I glance at him and he stares forward, offering only an amused eyebrow flick. So I arch only my pinkie, dragging it along the shape of his cock, half-hard beneath his zipper. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the jerk of his chest, his sharp intake of air.
I’m still worked up from seeing him across the room with celebrities and nobodies, everyone wanting a bite of his attention. I’m still worked up, too, from our stolen minutes together in the powder room.
“I did, too,” he manages after a long pause. “I think because I knew you were there.”
I widen my eyes at him, tilting my head: What are you doing flirting out loud, with Yael right there?
He grins, but it’s wiped clean when I stroke my hand higher again, dragging three fingers down his length now. He’s hard, and it’s his turn to give me a scandalized look. But really, he put my hand there. Was he expecting me to ignore it?
Like this—my hand offering only glancing, brief contact—we carry on bland cover conversation in the back seat as the driver follows the standard route back to Alec’s hotel. But instead of pulling up out front, he passes it, pulling the sleek black BMW down a tight alley, dark but for the occasional cone of yellow streetlight.
Parking in front of two heavy steel doors, the driver climbs out, opening the back door for Alec, rounding the car for me, and then proceeding to the service entry, where he swipes a keycard and opens it.
He returns to the car, but Yael follows us, sweeping inside with clear knowledge of where we’re going. This view of the hotel is industrial: walls scraped from wide carts, paint dented from small, everyday collisions with cleaning equipment. She leads us to a service elevator and presses the button for the tenth floor.
Alec takes my hand as we enter, and Yael pretends not to notice. Obviously, I am more charmed by his insistence that we are an item behind closed doors than I am intimidated by her disapproval, but her judgment sits heavily. We ride in stony silence to the top, exit in the same stiff quiet, and Yael says simply, “Be careful,” before she heads down the opposite direction to her own room.
Normally I might crack a joke about how much she seems to like me, about how I guess she knows I’m staying at the hotel now, about how I feel like I have to win over the surly father-in-law, but the air between us is so heated from the drive back here. All I can think about is the hard line of him against the sides of my fingers, his quiet I’ll see you later, whispered into my neck before I left the powder room, his intense, hungry presence now.
He passes the key over the reader, pushes the door open, and our energy snaps the second we’re alone. We seem to agree to deal with our own clothing as expediently as possible: With my eyes fixed on his, I’m unhooking the clasp at the back of my neck, letting my dress fall to the floor. He’s jerking the top button of his shirt free at his neck, unfastening the rest of them in a blur of dexterity.
I walk backward, kicking off Eden’s heels, pushing my underwear down my hips, and leaving them somewhere in the hallway. With a playful growl, he reaches for my waist as he kicks his briefs aside, laughing a sweet “Come here” into my mouth, and lifting me up. The slide of his hard chest over the soft curves of mine pulls him up short and he pivots, pressing me against the wall, pulling my legs around his waist. With a gasp he’s there, sliding into me in a single, long push. Alec exhales a soft sound of relief, and whispers, “Holy shit, you feel good.”
How can it only have been a matter of hours since I last felt him? It seems like an eternity. I want to take every feeling he draws out of me and translate them into touch: happiness, security, desire. I want to pour them into his body.
After only a few thrusts, I register that it’s different, that it’s so good I feel a paradoxical wave of desperation and euphoria. Trapped between his body and the wall, I already feel my world expanding and contracting with every breath. Alec is like velvet moving into me. And I’m wild; clutching his back with my hands, begging nonsensically because he’s gliding in with such soft skin over such unbelievably solid heat. He’s giving me everything already, but I’m greedy and want more. We’re hard and soft, rigid and wet,
God so wet. Everything feels slippery and urgent—
Alec stills, his breaths broken and sharp. “Wait. Shit.”
In that instant, I know.
It’s just us. Just him inside me, no barrier. No condom. How did we forget? And how can such a small omission change every detail of the sensation of sex with him?
“Wait,” he says again, gentler this time, and in the single syllable I hear a different meaning. This wait doesn’t mean stop. It’s a plea for me to let him stay right here just a moment longer. He’s never felt me like this, either.