Chapter 2

They did not make it back to the reception.

He took her hand, his palm large and warm, fingers strong and slightly calloused in a way that surprised her. He led her to the elevator bank, and neither of them spoke as the doors closed. The silence was charged, heavy with anticipation and the reckless certainty of what they were about to do. Lena's heart was beating so fast she felt dizzy, and when Alexander's thumb stroked the back of her hand, she felt the touch everywhere.

His room was on the top floor.

The suite was vast, all floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city lights, the Manhattan skyline glittering like a spilled jewelry box. But Lena barely registered the view. Alexander locked the door behind them with a soft click, and then his hands were framing her face, his thumbs brushing her cheekbones with a tenderness that contradicted the fierce want in his eyes.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured, his breath warm against her lips. "Tell me to stop, and I will."

Lena looked up at him, this stranger who saw through her in a way no one ever had, and felt the last of her reservations burn away. She did not want to think about Marcus. She did not want to think about tomorrow. She wanted to feel alive, wanted, consumed.

"Do not stop."

His mouth crashed into hers.

The kiss was devastating.

Not gentle. Not tentative. A claiming. His lips were firm and hot, moving over hers with practiced confidence, and when his tongue swept into her mouth, she moaned at the taste of him, scotch and something darker, something that made her dizzy. He kissed like he was starving, like she was the only thing that could save him, and Lena clutched at his shoulders, her fingers digging into the expensive wool of his jacket.

He shrugged out of it without breaking the kiss, his hands roaming her body with possessive urgency. He traced the curve of her waist, the dip of her spine, and when he cupped her breast through the silk of her dress, she arched into his palm with a gasp that was swallowed by his mouth.

"Beautiful," he breathed against her throat, his lips finding the pulse point there, sucking gently. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure straight to her core, and she tilted her head back, giving him access. "So fucking beautiful."

He walked her backward until her thighs hit the edge of the bed. The world tilted as he lowered her onto the mattress, his body following hers, covering her with solid, welcome weight. Through his trousers, she felt the hard, thick length of him pressing against her hip, and the sheer size of his arousal sent a thrill of apprehension and hunger through her core. He was big. Bigger than Marcus had been. Bigger than anyone she had been with.

She wanted him inside her. She wanted it with a desperation that terrified her.

Alexander pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes black with desire in the dim light filtering through the windows. He reached for the zipper of her dress, drawing it down slowly, the metal teeth separating with a soft hiss that seemed impossibly loud in the quiet room. His fingers traced her spine as he peeled the silk away, his touch setting every nerve ending on fire.

"You are sure?" he asked, his voice rough, almost broken.

Lena nodded, lifting her hips so he could slide the dress from her body. It pooled on the floor, leaving her in nothing but a lace bra and panties that suddenly felt impossibly small.

Alexander went still above her, his gaze devouring her with an intensity that made her skin flush. She fought the urge to cover herself, to hide from the raw hunger in his eyes. But he was looking at her like she was a masterpiece, like every curve and shadow was something precious and rare.

"Christ," he whispered. "Look at you."

He bent his head and kissed the valley between her breasts, his tongue tracing the lace edge of her bra before he reached behind her and unhooked it with one expert flick. Her breasts spilled free, and he groaned, a deep, guttural sound, as he took one nipple into his mouth.