Hard. Hot. Wanting. I’m not sure if those words refer to him or to me. As he rocks against me, a clawing desperation springs to life inside me, and I curl my fingers into the soft cotton of his shirt.
“Tell me you want this.” His gaze meets mine, shining with challenge and as dark as any storm. “If you don’t, now is your only chance to say so.”
Speak now or forever hold your peace.
Hold his piece.
An absurd giggle bubbles up inside me because that’s something to aspire to, right?
But I don’t laugh as his expression changes, the look of determination slipping from his face, replaced by something a little more bittersweet. I swallow thickly. I don’t want to hurt him, but his kisses earlier were enough to unravel me. Enough to melt my resolve. Enough to make me give in. I close my eyes, opening my mouth to deny him when the tender press of his lips at the base of my throat startles me into a sob.
I expected punishment through fucking. A reprimand delivered by the rough touch of his hands. I didn’t expect to feel like one press of his lips could make me feel treasured. Loved.
His mouth travels higher, heated breath and bare brushes of his lips igniting my skin. Making my heart beat a tango between us. My back arches from the bed, my dress already perfect now up around my waist as I welcome the press of him between my legs. Alexander presses up onto his arms, and for a moment, he stares down at me. Watches me. Sees the truth of me. My stupidity? His expression is barely discernible in the light, though his eyes shine quite suddenly like dark stars.
“Give yourself to me, Holland.” Wrapping his arm under me, he surges between my legs, his body and voice as taut as a bowstring. “Give yourself to me because you want to. Not because of anything else.”
I give him the only answer I can as I pull him down to me. Air leaves his chest, the warm scent of relief feathering across my lips. Lips that meet in a kiss. Mouth against mouth, our bodies flush, my hands grasping and maybe a little too enthusiastic for someone who’s supposed to be here under duress.
We kiss as though starved, as though this kiss is the very thing to bring us breath. My fingers are still twisted in his shirt as his hand reaches down to grasp my calf. To trail up my leg. Higher. Higher. I am pure sensation, every inch of my skin aware of each place our bodies meet. The brush of his pants against my naked thighs, his chest as it grazes mine, the press of his lips. It’s all so heavenly, though not nearly enough. I begin to pull the shirt from his pants, my fingers seeking the heat of his skin, desperate for more of him. He groans a velvety sound as my fingertips reach their objective, his abdominal muscles rippling in response to my touch.
“Holland.” He shapes my name against my skin as my fingers dip and begin to grapple with the buckle of his belt as my body aches emptily for his.
Inside me. Hot. Hard. Unyielding. Punishing me.
As though reading my mind, my intentions, he takes my head in his hands, his kiss hot and urgent. Our tongues twirling and twining, our breaths shared, our half-spoken words inhaled.
“Yes—”
“Need—”
“You are—”
“Fuck—”
My back arches, my body bowing to meet his as his pelvis presses mine as he begins to loosen the tiny row of gold buttons at my wrists.
“I didn’t think this part through,” he rasps, his teeth gleaming in the low light with his grin.
Oh, my heart. He bought me this exquisite dress.
I want to thank him. Tell him what this means to me—not because it’s designer, but because it’s perfect for me.
“Ah, fuck it,” he growls, his accent nothing less than guttural Scots as he pulls one cuff apart, the buttons pinging across the room.
“No!” I protest, snapping my wrist away from him. “It’s Valentino!” Like he doesn’t already know as he grabs the other and repeats the process.
“I’ll buy you another. I’ll buy you a dozen.”
“I like this one,” I say, laughing in protest. “And I’ll treasure it always.”
“Darling girl.” His eyes turn almost molten, his fingers brushing the hair from my face, but then he breaks contact for a moment, finding the zipper at the side. Together, we work to pull it off, the damage, the moment, no longer important.
“I want you so damned much.” He cups my cheek, his rough whisper pure praise.
I screw my eyes tight against the reverence in his gaze.
“Hurry. Quickly.” Two tiny, escaped words, barely a breath as I fight against this. It’s just sex, I remind myself. I can’t lose myself in the way he looks at me because he bought me a dress.