Page 30

Stella

“If this is going to be a re-creation of Vegas,” Thomas says, “then we’re going to need a bottle of whiskey.”

Laughing, I cling tighter to his hand, practically running to keep up with his long, hurried strides on the decked pathway to our bungalow. “Whiskey is what led to us getting married,” I remind him. “Maybe we avoid that.”

Besides, I’m warm from the last round of drinks we had at the bar, ordered so we could toast to our agreement—and for a last hit of liquid courage. It’s loosened us up and taken away the pressure of the situation. I’m giddy instead of nervous for the night ahead. And while this isn’t how I expected to finish out the year, it feels fitting. We can have this indulgence and then leave it in the past.

Thomas makes a sound of grudging agreement as he slows, giving me a chance to catch up so he can pull me to him. I go willingly, our chests flush as his hands drop to my waist.

“You’re probably right,” he murmurs, eyes darker in the illumination of the pathway. “We’ll have enough fun without it.”

“Oh yeah?” I taunt. “Can you promise that?”

“I can’t believe you’d doubt me, Stella.” He tsk s and dips his head, his lips finding my jaw, nipping at my skin in punishment. “You already know I can make you feel good.”

I absolutely do, and a shiver runs down my spine at the memory of him touching me at the strip club. “I’m going to need you to prove it to me again.”

“Gladly, sweetheart.”

I let out a squeal of surprise when he tosses me over his shoulder, his hand gripping my ass to keep me from falling off. “What are you doing ?”

“You’re too slow in those heels,” he says. “And I’m done wasting time. I want to fuck my wife.”

He’s a liar—I’m a champion in heels—but I’ll let him have this excuse to touch me. Besides, time’s ticking. We’re only a couple of hours away from midnight—a few more from sunrise. When dawn comes, this is all over. I want to get my fill before then.

So I slap his ass in reply and grin as his laugh mixes with the sound of gently lapping waves on the beach.

Soon we’re back at the bungalow. Thomas easily holds on to me as he unlocks the door and then kicks it shut when we’re in. He doesn’t ask which bedroom I want to go to, moving straight to his.

“I’ve been imagining you in this bed since the day we got here,” he says as he carefully lowers me to the mattress. “I’ve thought about it every night. And every morning I’ve woken up with my hand around my cock, wishing you were there.”

My breath catches as he pulls back, standing at the foot of the bed to stare down at me, like I really am a fantasy come to life.

“Am I living up to expectations?” I ask when I find my voice.

“You’re better than anything I could have come up with.”

I gaze at him, a work of art backlit by moonlight. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

His lips quirk, amused, but it doesn’t take away from the intensity in his eyes.

“Take off your dress,” he instructs. We’re done with the small talk.

Heat floods through me and pools at my core. My instinct is to banter with him, to dare him to do it himself, but his tone has me sitting up and reaching behind me to grab the zipper. It’s a smooth slide down, my fingers stopping at the small of my back. I let the material fall down to my waist, then push up onto my knees so I can wiggle it past my hips. When it’s over my thighs, I lower myself again and slip it the rest of the way off. Thomas is kind enough to pluck it from the bed and place it on top of the dresser.

“So considerate,” I muse from where I’m lounging on my elbows, the line of my body and lace lingerie on full display.

“Bra next,” he says, ignoring my quip.

I comply, his deep voice and the breeze of the air-conditioning pebbling my nipples. Before he can reach to take the bra from me, I toss it to the floor. My own little act of defiance. I go for another when I hook my thumbs under the sides of my underwear before he gives me the order to do it, dragging them slowly down my legs. It ends with me kicking them off the bed as well. And then I’m bare for him.

“You’re such a brat.” His eyes rove my body, drinking in every inch. “And you’re fucking beautiful.”

I bask in his admiration, chest lifted, knees parted so he can see exactly what’s waiting for him. I’m soaked and aching, ready for this. I need him to satiate this craving so I can finally think clearly again without him being on the edges of all my thoughts.

“I’m better up close,” I say, opening my legs a little wider.

The invitation is there, and I expect him to come to me. But instead, he starts to unbutton his shirt, taunting me back. Each move is unhurried and deliberate, and while I would love for him to pick up the pace, I’m enjoying the show. It doesn’t matter that I’ve seen him in nothing but swim trunks all week—this is different. This is just for me.

His pecs and abs are perfectly defined. It’s the body of an athlete, long and lean, honed over hours in the gym. It’s the dedication that I respect more than anything. He’s a man committed to his craft, determined to do what he can to be the best.

And I get to reap the benefits, so really, I’d say I’m the winner here.

When his shirt is off and has joined my underwear on the floor, he grips me behind my knees and yanks me down to him at the edge of the bed. I gasp, hands flying out to find purchase in the sheets as he kneels in front of my spread legs. My prince is officially gone. My rogue is back.

“Thomas,” I exhale, moving to sit up, but he puts a hand between my breasts to push me back down. When he hooks my thighs over his shoulders, my mouth snaps shut, protests going up in smoke.

“You’re right,” he murmurs, stubble brushing against my skin. “Much better up close.”

He bands an arm across the tops of my thighs, keeping my hips pinned as he bites and licks and sucks his way down to where I want him most. He takes his sweet damn time, savoring each taste and forcing me to tolerate the torture. Right when I think his mouth is going to give me relief from the building pressure, he switches to the other side and restarts his slow journey until I’ve found the edge once more.

I’m begging and swearing by the time he makes his way to the crease of my thigh for the second time. I’m whining, dripping for him, wound so tight that the second he really touches me, I’ll combust instantaneously.

“You know, I’m glad we waited to do this,” he says, breath ghosting over my slick skin. “I know you so much better now. What you like. What makes you tick. Better than being strangers with no concept of each other.”

“I bet you would have done just fine back then,” I pant, daring to lift a trembling hand to run my fingers through his soft hair. A desperate part of me considers pushing his face down between my thighs, but the way he’s looking up at me, eyes full of worship, has me stroking his cheek instead. Damn this man. And damn everything he’s made me feel.

“Is this still what you want, Stella?” he asks, as if he can sense the way I’ve softened for him. “One night?”

Right now, if he offered more, I would take it. But this is a heady reminder of our agreement. He’s set the rules this time and I’m determined to respect them, just like he’s done for me over all the weeks past.

“Yes,” I breathe out, sweeping my thumb over his cheekbone. “I want this.”

He turns his head to press a kiss to my wrist—and then his mouth drops to where I’ve wanted it all along.

The first swipe of his tongue has me nearly levitating off the bed, my hands back to clutching at his hair. “Oh fuck .”

I’d be embarrassed by my moaned exclamation if I didn’t feel the vibration of his own sound of pleasure against my clit. My heels dig into his muscular back as he tastes me over and over and over again, and I wish he didn’t have me pinned so I could lift my hips and grind against his face. Even still, I writhe as he slips a finger into me, then another, crooking up to press on the spot that makes me clench around him. It’s so good that I can’t do much else but babble yes and do it again as he drives me to the brink.

I’m overheated and coming undone. It won’t be long before I’m fully unraveled, and when it happens, it’s with his name on my lips and a burst of light behind my eyes. I swear my soul has left my body, hovering somewhere above me as I spin my way back down.

Minutes or hours could have passed by the time I hear him murmur, “Sometimes I can’t believe you’re real.” The sensation of him pressing featherlight kisses against my thighs finally returns me to my body. “How can someone be so perfect?”

This orgasm already has me fighting not to confess that I’m obsessed with him, and the last thing I need is more praise. I bite my cheek to keep from admitting something I can’t take back—from myself or from him.

“I’m not real,” I say, gently pushing him back so I can sit up. My head is still swimming, dangerous things threatening to leave my lips. “I’m a figment of your imagination.”

I stop breathing when he lifts his wet fingers to his lips. “Then you’re the best-tasting hallucination I’ve ever had.”

“High praise.” The words nearly come out as a moan. But I need more of him and I need it now. “Come here. Let me touch you.”

I place my hands on his shoulders, then let them drag down his chest as he climbs to his feet. He tenses as my fingers dip between the hard planes of his abs, breaths stuttering when I reach the waistband of his pants. I pop the top button and make quick work of the zipper before slipping my fingers past the elastic of his boxer briefs, excited to feel the weight of him, wanting to know what my prize is.

When my palm wraps around his thick erection, I falter, my confidence drying up like a puddle in the desert sun. I’ve known since the night at the strip club he was packing something impressive, but fucking hell, he’s easily bigger than anyone I’ve ever been with.

“ That ,” I say, daring myself to run my hand up and down him, feeling every inch, “is a human rights violation.”

A shiver rolls through him, but he still manages to tease, “Come on, sweetheart. I know you can take it.”

I don’t know about that, but I’m no quitter, so I’ll certainly try.

But before I can do anything else, he pulls away from my hand and then moves to the dresser again, opening the top drawer. “Maybe it was presumptuous of me,” he says, pulling out a foil packet from a box, “but I did bring condoms this time.”

“ Very presumptuous,” I reply, sliding back on the bed. His heavy gaze tracks every move I make. “Also, is this a good time to tell you I have an IUD?”

Thomas freezes for a moment before stalking back over, tossing the condom to the bedside table as he climbs on top of me. His knees and forearms press into the mattress, and his thighs push mine open wide, the fabric of his undone pants brushing against my most sensitive skin. “Are you telling me we could have done this back in Vegas? That we could have avoided our condom run turned wedding?”

I scoff, pressing my hands to his chest. “Um, no. You were a stranger then, and I certainly do not fuck strangers without one.”

“And now?”

“You’re my husband.” I brush my nose against his, not tempted to add fake to that sentence. “Whose health records I saw lying around in the office from your postseason exam and who I know hasn’t been with anyone else in months.”

“I could have been out shagging people,” he mumbles, eyes dipping to my mouth. “You don’t know.”

“Oh, I think I do.” I tilt my chin and kiss him gently, letting it linger. “You’ve been too busy thinking about me to want anyone else.”

I mean it as a taunt, but these are my own feelings for him coming to light. How could I have looked at another man when he was right in front of me? Why would I even bother? Who else could possibly match up?

“Guilty as charged,” he says with no hint of shame or regret. “I haven’t thought about anyone else since the moment I saw you.”

My heart twists. This is turning into a dangerous game. We keep pushing the limit, letting true feelings show in flashes and split seconds, then covering them up with searing touches and sharp humor. I should drop the act and let it all out. But I can’t. I can’t let this be anything more than we said it would be.

“Wish I could say the same,” I murmur, breathless and unserious, needing to lift us out of these depths. “I can’t stop thinking about Ed Sheeran.”

A burst of laughter escapes him as he pushes off of me to stand. “Please, not my nemesis.”

I grin along. “The heart wants what it wants.”

And right now, my heart only wants the man in front of me.

It’s a terrible realization, one I have to come to terms with some other time, because Thomas is taking off his pants and his boxer briefs, and I have to press my lips together to keep my mouth from hanging open in awe.

“It’s impolite to stare,” he chides, giving himself a long stroke.

I swallow hard. “Show-off.”

“Only for you.”

He’s back on the bed before I can blink, planting his hands on either side of my shoulders as he leans in, pushing me down until my back hits the mattress. He kisses the hollow of my throat as if to praise me for complying. It’s shockingly tender, but the nip he gives my skin next is anything but. I scoff at the move, though it’s weak as he kisses down my body. His tongue swirls around one nipple, then the other, just enough for a taste of each, before coming back up to my lips.

“You ready?” he asks against them. The question is too quiet, too serious.

I nod and shift to turn over onto my stomach, not sure I can look him in the eyes for this, but he stops me with his hand on my hip and a shake of his head.

“No. I want to see you.” His mouth drops to mine for a kiss, deep and lingering, and I’m panting when he pulls away. “I want to watch you come.”

I spread my thighs wide, inviting him between them, savoring the way his hips press me open. Still, it’s been so long since I’ve done this with anyone that I freeze for a second as I take him in above me. But the second I meet his eyes and find him staring back, checking once again that I’m okay with this, I relax into the sheets and reach for him.

The groan he lets out as I drag my hand up and down his length has me grinning in satisfaction, though it’s quickly wiped away when his mouth crashes down to mine again. My grip loosens as our tongues brush, leaving his cock to slide through my folds, rubbing against my clit, my hips bucking as I chase the sensation.

Our kiss breaks when he drags his lips across my cheek to my ear. “This still what you want, Stella?”

“Yes,” I gasp, wanting— needing —this. “ Please. ”

I can feel his smile even if I can’t see it. I’d be mad at myself for begging if I weren’t so desperate to get some relief.

He brushes my hand out of the way, gripping and guiding himself through my wetness. “Such a gracious girl,” he murmurs. “I’ll give you what you want.”

The head of his cock nudges at my entrance and I clutch his shoulders, desperate to pull him closer, pull him all the way in. I’m impatient, breathing hard, and yet I press back into the mattress when he finally sinks into me. The stretch is both intoxicating and excruciating, and the moan that escapes me is lewd, bouncing off the walls and settling into the sheets with us.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans into my neck. “You’ve got to relax, sweetheart.”

“You’re not the one with that inside them,” I gasp as he eases back out, only to give me a little more with the next rock of his hips. “Oh my God .”

He stills for a beat, giving me a chance to adjust to his size. “What did I tell you before?” he prompts, though it’s more of a demand, expecting an answer.

“That I can take it,” I whine.

“That’s right. Now relax and let me fuck you the way you deserve.”

He’s left no room for argument, so I force myself to do so muscle by muscle until the pinch of pain subsides, shifting into something sharply pleasurable. When I’m ready for more, I dig my nails into his shoulders and lift my hips, drawing him farther into me. Moans mingle in the air as he strokes deeper, giving me a little more each time until we’re joined completely. It takes a few more seconds of learning, but then we’re moving with each other, setting a rhythm that’s just right.

“That’s it.” His voice is lust-roughened, hardly more than a deep rasp. “Good girl.”

I’m obsessed with this version of him, the one whispering in my ear how good I’m taking him. The one stroking so deep that he’s hitting my G-spot each time. The one biting and sucking at my neck, ensuring that I’m marked.

“Harder,” I plead.

“You must not want to be able to walk tomorrow,” he says, but the next harsh snap of his hips is enough of an answer. “I can make that happen.”

When he pushes one of my knees up to my chest I cry out at the new angle, back arching off the mattress. “ Yes , like that.” My hips tilt up to meet him, writhing, and I’m so full that I already know I’m going to feel empty when he pulls out again. “ Fuck , Thomas.”

Hearing his name uttered like a prayer makes him lean in to taste it on my lips. He bites at them, hard enough that I shudder and tighten around him involuntarily. It earns me another groan that compels me do it again, on purpose this time. But I don’t get to gloat for long, because his hand slips between our bodies, thumb rubbing against my clit.

“If you’re going to do that,” he says in my ear, a breathless note to his teasing, “you might as well come.”

I’m already trembling, the pressure building low and hot, threatening to spill over at any second. But I’m holding back, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, though I can’t keep the orgasm from crashing over me for much longer. Especially not when he whispers, “Come all over my cock, Stella. Let me feel you let go.”

I’m exploding in ecstasy, pulsing around him, head thrown back as my legs shake. My body is somehow weightless and endlessly heavy at the same time, dragged by a current yet floating across the waves. I’d cry out, but the air has been ripped from my lungs, and I’m left gasping as I finally reach the other side, the world slowly coming back into focus.

He’s still moving—slow, steady, watching every expression that flits across my face. There’s a quiet fierceness to him now that wasn’t there before. I’m so wrecked that I can’t do anything but cup his jaw with shaking hands, hoping he can see that I want him to keep going, even though I’m tender and sensitive. I want him to feel the same release, to fall off the same cliff.

He picks up the pace again, and there’s less control to his strokes than there was before. The hand between us comes to grab my wrists, pinning them both above my head as he buries his face in my neck. There’s not a single inch of us that isn’t touching as I hook my ankles at the small of his back. The friction is so acute that I don’t know how neither of us is on fire.

This may be about him, but there’s a heaviness growing in me once more, building and building with each thrust. My body fills and blooms with heat until I’m tensing around him again. This time I’m so loud that there’s no way our neighbors can’t hear me.

The sound is enough to push him over the edge. His hips stutter a few times before he settles deep, body tensing as his cock pulses, spilling into me. When his grip relaxes enough on my wrists for me to slip them out, I run my hands through his hair, over his shoulders, and down his back, his skin slick with sweat. I want to touch every inch of him, want to burn it all into my memory so I never forget a single thing about this moment.

My chest heaves as I try to catch my breath, and when he presses his palm over my racing heart, I want to tell him everything that lives inside it.

“Too much?” he asks, a breathless whisper against my skin.

My throat is tight. I’m being choked by a rush of emotion, all the ones I’m not allowed to feel. “Just enough,” I answer.

He kisses me again before rolling to the side and climbing out of bed, heading for the bathroom. I press my hand to my chest where his just was, trying to convince my heart to slow—and to push him back out of it.

Thomas steps back into the room with a damp washcloth in his hand and sits on the edge of the bed. He then presses my knees apart and runs the warm cloth gently over my inner thighs. It’s so considerate and so him that I could cry.

“I’m not done with you, by the way,” he murmurs after he’s finished. “I’m just giving you a chance to recover before we go again.”

I spare a glance at the clock, relaxing when I see it’s still a half hour until midnight. We have time. We have time.

“So nice of you,” I call to his back as he returns the washcloth to the bathroom, and I admire his ass in the process. “But it’s not going to take me long.”

His chuckle precedes him back into the bedroom, and it wraps around me just before he does. I don’t resist when he hauls me against him, my thigh hooked over his hips, my head resting on his chest. It’s too intimate, and it almost cracks me right open.

“You know,” he muses. “Now that we’ve officially consummated the marriage, we can’t get an annulment.”

I snicker and bury my face in his shoulder. “You do know that’s not how it works, right?”

“Hush,” he says warmly. “Let me pretend I get to keep you.”

I’m smiling before I can stop it, and the words I shouldn’t confess come with it. “I’m already yours, Thomas. No need to pretend.”

My face immediately goes hot, mortification creeping up my neck. Worst of all, I can’t think of a joke to follow it up with, something to make him think I’m just teasing. Instead, I dip my head so he can’t see my expression and press a kiss to the space where his shoulder meets his neck, praying he won’t take me seriously. That he’ll brush it off and remember what this is—a one-time thing.

Blessedly, his chest vibrates underneath me as he laughs softly. “That’s right. Even got the papers to prove it.”

I nearly slump in relief, pressing another kiss to his neck in silent thanks. “Mm-hmm. That’s right.”

We lapse into an easy silence after that, his fingers drifting up and down my spine. My anxiety slips away bit by bit with each stroke. I don’t realize I’ve been nearly lulled to sleep until his phone starts incessantly buzzing on the floor, still tucked into the pocket of his pants.

“Don’t answer that,” I mumble against his shoulder, but he’s already rolling away.

Without him pressed against me, the cold reminder sets in that I’ve let myself get too attached. I’ve already discovered that this night won’t do what I wanted it to, because there’s no such thing as getting Thomas out of my system. My feelings haven’t suddenly disappeared or become easier to manage. If anything, I’ve sunk deeper. I’m starting to drown.

I need to lock down my heart now or else I’ll never get it back. If I don’t, and if he breaks it…I know it will be the end of me. I can’t risk disappearing into another man. I can’t risk him turning out to be like étienne.

He groans when he sees the name on the screen, then tosses me an apologetic look. “It’s Maeve. I really should get this.”

I want to tell him to ignore it, that we need to talk, but what good would talking do? We already have an agreement. We both just need to follow it and maybe—God, maybe —everything will turn out okay.

I motion for him to answer.

He winks before sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to me, taking the call in hushed tones. My eyes drift closed, and I’m vaguely listening, but it’s his loud “Are you serious?” a few seconds later that has me paying attention.

Thomas mumbles a few more things before he hangs up. Still, a handful of beats pass before he turns to me again.

“What is it?” I dare to ask, but I already know our night together is over before he answers.

I already know that we’re over.

“It’s Lorenzo,” he says in disbelief. “He’s ready to meet.”