Chapter 1: The Door Opens
The key scratched in the lock, a sound that sliced through the quiet hum of the apartment and went straight to his cock.
Alex shifted his weight against the wall, a slow smile touching his lips. He’d been stationed here for twenty minutes, listening for the elevator, for her footsteps in the hall. A week was a lifetime. The photos she’d sent—glimpses of smooth skin against hotel sheets, the curve of her hip in a lace thong, that one breathtaking video of her voice gone husky with need—had been a sweet torture. He was half-hard just thinking about them, and fully hard now, the denim of his jeans straining uncomfortably.
The door swung inward.
Lamplight from the hall spilled across the threshold, catching the gloss of her lipstick, the dark fall of her hair. She was backlit, a silhouette of familiar curves, a rolling suitcase bumping the frame.
“Hey, you,” she breathed, the word part sigh, part homecoming.
He didn’t let her get another one out.
In two steps he was on her, his body pressing hers back against the now-closed door, one hand cradling the back of her head to keep her from bumping it. The other slid around her waist, pulling her flush against him. He smelled travel on her—plane air, faint coffee—and beneath it, the vanilla and jasmine of her lotion, of her.
“Missed you,” he murmured into her neck, his lips finding the frantic pulse there. “Missed the smell of you. The sound you make right before I kiss you.”
Jasmine’s hands came up, one still clutching her purse strap, the other sinking into the hair at the nape of his neck. Her body melted into his, pliant and eager. “Yeah? What sound is that?”
“This one.” He captured her mouth, swallowing the soft, breathy gasp she let out. It was a deep, claiming kiss, all the pent-up hunger of the week poured into it. He tasted mint and the faint tang of the in-flight wine she’d probably had. His tongue swept against hers, and he felt her shiver.
When he finally pulled back, they were both breathing hard. He nudged her suitcase aside with his foot, not breaking contact, his hands roaming down her back to cradle the lush, perfect swell of her ass through her travel jeans. He squeezed, earning a sharp inhale.
“These need to be gone,” he growled, voice rough. “Been thinking about what’s under them for seven days straight. Dreaming about it.”
“Oh yeah?” she teased, her eyes sparkling even in the dim light. Her fingers trailed down his chest, over the thin cotton of his t-shirt, lower. Her eyebrow arched when she found the thick, hard line of his erection. “Someone’s eager. Did you behave while I was gone?”
“I behaved exactly how you wanted me to,” he said, dipping his head to nip at her earlobe. “I sent you proof. Every morning. You see the one from today? In the kitchen light?”
“Mmm. I saw it on the cab ride from the airport. Almost told the driver to pull over.” Her hand pressed against him, a firm, knowing stroke that made his hips jerk forward. “You looked… thirsty.”
He laughed, a low, dark sound. “I’m parched, baby. Dying of it.” His fingers made quick work of the button on her jeans, then the zipper. He slid his hands inside, past the waistband of her panties—silk, thank god—to get his palms on the warm, smooth skin of her hips. “Need to taste you. Need to hear you come apart. Need to feel you clenching around me. In that order.”
“Alex,” she sighed, her head falling back against the door with a soft thud. Her own hands were busy now, pushing his shirt up, her nails scraping lightly through the trail of hair leading down from his navel. “I’ve been so empty. The hotel room was so quiet. I had to use my fingers, thinking of you. Thinking of this.” Her hand cupped him through his jeans, and he saw the hungry blush spread across her chest.
“Show me,” he demanded, his voice dropping to a whisper. He tugged her jeans and panties down just enough, his knuckles brushing the neatly trimmed hair, then lower, finding her already wet and eager. His thumb circled her clit, once, twice, and she bucked against his hand. “Jesus, Jas. You’re soaked. All for me?”
“All for you,” she panted, her eyes locked on his. “Always for you. I didn’t come, not really. Just… edged. Waited. I wanted you to finish it.”
That nearly undid him. The control, the shared fantasy, the sheer trust of it. He kissed her again, messier this time, as his fingers played her body like an instrument he knew by heart. He felt the familiar, beloved shape of her girldick against his wrist, firm and silky, a part of her he worshipped with the same fervor as every other curve and dip.
“My beautiful wife,” he murmured against her lips, his fingers sliding inside her, curling just right. “My gorgeous girl. You feel like heaven. Smell like it. Gonna make you scream it.”
Her breathing hitched, her hips meeting his thrusts. “Don’t… don’t make me come yet. Not like this.”
“How then?” He slowed his fingers, gentled them, but didn’t stop.
“In our bed. With you in me. I need to feel you. All of you.” Her eyes were dark pools of want. “I need you to look at me when I break.”
He withdrew his hand, bringing his glistening fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean, never breaking eye contact. Her taste exploded on his tongue—sweet, musky, uniquely her. “Then let’s go.”
He helped her step out of her jeans, leaving them in a pool by the door with her purse. He led her by the hand down the short, dark hall to their bedroom, the only light the blue glow from the digital clock. It was warmer here, smelled like their laundry detergent and the sex they’d had the morning she left.
He turned her to face him, his hands going to the hem of her sweater. “Arms up.”
She complied, and he pulled it off, then unsnapped her bra. She stood before him in just the silk thong, her breasts full and beautiful, her body a landscape he knew every inch of. He just looked for a moment, drinking her in, the reality so much better than any pixelated image.
“You’re a fucking vision,” he said, his voice thick. “Every time. It still knocks the air out of me.”
She reached for his shirt, pulling it over his head, her palms smoothing over the hard planes of his chest and stomach. “You too. My handsome man.” Her fingers popped the button on his jeans, shoved them and his boxer briefs down in one push. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy between them.
She wrapped her hand around him, her touch firm and sure, stroking from root to tip where a bead of moisture had gathered. “Mine,” she whispered, and the possessiveness in her tone made him shudder.
He lifted her then, his hands under her ass, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck. He carried her the last few steps to the bed, laying her down in the center of the rumpled sheets. He followed her down, covering her body with his, the heat of her searing through him.
He kissed a path down her throat, between her breasts, over the soft swell of her stomach. He hooked his fingers in the sides of her thong and pulled it down, tossing it aside. Then he settled between her thighs, his hands spreading her wide.
He looked up the length of her body, meeting her gaze. “Welcome home, Jasmine.”
His mouth found her, and her back arched off the bed, a broken cry tearing from her throat. He licked and sucked, his tongue circling her clit before delving inside, learning her all over again. Her hands fisted in the sheets, then in his hair, not pushing, just holding on.
“Alex… please… I can’t wait…”
“You can,” he murmured against her, the vibration making her jolt. “You will. For me.”
He drove her to the edge twice, feeling her thighs tremble, hearing her choked-off screams, and each time he backed off, soothing her with soft kisses on her inner thighs. He was relentless, a man on a mission of worship.
“Now,” she finally sobbed, her body taut as a bowstring. “Please, Alex, now. I need you inside me. Fill me up. I’ve been so empty.”
He moved up her body in one fluid motion, his weight settling over her. He reached between them, guiding himself to her entrance, the head of his cock nudging against her wet heat. He paused, his forehead resting against hers, their breaths mingling.
“Look at me,” he whispered.
Her dark eyes, glazed with pleasure, found his. He pushed in, a slow, inexorable slide that stole the breath from both of them. He watched her pupils blow wide, watched her lips part on a silent cry, felt her inner muscles flutter and clench around him as he sank to the hilt.
“Oh, god,” she choked out, her legs wrapping tightly around his hips. “You feel… you’re so deep.”
“Home,” he grunted, the word ripped from him. He began to move, a deep, rolling rhythm that had her meeting him thrust for thrust. The room filled with the sound of skin on skin, their ragged breaths, the creak of the bedframe. He kissed her, swallowing her moans, his hands tangling in her hair.
“You’re so perfect,” he rasped, his pace increasing. “This. Nothing else exists.” He shifted his angle, driving into her harder, deeper, and she cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders.
“I’m close… Alex, I’m so close…”
“Come for me, baby. Let me see it.”
He felt it the moment she shattered. A violent, beautiful tremor raced through her, her inner walls milking him, her head thrown back, a raw, endless scream tearing from her throat. The sight of her, lost in pure ecstasy, was his undoing. With three more brutal thrusts, he followed her over, his own release roaring through him like a tidal wave, spilling into her with a guttural shout of her name.
He collapsed beside her, pulling her with him, keeping them joined. He nuzzled into her hair, his heart hammering against her back. They lay in a sweaty, breathless tangle for long minutes, the only sound their slowing breaths.
Finally, he pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “I love you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “More than anything.”
She hummed, a contented, sleepy sound, and wriggled her ass back against him. He was still semi-hard inside her. “Mmm. Love you more. But you’re not done, are you?”
He chuckled, his hand sliding down to cradle the soft curve of her stomach. He could feel himself, still buried deep within her. “Not even close. The week’s worth of fantasies, remember? We’re just getting started.”
He felt her smile against the pillow. “Good. But first, water. And maybe a towel.”
“Demanding,” he teased, but he reluctantly withdrew and rolled off the bed. He padded, naked, to the bathroom, returning with a glass of water and a warm washcloth. He tended to her gently, then drank half the water himself before setting the glass aside.
He slid back into bed, pulling the covers over them and gathering her into his arms. She nestled her back against his chest, his front to her back, his arm a heavy, secure weight around her waist. His hand idly stroked the smooth skin of her hip.
“The conference was that bad, huh?” he mumbled into her hair, his body already stirring again, pressed against the lush curve of her ass.
She laughed softly, reaching back to run her fingers through his. “Worse. All stuffy suits and bad coffee. I just kept thinking about what I’d rather be doing.”
“Which was?”
“This.” She guided his hand lower, from her hip, over the swell of her stomach, down through the damp curls, until his fingers found her clit again, swollen and sensitive. She pressed his fingers against herself, a slow, circular motion. “And this.”
He groaned, his cock hardening fully against her. He kissed the side of her neck, his fingers taking over the rhythm she’d started. “Tell me what you thought about. In the hotel. When you were touching yourself.”
Her breath hitched as his fingers worked her. “I thought about you on your knees. In the airport parking garage. In the stairwell. I thought about you bending me over the desk in my hotel room, making me scream into the phone while I was on a call with the office.”
“Fuck, Jasmine,” he breathed, his own need spiking. He shifted, rolling her onto her stomach. He kissed down her spine, his hands spreading her thighs. “Which one do you want first?”
She pushed herself up on her elbows, looking back at him over her shoulder, her hair a dark cascade. Her smile was wicked, confident, full of love. “Surprise me.”