More Alone Time

The elevator ride feels like punishment. Every second drags, every floor ticking by with agonizing slowness as our bodies practically vibrate with anticipation. It’s not nerves. Not some fleeting, jittery energy. No, this is heavier. Hotter. That low, simmering ache that's been building all damn night, coiling tighter with every glance, every brush of her skin against mine.

We're not alone this time. The poor busboy riding with us probably feels it too, his eyes stay fixed on the floor, probably praying we get out before we really make him uncomfortable.

It started the second her hand slid onto my thigh under the table. The way her fingers curled, thumb tracing slow, suggestive circles, just enough pressure to make my pulse stumble. The way her eyes kept drifting to my mouth every time I spoke, dark and heavy with meaning. The subtle, not-so-innocent press of her knee against mine beneath the linen-draped table.

Iris noticed first. She leaned in, whispering out the corner of her mouth, “Get the hell out of here before you two end up in tabloids.”

We didn’t need more convincing.

We thanked her and practically sprinted for the exit, laughing, flushed, adrenaline pumping harder than any drink could’ve managed.

The second the suite door clicks shut, I have her.

Her arms hook around my neck, pulling me in, her mouth crashing against mine before I can even think. Her fingers are already at my shirt, working buttons open with frantic, practiced movements as we stumble toward the bed like two people possessed.

The kiss is deep, messy, raw. Lips bruising, teeth clashing, tongues tangling. The kind of kiss that leaves your mouth tingling long after it ends.

I fall back onto the bed, and she follows, straddling me in one smooth motion. My hands glide up her sides, fingertips sliding under her shirt, finding soft, warm skin, tracing the curve just beneath her ribs.

“Been driving me insane all night,” I growl, my voice rough as my thumbs brush along her sides, teasing, coaxing. I find the hem of her shirt and pull it up, slow, deliberate, exposing inch after inch of flushed skin.

The shirt's gone. Her bra next, expertly unhooked, and there she is. Small, delicate, but dangerous as hell. Beautiful in that glass-shard kind of way; the kind that’ll cut you wide open if you’re not careful.

Her chest rises and falls, shallow, heavy with need as her eyes lock onto mine. Her nipples stand taut, begging.

I lean in, closing my mouth over one. Slow. Savoring.

She arches, a sharp, breathless moan spilling from her lips as her fingers bury into my hair.

“God, Joey…” Her voice cracks around the edges, breath ragged, soaked in heat. She only calls me Joey when she’s right there, completely wrecked for me. “Why does this feel so different now?”

I lie back, dragging my hands down, settling on her hips, steady, possessive.

“Because…” I say, holding her gaze, voice steady, raw, “you’re mine now.” I say to her, saying back to her what she said to me. A promise. Our promise.

She pushes me back, climbing over me, her hands at the hem of my shirt now, yanking it up, exposing skin flushed and hypersensitive beneath her fingertips. Her eyes trail over me, hungry, predatory.Fingers tracing every scar, every dip of muscle, every faint line that makes me, me.

Standing at the foot of the bed, she peels her skirt down. Her panties next, sliding over toned thighs, past her calves, kicked away.

She’s breathtaking. Wet, glistening in the low hotel light. Her sex flushed, proud, begging.

It’s burned into my brain, this image. I’ll never forget it.

Her hands make quick work of my jeans, shoving them down, fingers brushing my thighs as she leans in, her mouth ghosting over mine, teasing, promising. She hooks her fingers into my boxers, tugging them down and I spring free. Hard as I’ve ever been. Thick, pulsing with need.

Her hand wraps around me, her grip tight, fingers barely meeting around my girth. Her eyes sparkle wicked as she lowers her mouth, slow, deliberate.

She takes me in, inch by inch, lips parting, tongue teasing along the underside. My hips twitch as she works down, then back up, then down again, cheeks hollowing, sucking hard. Her throat opens, welcoming me deeper, until I feel the tight, wet heat of her swallowing me whole.

I groan, my head falling back, hips bucking slightly. The Void's inhabitants, those marvelous Voyeurs, have amped up my senses outside the Domain too. Every brush of her tongue, every pull of her lips—it’s magnified. Intense. But they’ve also given me control. I won’t lose it yet. Not until Emily gets hers.

I curl my fingers into her hair, pulling her gently off me, her lips red, glistening. She crawls onto the bed, and we roll, her body beneath mine now, small, soft, trembling with want.

I kiss down her body, on her throat, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts. My hand finds her sex, slick with need, fingers sliding through her folds. She moans, hips bucking, her hands tangling in my hair as I trail lower, mouth finding her clit.

I suck hard, slow at first, building, teasing. My fingers press inside her, curling, coaxing. She arches off the bed, breath hitching, thighs trembling.

“Joey… yes... oh Joey…” Her voice is wrecked, thick with need. Her leg hooks over my shoulder, heel digging into my back.

I suck harder, fingers pumping faster, tongue relentless.

Her orgasm tears through her like a storm, her body bowing off the bed, a strangled, **** moan filling the room. Her fingers clutch my hair as she rides it out, hips trembling, breath coming in gasps.

But we’re far from done.

The night’s a blur of tangled sheets, whispered promises, skin against skin, ****, hungry thrusts. Her nails rake down my back, my hips slam into hers, filling her over and over, chasing that high, again and again.

By the time we finally collapse, breathless and spent, her body limp beneath mine, there’s only one truth that matters…

She’s mine.

And I’m hers.