed and how her hand shifted deliberately this time. Her head lifted, her hair falling into her face and her eyes still soft and unfocused.
“Good morning,” she murmured, her voice rough with sleep.
“That depends on your definition of good,” I said. “It’s still trying to kill us out there.”
She smiled faintly and followed my gaze toward the window. “Yeah. Wow. It looks even worse now. What’s the time?”
“After eight.”
“But it’s so dark.” She brought her gaze back to mine. “Why is it so quiet?”
“The power’s out,” I said, hooking an arm behind my head and looking up at her. “We’re pretty much stuck exactly where we are for the day.”
“Yeah.” She adjusted, propping herself on one elbow, and the sheet slipped just enough to make my jaw tighten.
The hoodie had ridden up while she’d been asleep, and with the sheet where it was right now, there was an exposed sliver of skin at her hip. A sliver of skin that, if the sheet moved just a little more, would lead all the way to—
“What?” she asked, obviously catching the look on my face. She lifted an eyebrow at me, amusement sparking in her still sleepy eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t,” I warned.
“Don’t what?”
“Move.”
She smiled wider and absolutely did not listen. I closed my eyes briefly, counted to three, then opened them again to find her watching me like she was cataloging every reaction I failed to hide.
“You look conflicted,” she said as her arm brushed against my hip under the covers, and I glared at her again.
“I am.”
“About?”
“Everything.”
She laughed quietly and leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to my shoulder, her fingers tracing idly along my ribs like she had all the time in the world.
Instantly regretting taking my sweater off last night when it’d gotten too hot, I felt the tension building deep within like pressure in a sealed room, slow and unavoidable.
“Jane…”
“What?” she repeated, her lips dragging against my collarbone before she suddenly lifted her head again and shot me a coy smile. “Are you not a morning person or something?”
“Or something,” I grumbled, rolling onto my side to face her and propping my head on my hand.
She mirrored me without thinking, our knees brushing under the covers. This was the problem. Everything felt natural with her, too natural to be as tense as I was right now.
She reached out and touched my wrist, her thumb pressing lightly over my pulse. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.”
“You always say that.”
“It’s always true.”
She hummed an unconvinced sound and traced the vein up my forearm, not trying to get anywhere, just touching me. I caught her wrist gently, holding her there. “Jane.”
“Alex.”
“You’re not helping.”
She smirked. “I’m not trying to.”
That was the issue. It looked like she’d woken up as sure about what she wanted as she had been last night, and surely the buzz of the alcohol had faded by now.
As my gaze traced the line of that smirk on her mouth, I leaned in and kissed her, just a brief touch of my lips to hers meant to reassure her that I wanted the same thing, but we didn’t have to rush it. She kissed me back like she understood exactly what I was doing and disagreed on principle.
Her hand slid into my hair and my restraint snapped tight enough to hurt, so I pulled back. “No.”
She blinked hard, but there was still a healthy dose of amusement in her eyes as she looked at me. “No?”
“I’m making breakfast,” I ground out. “Now.”
She stared for another beat, then started giggling. “You’re making breakfast? How?”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“There’s no power.”
“I’m aware.”
She arched an eyebrow at me, looking way too tempting lying like that, with her hair still all mussed, her lips still swollen from all our kisses last night, and that oversized fucking hoodie still hiding way too much.
“No offense, Alex, but you don’t strike me as the matches and camping stove type.”
“Watch and learn.” I rolled out of bed before she could argue, the cold air hitting hard enough to make me swear under my breath. I grabbed my hoodie and pulled it back on, then swept her sweats up off the floor and tossed them at her. “Those are for when you decide to stop trying to kill me.”
She caught the pants, smirking again. “You’re the one who invited me downstairs.”
I didn’t respond, already halfway out the door before I changed my mind and spent all day doing all the dirty things to her I’d literally dreamed of doing. At this point, I wasn’t even sure why I was still trying to be a gentleman.
It’s just, she’s my wife, goddammit. Why does that make it feel like I need to do it right and what the hell does that even mean?
Downstairs was dim and cold. The house creaked like it disapproved of me being awake as I stalked into the kitchen. I opened drawers until I found a matchbook with some old hotel logo on the front and set about lighting the gas stove like I knew what I was doing.
I did not. Clearly. The flame sputtered and my patience wore thin. I was wound tighter than a drum, a hair away from getting so erect again that I could take someone’s eye out, and restraint was starting to feel like cruel and unusual punishment.
Jane appeared in the doorway while I waited for our coffee, barefoot and wrapped in my shirt from last night like it belonged to her. Everything in me tightened at the sight.
“You look domestic,” she said, much too cheerful.
My eyes narrowed. “I hate it.”
She padded closer, leaning against the counter and watching me struggle like it gave her great pleasure to see. “You don’t bring women home.”
“I don’t,” I said. “Why are you reminding me of that?”
“Because here I am.”
“Complicating my morning.”
She smiled, reaching out to straighten the collar of my hoodie. Her fingers brushed my throat and the tension snapped. I turned, backing her against the counter without thinking, one hand braced beside her, the other at her waist.
She looked up at me, her pupils dilating and her breath catching, but she wasn’t surprised. She was waiting.
“This is a bad idea,” I said as I lowered my mouth to her throat.
She canted her head to give me better access, catching my cheek in her palm and stroking her thumb across the stubble there. “Then stop.”
I didn’t. Instead, all the restraint I’d been hoarding bled out in one controlled, deliberate motion and I pressed open-mouthed kisses to her skin, working my way to her jaw and then her mouth.
Her hands fisted in my hoodie, pulling me closer, and the world narrowed down to heat, pressure, and the quiet sound she made when I pressed into her.
“Tell me to stop,” I murmured, pulling back just enough to look into those gorgeous gray eyes again. “I’m serious, Jane. If you’re not sure about this, or if there’s any part of you that—”
“Alex?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t stop,” she said, her voice steady and sure, her chin tilting just enough to let me know she had come down here determined to make this happen. “I’m not sure if you’re trying to be valiant, or noble, but—”
That was it. I kissed her again, harder this time, my grip tightening on her hips and the percolator forgotten. We’re married, for God’s sake. Might as well consummate it.
Married. Trapped by weather.
I could probably have stopped again. Maybe, but I didn’t even try. I lifted her against me, groaning when she wrapped her legs around my hips. The percolator whistled somewhere behind us and I laughed into her mouth.
“Our coffee is ready,” I murmured, reaching behind me to turn off the flame without breaking eye contact. “We’ll save it for later.”
She smiled. I kissed her again and decisively carried her upstairs. For the first time ever, I was going to take a woman to bed, knowing I wasn’t leaving after, and it felt damn good.
I already knew it was about to feel even better, though. Jane stretched out on the bed as I laid her down, those gray eyes not leaving mine as I crawled up after her.
She caught my face in her hands, bringing me to her and stroking her tongue into my mouth when we crashed together again. “I want you, Alex. I don’t like it when you hold back on me. Don’t do that again, okay?”
I groaned, already so hard when I fitted my sweats-clad hips between her legs. Pleasure rocketed through me at the sensation of her heat against me even through the pants. “Don’t say that to me right now.”
“Why not?” she asked without skipping a beat. “I mean it.”
As she said it, she pushed her hand between us, snaking her hot, tiny palm down my abs until she hit my waistband. I sucked in a breath, giving a tiny thrust that made her gasp and slide her hand further down.
“Jane,” I gritted out against her mouth.
She broke the kiss to look at me then, aggravation sparking to life in her eyes as she held my gaze. “Alex?”
I looked back at her and realized suddenly that she wasn’t fragile or broken. She wasn’t hesitant or naive. This woman underneath me right now was that same formidable Killer I’d been in awe of since we’d met, and with that thought, I sat up back on my knees.
“Take it off,” I demanded, motioning to my pants with my free hand before I brought it to her hip and gripped it. “If you really don’t want me to hold back, then get ready, Mrs. Westwood, because this seriously isn’t going to take long.”
A slow, ridiculously pleased, ridiculously mischievous smile spread across her lips. “Finally, husband. Welcome to the freaking party.”