He winds his fingers in my hair and tugs my head back so he can kiss down my neck and lower across my chest. My panties are pushed aside and impatiently tugged down. I stand and free one leg then the other. He brings me back down onto his lap with a firm grasp on my hips, and then together, we’re moving, rocking, holding our breaths because of how impossibly good this feels.

  I want his boxer briefs gone.

  I want to reach that final moment, to experience what it will feel like with him inside of me once and for all.

  The chair is wide, but not wide enough to accommodate these kinds of activities. I start to fall backward, tilting us as Jonathan laughs. He has no choice but to come with me, to help soften the blow as we land on the floor with a thud.

  My hands work quickly, tugging on the waistband of his boxer briefs, pushing them down as fast as I can. I look down and my lips part as I take in the sight of him, but I’m only given a moment to register my approval before he steals another kiss and starts to part my legs. A silent agreement is struck as I let him settle on top of me. I pull him down onto me even more, luxuriating in his heaviness. His hand reaches down between us, and he watches my reaction as he starts to press into me, careful to ensure I’m still there with him, wanting this. My nails bite into his forearms as I endure a moment of uncomfortable tightness—just a hair’s breadth away from pain—and then it eases and he stills.

  “I love you,” he whispers into my hair.

  All the emotion that’s been bottled up inside me throughout the day can’t be held back a moment longer. The tears he swiped away on the dance floor are back as he presses all the way into me. We revel in that feeling. It’s bliss, unadulterated. Then he starts to slowly ease out of me and press back in, slowly, slowly, slowly before working us up into a maddening rhythm. I tell him I love him too.

  We’re on the floor, on our pile of clothes, and his hand cradles my head to soften the blow every time he thrusts his hips and hits a point inside of me that makes my toes curl. I feed off of his relentlessness. Again again again. The tempo doesn’t stop. We skirt the edge so that I wince when he goes too deep, crying out when his thumb brushes between my legs, over the exact place where I need relief. My nails dig into his back as I break, tingles ricocheting and rioting inside me, and he pulls back on purpose, hauls me up off the ground, and carries me to the bed. It’s torture and I tell him so, but he ignores my complaints. He takes a good long look at me splayed out on the covers, and I do the same to him. He’s so confident, standing there at the end of the mattress, unbothered by his nakedness. Slowly, he peels around the corner, coming up the side. He doesn’t make his intentions known, and my heart skips a beat when he comes to stand at my side then reaches out to touch me with his right hand. He starts at my neck, no doubt feeling my racing pulse. He holds me there for a moment, and I tip my chin back in consent.

  With a touch that’s gentle and featherlight, he slowly moves down the center of my body, down my rib cage and stomach, across my navel. Lower, he covers me with his palm as his middle finger dips inside.

  I bite down on the inside of my cheek as I arch up, and the low rumble in his throat makes it clear that he likes the feel of me there, the evidence of our lovemaking coating his finger. He swirls circles with his thumb, but it’s too slow. Intentionally, he doesn’t give me what I need.

  I nearly writhe in annoyance, pain, misery.

  And then his hand is gone.

  My eyes blink open as he crawls onto the bed and picks me up so I have no choice but to climb on top of him as he lies down, splitting my legs across his lap.

  “I don’t think I can—”

  I start to protest, but he won’t hear it.

  This position has never worked for me in the past. It always makes me feel too on display and vulnerable. I can never get out of my head enough to enjoy it, but as Jonathan takes a firm grasp on my hips, I realize that’s the exact way he wants me to feel. Already I know with him, this position will work in a way it never has before.

  I might be on top, but he’s still in control. He’s setting the tempo, using his hips and thighs and hands to hold me steady as he thrusts up into me. I fight the urge to close my eyes as the sensations become almost too overwhelming because I’m getting off on the sight of him like this. He’s so handsome, his hair slightly mussed, his muscles straining and flexing as he holds me in position. I’m enthralled by every inch of him.

  “Roll your hips,” he says. “Reach back and hold on to my legs.”

  I do as he says, arching until I have a grip on his muscular thighs just above his knees. The position stretches and elongates my body in a way that drives him mad.

  Then I start to roll my hips forward and back, anchored by him. His hand returns between my thighs. My body is already primed, attuned, beholden to him. The second time I come, it sneaks up on me suddenly, a flash of pleasure so intense I cry out. I ride the waves until I feel exhausted by it.

  And then just as suddenly, Jonathan is sitting up, pushing me back onto the bed, pulling out and fisting himself as he comes onto my stomach. No condom, I realize only now. We had no condom.

  It shouldn’t be as hot as it is to have him do this to me, but it is, and when his blue eyes capture mine, he can tell I like it. His expression is so wicked, and I lie perfectly still, letting him lean back and look at me. What a sight. I should cover myself somehow, clean up and hide away this guilty pleasure, but Jonathan’s so ensnared I stay like that for him, knowing he wants it.

  I feel like I’m his in a way that’s carnal. You’re depraved, my inner voice whispers, but I refuse to feel guilty about it. Not with Jonathan.

  He reaches out to touch my chin, gently lifting it. Now, when our eyes meet, his gaze has softened. “I love you.”

  I nearly look away, but he keeps ahold of my head, forcing me to endure the weight of his feelings. As a person who’s been starved for love for so long, it’s almost uncomfortable to accept his. I wonder if I’ll ever grow used to it.

  I nod gently, and he lets go of me, climbing up off the bed.

  “Stay there,” he instructs, disappearing into the bathroom to wet a towel in the sink before walking back to me. I hold my hand out to take it, but he cleans me himself before taking my hand and pulling me up.

  We go into the bathroom and he turns the shower on, testing the water with his hand. I’m shameless as I inspect his body. The smooth planes of his back, the muscular definition—it’s so nearly art I’m surprised he’s not made of marble.

  I’m quiet, and he doesn’t press me to talk as he turns back for me. I join him in the shower. He motions for me to step under the stream, giving me the pleasure of washing off first while he watches. I turn and let the warm water run down my chest. Then I step aside and lather up my hair with shampoo while he starts to wash off. I shiver and he notices, tugging me close to him, sharing the water.

  I smile, and he kisses my cheek.

  “Are you okay?” he whispers.

  I frown. “Of course.”

  He looks relieved. “I just want to be sure. What we just did is out of the norm for me. I’ve always been extremely careful with past partners. Are you on any kind of birth control?”

  “No.”

  I wait for him to wince in horror, but he simply nods.

  A beat passes, and he says, matter-of-factly, “I want children.”

  My heart flutters in my chest, and I spin to face the water. “So do I.”

  He steps up behind me, cradling me against his body, and wraps his arms around my stomach. His lips touch my shoulder, and he whispers my name. I close my eyes and try not to cry. It’s all so overwhelming. The good can feel like too much sometimes.

  We sleep in his bed, share his covers, manage a bit of rest, and then our bodies press together again. What was new only a few hours ago already feels slightly more familiar. I realize my body is building a home in him, a place to rest my weary head.

  I wake up to Jonathan brushing my hair back away from my face.

  “It’s late. We have to get going to the airport soon, and they’ve just delivered our breakfast.”

  I groan against the morning light. I need another hour of sleep, and if not that, another ten minutes, at least.

  “Emelia…” he says with a laugh as I bury myself deeper under the covers.

  “You kept me up too late last night,” I argue, laying the blame at his feet.

  His touch disappears, and reluctantly, I blink my eyes open.

  He’s standing beside the bed, wearing a gray suit. He’s already showered. He looks debonair, a James Bond lookalike.

  “How long have you been awake?”

  “Since six,” he says. “I had a few calls I needed to take. Here, I ordered room service. Come eat while it’s still hot.”

  I’m self-conscious of the fact that I’m wearing absolutely nothing. Jonathan realizes a beat after I do, nodding toward the cabinet under the TV.

  “I had them bring your things up. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Mind? I’m immensely grateful that I have something to put on.

  He turns to walk over to the suite’s living room space, giving me a moment to scurry over and tug out a pair of panties. That’s the only privacy I get, though. He watches me now as I dig through my bag, looking for a bra. My skin flushes, but underneath that surface feeling of shyness, something comes alive at the fact that he can’t help but look at me. Even after last night, all those hours we spent together weren’t enough, apparently.

  After I slip on a bra and some jeans, I peer over my shoulder at him, and he tries to conceal a private smile as he turns and reaches for the newspaper folded near our breakfast spread.

  “What do you have planned for today?” I ask, trying to make my inquiry sound light.

  “Aside from getting you home? Not much. I should put in a few hours at my desk later, but it’s nothing that can’t wait.”

  “Getting me home?” I ask curiously.

  “I booked a seat for you on my flight.”

  He says it like it’s nothing, but I know damn well I’ll be sitting beside him in first class, sipping champagne and luxuriating in miles of extra legroom.

  “I’ll cancel mine then.”

  He nods as he flips through the newspaper sections until he lands on Business.

  “We could do dinner?” I suggest. “If you don’t have to work, that is.”

  He smiles but doesn’t look up. I think he’s trying to act like this isn’t a big deal, us starting to weave our lives together.

  “Yes to dinner. And I’d like you to stay over,” he adds.

  Inside, I’m so delighted I could squeal. “Okay. I’ll just need to grab a few things from my apartment.”

  He finally looks up at me. “Don’t pack light. That way it’s easier. I have so little time during the week, and I’d rather not waste it having you go back and forth to your place.”

  “All right.” I wink. “I’ll pack heavy.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  ONE MONTH LATER

  Jonathan

  * * *

  Dammit, I’m late. The Saint John’s Alumni Scholarship Fundraiser is tonight in New York City. Emelia flew in a few days early so she could spend time catching up with Sonya. Meanwhile, I’ve had to keep myself chained to my desk in Boston, and even today, I missed my first flight because of a meeting that ran late. Though it wasn’t the original plan, I’ll meet Emelia at the fundraiser instead of accompanying her there.

  The event is taking place in the ballroom of the Baccarat Hotel. Up in our suite on the 49th floor, I get ready quickly, using the mirror in the bathroom to assist me in tying my bowtie. Emelia’s makeup and hairbrush are strewn about the counter. A large black jewelry box is open and empty beside the sink. I smile, thinking of how surprised she must have been to find the necklace waiting for her in the room upon her arrival. Enjoy New York, my love, the accompanying note read.

  My jeweler sourced the necklace for me while on the hunt for Emelia’s engagement ring. I want something antique and timeless, preferably a stone from Scotland, which will take a while to find, so I’ve already started the search. Emelia would think I was insane if she knew I was already preparing a proposal. Or perhaps not. We’ve talked about our life together, the future we want to share.

  We’ve adapted to the newness of our relationship quickly.

  Being together at the office, while awkward at first, has proved extremely convenient. We eat lunch together every day and ride to and from the Banks and Barclay building when my schedule allows. I never overstep my bounds with her in public, but on occasion, when I can’t help myself, I call her into my office and satisfy my urge to have her. I know how much she loves it because she’s not shy about letting me know. Still, it never seems to be enough. I need a constant reminder of her. A wedding ring on my finger will help that, I think.

  The fundraiser began nearly an hour ago. The dinner portion will begin shortly, and I’ve left Emelia alone in a room full of wolves for long enough. I’m grateful she at least has Emmett and Alexander, though as of late, the former is far more reliable than the latter.

  I finish with my tie and straighten my tuxedo jacket before heading out the door. The elevator ride takes longer than I’m accustomed to. The hotel is packed with Saint John’s alumni. In the lobby, I nod toward people I recognize and ignore invitations to chat as I make my way to the ballroom.

  The lights are dim enough that it won’t be easy for me to spot Emelia in the ballroom right away, a fact that annoys me. I’m impatient. I have been all day. This is the longest we’ve been apart in weeks. Emelia has been by my side every day since we returned from Sonya’s wedding. If I have to visit the Belle Haven Estate, she accompanies me. If I have to put in extra time in the office, she often stays too, working or reading in my office. She’s slept at her apartment only once and phoned me before bed, regretting her decision.

  I round the room and continue the tiring routine of slipping past acquaintances until I finally lay eyes on her.

  She’s an absolute vision in her emerald green dress, the one I helped her pick knowing she would be wearing it along with her new necklace. It’s a choker made of oval-cut emeralds and marquise-cut diamonds. My jeweler purchased it from an antique jewelry dealer in Switzerland. It dates from the 19th century.

  She’s standing alone, perusing the auction items. I reach her just as she’s finishing putting her name down beside a $250 opening bid for a dinner for two at Marea, seated at the chef’s table. By the end of the night, I have no doubt the meal will go for well over ten thousand dollars, perhaps even twenty. I’ll be sure to loop back later before I leave to ensure we get it.

  “I’ve always wanted to eat there.”

  My voice surprises her.

  She drops the pen and turns around, her eyes alight with excitement. I lean in for a kiss before telling her she looks beautiful, and my hand stays on her hip as I tug her away from the auction table. I’ll keep my hand on her all night, I know it. These few days apart have been too hard.

  “The necklace…Jonathan.”

  Her tone sounds reproachful as she reaches up to touch an emerald.

  “It’s an heirloom. I couldn’t pass it up.”

  She rolls her eyes teasingly. “Big jewelry collector, are you?”

  “It’s a new hobby.”

  “Well it’s beautiful, obviously. Just what I would have picked for myself if I had several more zeroes at the end of my bank account.”

  I laugh and lead her toward the bar so I can grab a drink. I ask her if she’d like anything, but she shakes her head.

  “I’ve already had a cocktail and I ate a light lunch. I should pace myself.” Her eyebrows furrow as she glances over my shoulder at something. “Who’s the woman talking to Emmett? She’s beautiful.”

  I turn and follow her gaze across the room to find my friend standing before a petite brunette wearing a strapless black gown. Emelia’s right; she is beautiful, feminine but with an edge, similar to Emelia in that way. She barely comes up to Emmett’s shoulders, but she doesn’t look the least bit intimidated by him. Emmett, meanwhile, looks mesmerized.

  I study her features for another moment before giving up. “I don’t recognize her.”

  “Really? I’d like to meet her, whoever she is…Emmett looks like he wants to swallow her whole.”

  I chuckle.

  “His date?” she wonders.

  “Maybe. If not, she must be Saint John’s alumni.”

  “It’s Lainey Davenport,” Alexander supplies, coming up to join us, having heard the tail end of our conversation. “You don’t recognize her?”

  I shake my head.

  He shrugs. “Yeah, she’s too young for you two to have overlapped at school. She’s closer to Emelia’s age.”

  I look over at my date, and she winks. Our age difference suits us. We wouldn’t have it any other way.

  “Emmett’s in love with her,” Alexander adds, like it’s information anyone would know.

  Emelia’s eyes widen with intrigue. “So they’re dating? I didn’t realize.”

  He laughs. “God no.”

  Interesting.

  “Are they friends?” Emelia wonders, clearly intrigued by the pair.

  “You’ll have to ask Emmett. Now, where did they place you two for dinner?”

  “Table eleven,” Emelia says. “I found my place card earlier.”

  He frowns. “Damn. I’m at seven. Let me go see if I can switch. I’m not enduring this dinner solo. I’ll be back.”

  He disappears into the crowd just as the bartender finishes making my drink, then I ask Emelia if she wants to continue looking over the auction items before dinner.

  “Yes,” she says, sounding giddy. “I was only halfway through. It’s so interesting to see what rich people spend their money on.”

  There are jewelry and spa days and designer bags up for grabs. Nothing catches my eye, but to be fair, I’m not paying much attention. It’s been a long day, and while this event is important and I’m glad to be supporting it, I would also like to be upstairs, alone in the hotel room with Emelia. I want to reacquaint myself with her tonight, sleep in tomorrow morning, and then take our time leaving the city. Emelia got us tickets to a matinee show on Broadway when she heard I hadn’t seen Hamilton yet. Before that, we’ll meet Sonya and Wesley for a late brunch and then, if there’s time, take a walk around the city. There’s so much historical architecture here. Emelia wants to show me a brownstone she used to walk past every day en route to her graduate courses at NYU. She knows I’ll love it.