Sweet Suite

The next few minutes… they’re a blur.

I know where I am. I can hear it. The roar of the crowd, the sharp clap of applause crashing over me like ocean waves. I can see the cast on their feet behind us; Kathryn’s face split in that beaming, watery-eyed grin, Kim wiping her eyes with the corner of her sleeve, Briana cheering loud enough to wake the dead.

But it’s background noise.

All I really see... all I feel, is Emily.

She’s in my arms, shaking, laughing through the tears, the ring catching the light as her hand grips my shirt like if she lets go, this whole moment dissolves.

This moment? My life up to now? Fade to black. Roll credits. Perfect ending.

There were supposed to be meet and greets after this. Signing tables. Photos with Ruth Connell, Jim Beaver, Mark Sheppard. Big names. Bigger lines.

Iris can get those for us later.

Right now? All I want is to get back to our suite.

The elevator ride up is a mess of nerves and adrenaline. We’re pressed into the corner like high school kids post-prom, fingers tangled, lips brushing skin, half-laughing, half-shaking.

The moment the doors slide open, it’s done.

We barely make it through the threshold. The heavy hotel door slams shut behind us, and we’re on each other.

Clothes scatter. My jacket hits the floor. Her shirt peels off, tight fabric sliding over flushed skin. My hands drag her jeans down clumsily, and hers shove my belt loose, mouths crashing, gasps shared between ****, half-formed words.

The bedroom’s ten steps away.

We don’t make it.

The couch - the wide, plush, overpriced beast sitting in the living area - is close enough.

She shoves me down onto it, straddling my lap, knees bracketing my hips, hair falling in wild, tangled waves around her flushed face. Her eyes are blown wide, pupils dark with lust, lips parted, chest heaving.

Her fingers trail down my chest, toying with the buttons of my shirt before yanking it open, buttons popping, exposing heated skin.

“You’re mine now,” she whispers, voice low, breathless, deliciously possessive.

I grin, hands sliding up her thighs, fingertips teasing higher, finding slick, swollen heat between her legs.

“Always have been,” I growl, fingers dipping between her folds, stroking slow, deliberate. She gasps, hips jerking, her head tipping back as I toy with her, thumb circling her clit, fingers slick with her need.

Her ring catches the light again as she grips my shoulders for balance, her body shivering beneath my touch.

She lowers herself, grinding against my hand, slick heat coating my fingers.

I can’t take it anymore.

I yank my jeans down just enough, boxers shoved aside, cock springing free—hard, thick, flushed with need. Her eyes drop to it, hungry, and she bites her lip, grinding her slick folds along my length, coating me.

I groan, hips twitching, my hands gripping her hips tight.

She teases me, slow, dragging the head of my cock along her slick folds, back and forth, coating me with her arousal. Her eyes stay locked on mine, daring, dark, dripping with need.

And then… she sinks down.

I hiss through my teeth as her tight, wet heat envelops me, inch by inch, taking me in until I’m buried to the hilt. Her breath stutters, her nails dig into my shoulders, her forehead dropping to mine.

“Fuck…” she whimpers, her voice wrecked, raw, her body trembling.

My hands slide down her back, gripping her ass, guiding her as she starts to move—slow, grinding, rolling her hips in delicious, agonizing circles.

The couch creaks beneath us, forgotten, the city outside irrelevant. It’s just us, heartbeats crashing together, every inch of her slick, tight heat wrapped around me.

I thrust up into her, slow but hard, watching her gasp, watching her eyes flutter closed, her lips part, a sharp moan spilling out.

“Look at me,” I demand, voice low, rough with need.

Her eyes snap open, dark and wild, locked onto mine.

She moans, her body grinding harder, her hands sliding into my hair, tugging, mouth crashing onto mine in a kiss that’s all teeth and tongues and ****, messy need.

We move together—frantic at the edges, but steady beneath it. There’s heat, hunger, the ache that’s been building for hours. But threaded through it now? That promise. That weight.

She’s mine.

I’m hers.

The ring never leaves her finger. The only new thing between us.

But it changes everything.

Her body clenches around me, tight, pulsing, her breath ragged against my lips.

“Cum for me,” I growl, thrusting harder, deeper.

She shatters in my arms, her body locking up, a strangled moan ripping from her throat as she cums hard, her slick heat pulsing around me.

I follow seconds later, hips jerking, cock twitching, spilling deep inside her as I groan her name into her skin.