Chapter 3: Neighbors Complain
The scorching water still sang in their blood, the memory of his mouth on her a phantom vibration, when he wordlessly rose and padded to the suite's small bar. Whitney, floating in the afterglow, watched him return with the silver ice bucket, steam curling off his shoulders. “What’re you—” she began, but he simply upended the entire container into the roiling hot tub.
A hundred cubes hissed and clattered against their skin. The shock was electric, a vicious, glorious contrast that made her shriek and scramble toward him. He caught her, laughing, his hands guiding her to straddle his lap, the icy trails melting in frantic rivulets down her spine. “The city’s awake,” he murmured, his cock already rigid and seeking between her thighs as jets pummeled them both. “Let’s give ‘em a show.”
He guided himself inside her with a single, brutal lift of his hips, seating himself to the hilt. She cried out, the fullness a perfect anchor against the chaos of hot and cold. “Ride me,” he commanded, his voice raw, hands settling on her ass. “Hard.” She obeyed, finding a frantic rhythm, her tits bouncing with each downward plunge. A balcony light flicked on in the high-rise opposite, then another. Calder’s grin was feral. “They see you,” he grunted, thrusting up to meet her. “They see this gorgeous fucking body taking every inch.” The filthy praise was gasoline. Her moans grew louder, shameless, echoing off the glass. He slid a hand between them, his thumb finding her clit, rubbing tight, wet circles. “Scream for them, Whit.” The orgasm detonated, a white-hot wire tightening through her core before snapping. She did scream, a raw, tearing sound as she clenched around him. He followed, his release punching out of him with a guttural shout, his fingers digging into her hips as he emptied himself inside her, the pulsing heat the final, devastating contrast to the melting ice. They slumped together, breathing in shattered gulps, watching the distant lights wink out, one by one.
The cold mountain air finally bit through the steam, raising gooseflesh on their overheated skin. "We'll prune forever," Calder murmured, his voice raspy from shouting, as he gently lifted her from the water. Her legs, feeling like wet sand, buckled immediately upon touching the tile.
He caught her, sweeping her into his arms with a grunt, water sluicing from their bodies onto the floor. "I've got you." He carried her through the sliding door, the warm, dry air of the suite a shock against her skin. He didn’t set her down on the bed so much as collapse onto it with her still held close, the damp expanse of the duchette swallowing them both.
They lay tangled, breathing synchronizing slowly. Her fingertips traced the red lines her nails had left across his shoulders earlier. "I marked you," she whispered, her voice awed and thick.
"Good." He rolled onto his side, facing her, his gaze intense in the dim light. His hand slid down the curve of her waist, over the swell of her hip, a possessive journey. "I want everyone to know I’m yours." He kissed her, deep and slow, a contrast to the frantic energy of the tub. His erection, already hard again, pressed insistently against her thigh. "Once more," he breathed against her lips, not a question but a shared need. "Slow this time."
He guided her onto her back, settling between her legs, and entered her with a languid, consuming push that drew a shuddering sigh from them both. "Eyes open, Whit," he whispered, his thrusts a deliberate, deep rhythm. "Watch me love you." The raw intimacy of it, the unvarnished hunger in his eyes as he moved inside her, undid her completely. Her climax built not as a crash, but as a warm, spreading tide, pulling him under with her into a quiet, profound surrender. After, he stayed buried within her, their sweat cooling, until the dawn's first grey light outlined the mountains.