Alec’s expression is distant, too, as he holds the elevator door for me and follows me into the empty car. And as soon as the doors close, I expect him to crowd closer—after all, we have twenty-six floors to climb and an ocean of sexual tension lapping at our toes. I expect him to back me into a corner, tease me with those long, silent looks, but he leans against the opposite wall instead, crossing one foot over the other, and pulls out his phone to type something. He hits send, and slides the slim phone into his pocket, but then tilts his face to the ceiling, taking a deep breath.
Confusion makes me mute. Maybe I wasn’t clear as to why I wanted to go up to his room. Maybe he thought that was me putting the flirting on ice? God, I hope not. The power of his physical presence is suffocating—the unreal length of his legs, his strong hands reaching back and gripping the handrail running the perimeter of the car, the lean bulk of his chest beneath his white dress shirt. He exudes sex and confidence but seems paradoxically hyperaware and unaware of it. The idea that I might be told to go to bed alone after all that sexual tension is like being told to cut off a sneeze, mid-sneeze.
I guess he senses the thick silence, too, because he clears his throat. “Cameras,” he says quietly, pointing a finger at the ceiling. “I don’t want to get caught on video being naughty in an elevator.”
“Oh.” Relief adds to the intoxicating mix simmering under my skin and I tilt my face up, slowly sucking in a lungful of air.
“Your neck is so flushed,” he murmurs.
I look back at him, and when our eyes meet, heat streaks through my chest so abruptly that I feel a weird swell of emotion rise. This is crazy. And I don’t care.
Have I ever wanted something physical the way I want this? I remember being attracted to Spence—especially in our early days—but I never felt like I was choking on a tangible need for him. I dig my teeth into my lower lip, working to keep a cry from escaping my throat. He hasn’t even touched me yet and my thighs already feel warm.
He angles his body toward me, nostrils flared. “Do you blush like this when you come?”
“I don’t know,” I admit with a fragile edge to my voice. “I feel…”
“I know.” The elevator dings, the doors open, and Alec bursts forward, catching my wrist in his grip and pulling me out after him. I want him to wheel on me here, shove me against the wall. I want his hungry hands to dive under my skirt, bunch the fabric in his fists. I want to drag his zipper down, pull him free, and watch his face as he first feels me.
I am nothing but hollow ache; my skin feels prickly and tight.
He wordlessly marches me down the hall, almost like I’m in trouble, his long legs pulling my shorter ones into a jog behind him. With his free hand, he swipes his keycard, pushing the door open and propelling me inside. The door swings closed with a heavy thud, and my suitcase collides with the wall at the same moment he grabs my waist with both hands, turning me into him. His body comes up against mine and he pivots us, trapping me against the wall.
Alec’s mouth comes to my neck, hot and open, sucking right where it seems my heart beats the wildest. I finally feel the broad expanse of his back, sliding my hands up to his neck and into his hair.
He speaks into my skin. “Where do I start with you?”
I want to start at the end, with his body inside mine, but I want, too, to slow time and get there in tiny increments. We haven’t even kissed yet and I’m sharply aware that I get this only one time in my life. Not just this night with Alec Kim but this kind of night ever, this kind of sex where there aren’t rules, there’s no emotional fallout, there’s only the intensity of need that seems to expand now that we’re touching.
I turn my head, urging his mouth to mine. He groans at the contact and my legs nearly give out. His soft candy lips, firm touch, that cherry-pout mouth sucking at my bottom lip, nudging me open with a sigh. He tastes like whiskey and kisses like he’s already fucking, with growl and heat. Alec Kim isn’t here to mess around.
He reaches down, bunching the hem of my dress in his hands and drawing it up my body and over my head, tossing it into a red puddle at our feet. Reaching back, he flicks the clasp of my bra and slides it down my arms before discarding it somewhere to the side, his eyes fixed on my naked skin.
I have nowhere to go, but when he takes a step back to look down the length of me, naked and pressed against the wall, I wouldn’t move even if I could. I’ve never seen this degree of unmasked lust on a man’s face before.