He tries to drop her down to the bed once they make it inside her room, but she holds tight to him and draws his body down with hers.
“Easy,” he groans as the feel of her body, giving against his, jolts through him.
“You really want that?” she asks, rolling her hips, and a rumbling groan slides out of his throat.
“No,” he admits. “I don’t.”
He yanks his shirt up and over his head, dropping it who knows where as he slides down her body. His hands push her shirt up and he lowers his mouth to the warm skin of her belly, nosing gently at the easy slopes that lead up toward her breasts. And when he takes her into his mouth, he feels more than hears her call his name again, vibrating out from her throat. With his tongue and his teeth and his lips, he makes a mark that matches the one at her neck.
“Xavier,” she calls out, and he rears up as her blunt nails drag down his back and her thighs rise up to wrap around him, and when he releases her, he looks up to her head thrown back in pleasure, her hair a wild mess across the sheets and the prettiest pink flush across her cheeks.
“What do you need, boss?”
“More. I need more,” she breathes, but he’s already headed there, his tongue tracing every curve on the way down.
“Look at me.”
Her eyes snap open.
So he gives her more, gives her his fingers and his mouth until she’s writhing beneath him, her voice cracking on his name when she falls.
He rides it out with her, his mouth against her until finally she swats him away gently. Xavier moves up her body, breathing in the sweet scent of salt and sweat on her skin and when his mouth finds hers again, she wraps her arms around his neck as her toes run up the backs of his calves.
Then he’s on his back so fast his mind didn’t even register the tilt of her hips that got him there until it was over.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he says, jaw jutting out and his tongue swiping down over his lower lip as he watches her lift her shirt up over her head and toss it behind her. Her curves bared to him, just as sweet as he remembers.
Her fingertips trace along the line of his collarbone and then to his mouth.
“Whatever we want?” she asks him now, her voice low and soft, brown eyes glowing at him.
“Whatever we want,” he gasps as the fingers of her other hand twist against the button of his cargo shorts and make even faster work of the zipper.
“And what do you want?”
“You, wrapped around me,” he manages to rasp as her mouth travels the same path his did, while her hands push down the last of his clothes and they both fumble for a condom from her nightstand.
When she sinks down onto him and his hands settle at her hips, he forces his eyes wide open, taking it all in despite the urge to throw his head back and escape into the sensation of it. Their eyes lock and he sits up, her chest flattening against his, his mouth at her neck again, her hands at his shoulders, holding tight to him, as they rock together. Her ring is cool and sharp against his skin and he unwinds an arm from around her body to grasp her hand in his and press that cold metal to his mouth.
“Xavier,” she calls out again, as her body shakes and takes him with her, wildfire igniting through his veins, aware ofabsolutely nothing except the softness of her skin and the heat of her body and how much he fucking loves her.
He just barely stops himself from saying it, muffles something unintelligible into her hair instead, trying to catch his breath, trying to prolong the feeling knowing he’ll never feel this again, never feel this whole, this complete.
But it has to end. She has to slip from his arms and slide off the mattress and disappear behind the bathroom door and when he hears the shower running, his heart clenches in his chest, a vice tightening until he can barely breathe.
He needs to go. Needs to get out right now.
Xavier pushes up off the bed, desperate to get away from her scent, the soft powder of her perfume, the light floral of her shampoo and the intoxicating undertone of them, together.
He’s dressed, somehow, the last of his bags packed, the stuff he’s taking with him to Greece, and, avoiding Amelia’s judgmental stare, about to walk out of her life forever when Bianca emerges from the bathroom, wet hair hanging down her back, skin flushed from the warmth of the water. Her mouth falls open as she takes him in, almost at the door, a suitcase in one hand, a bag slung over his opposite shoulder.
“Were you . . . you were leaving . . .”
“Yeah,” he manages to choke out. “I can’t . . . I can’t stay anymore.”
She nods, her teeth digging into her bottom lip, and he can still taste it on his tongue and has to look away.
“Before you go, take this,” she says, moving closer.
