Chapter 10

Haven: I’m here too early

Saylor: What time did you say you’d meet him?

Haven: Seven

Saylor: It’s two minutes after. How is that early?

Haven: Because he’s late

Saylor: Did you shave your legs?

Haven: Of course I did

Saylor: It’s about time

Haven: Shut up

Saylor: Lipstick?

Haven: No

Saylor: Good plan, it’s only going to get kissed off anyway

Saylor: Proud of you, Havey, so good you’re finally getting some *eggplant emoji* *water emoji*

Haven: Shut up

Saylor: Don’t think about it. Just do it.

Haven: Shit, he’s here, gotta go

W hoa.

Alex walks through the main doors, looking every inch like he belongs here. In Aspen, my town, where the billionaires come to play.

Shrinking back slightly into the shadows, I watch as he scans the dimly lit bar, the smattering of patrons sitting in the navy velvet booths with strategically placed table lamps, the walls adorned with antlers, and the bar staff dressed like they’ve spent the day making moonshine.

Every inch of my body clenches, and I resist the urge to stand up so he sees me, because I want to savor this. Savor him as he is, in those same dark wash jeans he was wearing the other night when he was peering over the jukebox, like they were made for him and him alone, tight ass on display.

Today he’s added a navy cable-knit sweater that makes his eyes seem impossibly blue, even from where I’m sitting. Tugging off his beanie, he ruffles through his hair, perfecting that tousled look. And my body chooses this moment to remind me I’ve already made out with this guy. That I’ve already run my fingers through his hair and know exactly how soft it is.

He is so hot.

I appreciate the full package that is Alex… shit, I don’t know his last name …I’m about to have sex with someone and I don’t know his last name. Should I know his last name?

Another stream of incoming messages from Saylor is buzzing in my bag as Alex spots me, and a lazy smile spreads across his face that lays waste to every second thought I had about coming here tonight.

Right now I don’t even want to stay for drinks. I want to go straight back to mine and finish what we started.

“Hey there.” He leans down to kiss my cheek.

And…I’m lightheaded from the closeness; the scent of him; the lingering of his cool lips against my warm skin. The anticipation.

“Hey,” I manage to breathe out.

The table I chose has two sets of rounded velvet seats, each big enough to fit two or three people comfortably. I assumed Alex would sit across from me, but I find myself scooching up in mine as he slots in next to me, one big arm around the back of the chair.

He twists his body so he’s right in my space, his legs touching mine, and I’m finding it hard to take more than a shallow breath. He’s close enough that I can see the flecks of dark blonde in his stubble and a faint tan outline from skiing the past few days.

He gives me a lopsided grin while he properly takes in our surroundings. “I like this place. You certainly described it well. Dark and cozy, indeed. It’s busy too.”

I nod, stopping myself from chewing on my lip like I do when I’m nervous. “Yeah, Saylor and I come sometimes when we want to get away from The Old Saloon crowd.”

“Saylor is your friend from the bakery? The chatty one?”

“Yes, the chatty one.” My smile widens. “My best friend. We grew up here together. She teaches first grade in the local school, but she’s helping out in the bakery during Christmas break.”

“How’s the competition going? Had lots of entries?” He asks, then raises his index finger. “Hang on, first we need drinks. This place looks like it makes excellent cocktails. Then I want to hear all about what I’m up against.”

Alex’s hand shoots in the air, and within thirty seconds a server arrives with a menu. “Haven, what would you like?”

I kind of want a beer, because the pours in this place are generous , and I don’t want to get the kind of drunk where I end up being carried home. But I also need to take the edge off the adrenaline rushing through my body with such force I’m trembling.

In the end I panic order something that I know from experience gets me the most drunk.

“Old-fashioned, please.”

Dear god, Haven.

“Good choice, make that two.” Alex hands the menus back without ever opening them and turns to me. “I’m thankful you didn’t say eggnog. Now, where were we? How was your day?”

“It was busy, it’s always a busy time of year. Especially with the competition.” I laugh when Alex grimaces.

“How many houses have been dropped off so far?”

“About a hundred. Tomorrow will be busier, then Thursday is chaos. No one wants to bring their house in until they have to, because they don’t want anyone to see it and feel the need to cheat.” I look up as the waiter returns with our drinks. “Thank you.”

Alex takes both glasses and hands one to me. Blue eyes bore into mine, and it must be the low oxygen in the mountain air, because I’m finding it hard to breathe.

“To gingerbread competitions, and the prettiest mayor of Aspen I’ve ever met.”

My glass clinks to his, my cheeks heat at the compliment, and I take far too big a sip. The burn of whiskey immediately hits my bloodstream.

“To gingerbread competitions.”

Alex throws his head back with a loud laugh, his eyes flashing in amusement, and his tongue darts along the edges of his perfect, white teeth. “If anyone told me I’d be entering the world’s most competitive baking contest, I’d think you were talking about The Great British Bake Off .”

“Oh no, we’re way more competitive.” I giggle, putting my glass down. “It’s going to be a tough crowd this year.”

“I’m not worried, I have the edge.”

My brows shoot up. “Oh, you think so?”

He reaches out, picks the ends of my hair off my shoulders, and curls it around his index finger. My heart stutters.

“Oh, I know so.”

“Are you going to tell me what it is?”

“Nope.”

Before I can stop it, he’s pulling me toward him and his mouth surrounds mine. Soft lips press against me as his tongue runs along the seam of my lips until I open up. All too briefly, he sweeps around my mouth and pulls back, but not before he lets out a low moan that hits every part of my body. I cross my legs tighter and squeeze.

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself.”

“I hope you don’t think that making out with me is going to get you any prizes.”

He shakes his head. “No, I’ll be the winner regardless. You, however, are going to need to control yourself once I’m crowned.”

“Oh really?”

Lifting the strand of hair still wrapped around his finger, he presses his nose to it and inhales deeply. “Yes. Winning is a powerful aphrodisiac. You’d do well to remember that.”

“I’ll try my best. Can’t say it’s happened to me before, but I’ll be on guard.”

“Ah.” His face lights up in amusement. “You haven’t come across these dimples though.” He takes my hand, stretches out a finger, and rubs it against the soft stubble, just over the deep ridge in his cheek. “Or the English accent.”

“That’s very true.” I make one last swipe and drop my hand, though Alex doesn’t let go. Instead, he links his fingers through mine.

The warmth of his signet ring on his pinkie seeps into my skin. Up close I can see it’s a little worn, the sign of jewelry well-loved and rarely removed. There’s a crest stamped into it with what looks like an angel next to a tree, underneath which are tiny letters…a word written in a language I don’t understand.

“It’s my family’s crest,” Alex says quietly, and I look up to find him staring at me. “The cherub is symbolic to my family. And underneath is inscribed amor principum , which means love is the beginning. ”

“Oh, that’s cute,” I reply, taking a large gulp of my old-fashioned, because I’m not sure what else to say and I’m beginning to realize that Alex isn’t quite like anyone I’ve ever met.

Not that I’ve met anyone with a family crest before—I’m not even entirely sure what a family crest is—except it’s kind of like a fancy brand that we put on cattle, though more something I associate with old people.

But Alex isn’t old.

He’s around my age.

And fancy and hot . Real hot.

“So, what do you do in England when you’re not building gingerbread houses?”

He huffs a small chuckle and shifts back slightly against the velvet. “I work with Lando, my eldest brother. It’s a family business…we have land—farming land—which is a lot of work…that sort of thing…”

My brows draw together a little, Alex doesn’t look like any guy I know who farms. Not one who spends their days caked in mud rescuing cows, hauling logs and hay bales, or digging roots anyway. Maybe England has a different type of farming.

“What do you do with it?”

“We focus on sustainable agriculture, and we’ve started the process of rewilding a percentage of our land too. Restore the ecosystems…that sort of thing.” He trails off with a shrug in that way where you can tell someone doesn’t want to go into details, but I want to hear more. I want to know how he does it. Ecosystem farming is the ethos of my tree business, it’s how I want Wylder Ranch to exist.

“Do the twins work with you too?”

“God, no.” He laughs with a shake of his head. “I think we’d kill each other. Miles anyway. Hendricks is a vet, and Miles plays polo.”

My brows shoot up. “Polo?”

“Yeah, you know…bit like cricket on horseback.” His mouth twitches in amusement.

“I don’t think I know what cricket is, but I know what polo is. There’s a club here. But you’re saying that’s his job? Is he good?”

“Yes, he is. Very. Plays for England.” Alex nods deeply. “We went down to your polo club today, in fact. Miles is playing there tomorrow and Thursday in the snow polo tournament.” He grins, his eyes lighting up with mischief. “You should come with me.”

I groan. Once more my life is getting in the way of me having fun.

“I can’t, I have to work.”

“Ah yes, I forgot you were Mayor of Aspen for a second. Must keep all your subjects happy,” he teases, with a wag of his finger. “Now your turn…what do you do when you’re not selling Christmas trees and running the town?”

I pause, what exactly is the answer I give him? Because right now I do anything and everything I can.

“I guess…” I take a deep breath. “Not dissimilar to you. I have a small ranch on the national forest lines up the mountain. My family’s ranch. It’s where the trees are harvested for the holidays. And in the spring and summer, I plant all the new saplings. It takes a few years to rotate through, but it’s what we’ve always done.”

“You work with your family too?”

“Um…well, I did. It’s just me now.”

Alex blinks slowly. “That’s a lot for one person.”

Reaching for my glass, I sip, giving myself some time to think on where this conversation is headed. “It can be. But I have help…and over this spring I’m planning to create a retreat space out on a stretch of my land overlooking the valley. It’s super pretty. The first retreat is happening this summer. There’s a yoga group coming.”

“That sounds excellent, my sister’s always trying to get me into yoga. Maybe I’ll sign up and you’ll be the one to finally succeed where she’s failed.” He chuckles, taking a long sip of his drink. “So is it your parents’ ranch, their business?”

I pick at an invisible thread on my jeans. We’re having such a nice time, and for once I’m sitting with someone who doesn’t know my history and didn’t know my parents, and I’m just me. Haven. Not the girl running about town who everyone knows, who everyone feels sorry for because she’s all alone and trying to keep her parents’ businesses running. I don’t want to bring the mood down, but I look up into Alex’s patiently waiting face, and I’m hit by guilt for not wanting to talk about them.

“Yes. It was, but…um, they died a while back. My mom first. Then my dad a few years later. So now it’s mine, and I’m looking after it. Continuing what they started. The store was theirs, too, my mom set it up. They loved Christmas, and my mom loved decorating. I know it’s kind of jumbly, but she was so obsessed with it I don’t want to change it.”

It’s quiet, and I finally bring myself to look at Alex, praying he’s not wearing that look people wear when they don’t know what to say after they find out your parents are dead.

He isn’t. It’s worse almost. Alex is staring at me, unblinking, his face painted with shock. His eyes are glistening with tears.

Fuck. I knew it. I knew I’d bring the mood down.

And he’s quiet because he doesn’t know what to say, and I’m about to overcompensate by babbling about how it’s all fine, because it’s 100 percent better than awkward silence and the expression he’s wearing.

“Haven…god. I’m so incredibly sorry to hear that. I know how…” He glances away and stops.

I want to take back everything I said, but before I can, he turns to face me again, and his eyes have returned once more to their usual bright blue sparkliness.

“No…you know what? We should toast your parents, for they made one hell of a daughter. She’s the mayor of Aspen, and everything.”

Somehow, Alex nails it better than anyone has before. The awkwardness vanishes, and one of the wait staff arrives before I can blink.

Alex swirls his finger over the table. “We’ll take another round of these, and a bottle of Dom Perignon 2012.” He turns to me with a smile that makes my chest hurt. “It’s a good vintage for toasting parents.”

I wouldn’t know. I’ve never drunk a thousand-dollar bottle of champagne, let alone toasted my parents with it. Somewhere I can hear my dad saying he’d rather have a beer, and my mom telling him to stop talking.

By the time the server returns, I swear Alex is closer to me than he was five minutes ago. Even when he leans forward to take the champagne so he can open it himself, his knee brushes mine. I didn’t get to fully appreciate it last night when he was behind the bar, but the way he eases the cork from the bottle, accentuating his big hands and thick veins running along his forearm, has me practically biting down into my lip.

I don’t know how he’s done it, but I’ve never been turned on by someone pouring me a drink before.

“Thank you,” I manage to say without making it sound weird as I take the glass from him.

Alex drops the bottle back into the ice bucket and shifts nearer. The smile he gives me turns my internal temperature up another degree. I’m tempted to take one of those ice cubes and run it along my neck.

“You’re welcome. Now, what were your parents called?”

“Wyatt and Jeanne.”

He raises his glass. “To Wyatt and Jeanne, and the mayor of Aspen.” There’s a pause, then, “And to winning gingerbread competitions.”

“To winning gingerbread competitions,” I reply through a giggle.

Alex sips his champagne and places his glass on the table. “So, what does the Queen of Christmas Trees have at home? Do you keep the best for yourself?”

I’m about to answer, but I’m distracted by Alex once again curling my hair around his finger.

“Let me guess—it’s one of those trees where nothing matches. Where all the ornaments are jumbled up, but each of them has a memory.” He smiles softly, before his eyes narrow in curiosity. “And all the lights flash haphazardly in different colors with giant baubles hidden in the branches. I bet you have one for each room. Big and small.”

I try to hide my amusement while also wondering if maybe I’m exactly that transparent, because he’s described my trees perfectly. Except for the different colored lights. Mine are always white. My mom’s were always white.

“And,” he continues, his voice all tease, “I’m willing to bet a lot of money that you have an entire Father Christmas and his sleigh outside…Nooo. NO. It’s on the roof, isn’t it?” He scans my face, my twitching lip. “God, you have, haven’t you? And you’ve got those nutcrackers on either side of the door.”

My lips are rolled so hard together it’s almost painful.

He gasps and points his finger right at me, “You have one of those houses that people come and take pictures of because of all the decorations. Don’t you?”

“Hey, if it brings people joy,” I say, finally.

Alex’s laugh bursts out of him, loud and deep. It’s infectious, genuine, and soon I’m laughing with him just as loudly. Except my eyes aren’t screwed shut. I can’t tear my gaze away from his face, the deep creases fanned around his eyes, or the way his wide mouth opens so the soft cupid’s bow on his top lip almost disappears, and his dimples pull even further under his thick stubble.

And then our laughter kind of dies down. But the heat between us—this electricity taking hold and refusing to let either of us look away—that’s turned right up, along with my pulse.

Alex’s bright blue eyes drop and darken when my tongue darts out, running along my bottom lip.

“ Fuck , I like you,” he mutters, right before his lips crash to mine.

The old-fashioned and half a glass of champagne might have gone to my head, but even without it I’d still be tempted to push him back on this couch and straddle him. All from one languorous swipe of his warm tongue against mine.

The fingers twisted around my hair are now pushed up into the base of my neck as he holds me firm, his tongue moving with the exact pace I can imagine his dick easing inside me, teasing almost, an appetizer of what I have in store.

It’s all credit to how good he is at kissing that I nearly forget we’re in public.

Alex’s free hand is curved along the inside of my thigh, not moving, but the pressure of his fingertips torments me, something I make known when I moan into his mouth. It’s breathy and pained, leaving nothing to the imagination. He pulls back from me, and the smile cresting his lips is nothing short of egotistical. An ego well earned.

The hand between my legs doesn’t move as he twists around to reach his glass with his other.

“We’re getting good at this.” He chuckles. I’m inclined to agree.

For the next two hours we get better . We barely take a breath.

In between conversations about gingerbread houses and Christmas trees, skiing, and our favorite seasons—him, summer; me, Christmas, obvs—we’ve kissed and we’ve laughed. I’ve laughed more than I’ve laughed in years.

We’ve done nothing but talk, laugh, and kiss. We’ve kissed until it’s obvious we need to take the kissing elsewhere, because I don’t want it to end.

“Alex…” I half moan against his lips, desperate not to break this connection but I’m not going to be able to contain myself much longer. One more squeeze of his hand on my thigh, or one more leisurely swipe of his tongue and we’re going to get arrested for inappropriate behavior.

He pulls back and scans my face. “Back to yours?”

I’m already picking up my bag and halfway to standing. “Yeah.”

Twenty minutes later we stumble through my front door, lips locked together.

Whatever’s grown between us the last few days is about to explode.

Too many times I found myself wondering what it would be like to have someone like Alex around all the time.

But Alex is a one-night thing.

Tonight is about no thinking. Just doing. Just being .

“I wanted to fuck you since you saved me from Christmas music,” he mumbles against my lips while I’m hitting the wall for the light switch.

I know it’s here somewhere.

Argh.

Bright lights blind us.

I hit it again and once more we’re shrouded by the semidarkness and the twinkle of lights from the Christmas tree in the main room. The front door gets kicked shut and I’m pinned against it, Alex’s big body pressing into mine.

“ Because I saved you from Christmas music?” I half moan, because his lips are on my neck, while his hands push under my shirt, deftly unhooking my bra with the expertise of someone who’s done it many times before. Even I don’t usually get it the first time around, and it’s my bra.

This guy’s a pro.

“Yes, mostly. But also because you have an amazing pair of boobs and an arse that should be worshipped.”

God, that accent is enough to get me wet, if I wasn’t already. Fuck foreplay.

“Say arse again,” I groan the order. “It sounds so dirty when you say it.”

“Yeah? You like it dirty?”

“I…”

“ Arse ,” he whispers in my ear, taking my lobe between his teeth.

Forcing my arms above my head, he tugs off my shirt. I’ve always been kind of embarrassed about the size of my boobs, but they bounce free and I look up to Alex staring at me with nothing but pure lust. Instead of cringing with embarrassment, I’m glowing.

He reaches out, cupping one in each palm.

“Oh shiiit…” His gaze darts up to mine, and back to where his thumb is swiping over my rock-hard nipple. “Haven, they’re fucking incredible.”

A groan rumbles up from the pit of my core. My entire body buzzes with arousal. My brain is on sensory overload, mesmerized by the sight of what his fingers are doing.

And when it’s no longer enough to touch them, he dips his head and circles his tongue around the pebbled bud.

His mouth seems to have a mind of its own, traversing across my chest, taking in one nipple at a time, leaving a hot, glistening trail of saliva and goose bumps in his wake. His hands brush down my sides to the waist of my jeans, and I can barely take a breath before he’s unbuttoned them and on his knees in front of me.

Dragging them down just enough for my panties to come into view, his eyes find mine as if seeking permission before he moves any further.

I can’t nod quick enough. Instead, I scrape my fingers through his hair and almost yank him into me, which seems much more polite than pushing my groin in his face. But one way or another, if I don’t have this man’s tongue on my clit in the next thirty seconds, I’m gonna scream. And not in the good way.

Alex needs no convincing. A dry chuckle escapes him, and one hard tug later, my jeans and panties are around my thighs. He sits back and stares, his fingers ease through the space where my thighs are clamped together, and when he pulls them out, they’re covered in three hours worth of my anticipation.

Not a single part of me feels an ounce of embarrassment that I’m almost naked as he spreads me as wide as he can while I’m barely able to move, or that he’s so close to me I can feel his hot breath on my pussy. Instead, I’m squirming with a desperate need for friction, trapped in a denim prison.

He remains motionless.

“Oh Haven, you’re soaked. So fucking wet.”

His voice is so deep and gravelly, it amps me up further. I can feel arousal dripping out of me. And when I try to take things into my own hands and move myself nearer to his face, he inches back.

My teeth almost bite through my lower lip.

“Uh-uh. Let me enjoy this. It’s been a while since I saw a pussy so perfect.”

I have a perfect view, too—of Alex on his knees, his thick, dark brown hair threaded between my fingers, my groin inches from his mouth as I wait for him to lean forward and taste me.

Never in a million years could I have guessed this is where we’d end up after I saw him at the jukebox.

I almost weep in need. Is it possible to die from anticipation? Asking for a friend.

“Alex, please…”

Peering up at me through glazed, hooded eyes, his mouth curved in a devilish smirk, he says nothing but leans forward and finally buries his face between my legs.

“I was right. You do have a sweet pussy,” he mumbles, and gets to work.

“Oh…my…fuuuuck.”

My head drops back against the door with a smack I barely register. All I can focus on is Alex’s hot tongue dragging through my slit over and over. With each swipe, the pressure cooker that’s been building since I met him is turned up another degree. This will be over embarrassingly quickly.

By the time he latches on my clit and my legs nearly buckle from under me, I’m in danger of combusting. Only his big hands clamped onto my thighs stop me from falling.

“Alex…yes, right…there.”

“So fucking hot, Haven…you taste incredible…” He takes another long lap. My thighs are juddering so hard in his strong grip, I know his fingerprints will mark me for days. “You’re going to come right now for me, and I’m going to watch.”

This must have lasted barely ten seconds, but I still have literally no idea how I’ve held on that long.

Maybe the old-fashioneds and half a bottle of champagne dulled my senses. All I can think is thank god they did, because there’s no way I’d have managed without it. I’m so close to the edge, tears are pooling in my eyes. I need this release more than I’ve ever needed anything else in my life.

His fingers replace his tongue, pumping inside me as his thumb presses down hard on my clit. My eyes almost roll into my head, but I manage to focus enough to look down and see him watching me, a grin spread across his face while he licks his lips.

I’m reminded of those nature shows; he’s an apex predator about to devour his kill.

That’s what I am. Kill. I am dead. I have died.

One more precise swipe of his thumb and I crash around his fingers still working inside me. I’ve never felt anything like it. I’ve had years of practice in making myself come, a few fumbled nights of passion in between, but I’ve never experienced anything like this…a relentless wave crashing through me and gathering strength, ready to shred me from the inside out.

This isn’t an orgasm. It’s an exorcism.

Even my voice has been ripped from me. I’m only able to croak his name, “Alex.”

Before my heart takes another erratic beat, his lips are on mine, his tongue plunging into my mouth. Tasting myself on his lips is the single hottest experience of my life.

But the moment is broken when we realize that I’m still stuck in the jeans he’s wedged around my thighs.

“Let’s remove these properly, shall we?” He laughs, but before I can wriggle out of them, I’m hauled into the air, carried across the living room, and dropped on the couch next to the Christmas tree.

Thirty seconds later, my jeans are thrown over Alex’s shoulder and I’m lying naked in front of him.

He scrubs a hand down his face, his signet ring catching the light from the Christmas tree. “You’re better than I ever imagined.”

“All four days of it?” I giggle, my hand shooting up to cover my mouth when it’s followed by a hiccup.

He reaches behind and tugs his sweater off. “That’s right. Four days of thinking of nothing but what I’d do to you when I got you naked.”

I blink through the drunken haze. This can’t be real. There’s no way . I try to count, but I lose my place. What’s quadrupole quadrupole? Because that’s how many muscles I’m seeing.

I mean…I don’t think they even make Americans like this Englishman, let alone Englishmen like him. It’s not alcohol talking. This guy is a straight-up, certified god. A Christmas miracle.

“Tell me…” I find myself asking.

He glances down, his gaze slowly scanning over every inch of my body, heating it up another degree while he unbuckles his belt and kicks off his boots.

“First…” He lifts an eyebrow. “I’d be on my knees in front of you, feasting like you were my last meal. My tongue on your clit, lapping up every drop of you as my fingers got to work until you were begging for me to stop…” He pushes his jeans over his hips, hooking his thumbs into his boxer briefs, and lets them fall. “Think I accomplished that.”

His cock springs free. The tip glistens. He’s rock hard. And massive.

Oh my god.

I try to edge back on the couch like I need to make space for it, but he catches my leg and yanks me back.

“Don’t worry, we’ll make it fit.”

He’s full of that sly conceit as he reaches for the condom packet he pulled from the pocket of his jeans, and I can’t tell if I’m turned on or scared for what’s to come.

My mouth drops watching him sheath himself. He kneels on the couch next to me and shifts forward, gently griping my chin between his fingers.

The pad of his thumb runs along my bottom lip, pulling it down with a pressure I want elsewhere. “Since the day you wore red lipstick, I’ve been dreaming about these wrapped around my cock. Watching you take me until I hit the back of your throat, exploding in your mouth and feeling you swallow my come.”

It’s less than five minutes since I experienced a mind-blowing orgasm, and I already need more. My entire body is shaking, desperate for his touch.

“I want to watch your pussy stretch around my cock as I ease into you.” His hands are moving over my body, down my calf.

It’s only when I wince that I remember the reason I wore jeans this evening has everything to do with the razor burn down the side of my leg that took half my skin off.

“Shit. How did you do that?” Alex kisses along where my skin is still raw.

“Shaving my legs.”

“Ouch. Poor Haven.” He runs his hands along my bare thigh, spreads me wider, and kneels forward. “Let’s make it better.”

He slides the tip of his cock through my center. Back and forth he gently guides it around my clit.

It’s the last gentle action.

One long thrust and he’s inside me. All of him.

A vicious spasm runs through me. My body bows into him as he pulls out and drives back into me with a groan that vibrates over my body. I’m so full. I can’t breathe, I can’t focus.

I can’t fit him.

I feel him everywhere.

It’s too much, yet not enough.

“Fuck…look at you.” The timbre of his voice licks fire across my skin. “Taking my cock…like you were born to.”

I arch, and Alex’s mouth finds mine, his tongue thrusting with each long drive of his hips, until I cry for surrender. I’m no match for this guy. I barely have any bones left.

Then I’m empty, missing the weight of him, the girth of him, but it only lasts a second while he hauls me up by my ass and flings my thighs over his shoulder. I’m trapped once again, this time by Alex’s massive body as he leans forward and pistons himself into me.

And I lose myself.

“Alex…I’m…oh god. I’m c-c-coming.”

“Yes…Haven. Fuck. Let me feel it,” he rumbles. “Let me feel you strangling my cock.”

And I do. He does. Following after me with a roar that would put a thunderstorm to shame before collapsing next to me on the couch.

I suck in as much air as I can manage in one go. “Holy… crap. ”

“Give me a couple of minutes.” He breathes out. “Then we’re going again.”

We fuck on the couch, the floor of my living room, the kitchen table after I went to fetch water for fear of dehydration and Alex followed, and I’m fairly certain he’ll have the imprint of the stairs on his back from where he pulled me onto his lap, and I rode out orgasm number six.

Now I’m dozing. It’s a semiconscious, hazy, slightly drunk state when I’m aware of movement next to me. The warm arm wrapped around me disappears. I turn to find Alex kneeling on the hardwood floor as he searches for his jeans. Easing onto my elbows, which is about as much as I can manage, I watch him pull on his boxer briefs.

We never discussed a sleepover, and honestly, I’m not sure what to do. I don’t know what time it is. I just know I’m too tired to form a cohesive thought, including the etiquette of a one-night stand, but when Alex pulls on his boots, I think the decision’s already been made.

“Are you leaving?”

“I have to be up early.” He leans in to kiss me. The taste of me is still lingering on his lips, and I’m tempted to pull him back for another go. “See you around, Mayor of Aspen. This was fun.”

I debate staying on the floor, because I’m not sure I have the strength left in my body, let alone any bones left. But in the end, I get up, force myself to walk up the stairs, and flop onto my bed.