Chapter 16 I Miss You, Shop!
LONDON, 6:12 a.m.
The sky over Heathrow was still the color of wet slate when the wheels touched tarmac. Alex didn’t wait for the jet bridge. He was first off the plane, coat slung over one arm, carry-on rolling behind him like an afterthought. Customs was a blur of stamps and curt nods. By 6:37 he was sliding into the back of a black cab, voice low and lethal.
“Bloomsbury. Fast.”
The driver took one look at the storm in Alex’s eyes and floored it. Sophia’s dorm corridor was silent, the kind of pre-dawn hush that felt conspiratorial.
She hadn’t dressed. The duvet was kicked to the foot of the bed, and the sheets were twisted from restless. She lay on her stomach now, knees drawn slightly up, back arched just enough to offer everything the second he stepped through the door. The bruises on her neck and breasts had deepened overnight. Between her thighs she was swollen, slick, and aching so fiercely it hurt to breathe.
The lock clicked. Alex didn’t knock. He shut the door with his heel and dropped the bag. His gaze swept over her in one savage sweep, capturing the curve of her spine, the wet shine on her inner thighs, and the way her fingers clutched the pillow as if it were the only thing keeping them from flying apart.
“Fuck, Soph.” His voice was gravel and smoke, thick with twenty-four hours of pent-up hunger.
He was on her in three strides. Coat still on, shirt half-unbuttoned from the plane. He didn’t bother with the rest. One hand fisted in her hair, yanking her head back,
“Still dripping,” he growled against her ear, teeth scraping the bruise he’d left days ago.
“You kept my cum inside you like I told you?”
“Yes,” she sobbed, pushing back, fucking herself on his fingers.
“All of it. I’m so full of you–”
He curled his fingers hard, stroking that spot that made her vision white out, thumb pressing her clit in ruthless circles.
“Not full enough.”
His belt clinked. The zipper rasped. Then the blunt, thick head of his cock was nudging at her entrance, sliding through her slick folds once, twice, teasing.
“Beg.”
“Please, Alex, please, I need–”
He slammed home in one brutal thrust. The sound that tore from her throat was raw and animal. He didn’t pause, didn’t ease her into it, and just gripped her hips hard enough to bruise anew and set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping, balls slapping against her clit with every stroke. The bedframe slammed the wall in a violent, primal beat.
“Look at you, taking me like you were made for it. Like you’ve been empty without this cock for two fucking days,” he snarled, voice shredded.
She was already close and had been close since his text. He felt it in the way she fluttered around him and heard it in the desperate little sobs muffled by the pillow.
One hand snaked beneath her, pinching her nipple hard, the other dropped to her clit, rubbing fast and filthy.
“Come,” he commanded.
“Come all over me so I can fill you again.”
She shattered, back bowing, walls clamping down so hard he cursed viciously. He followed seconds later, burying himself to the root and spilling deep with a guttural groan, hips jerking through every pulse.
They collapsed sideways, still joined, his chest to her back, one arm locked around her waist like he’d never let go. Eventually he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the fresh mark blooming on her shoulder.
“Meetings can burn in hell,” he murmured against sweat-slick skin.
“I’m not leaving this bed until I’ve had you in every position we missed.”
Sophia smile, slow and sated, and clenched deliberately around him. He was already hardening again.
“Good, because Paris still owes me the city,” she whispered
The winter sun had finally clawed its way through the clouds, spilling pale gold across the narrow dorm room. Sophia was on her stomach again, wrists loosely bound above her head with the silk tie he’d worn on the plane. Her cheek pressed to the pillow, lips swollen, eyes glassy. Between her thighs, the evidence of three rounds glistened on her skin and the sheets beneath.
Alex knelt behind her, shirt long gone, trousers shoved down just enough. He’d taken her slow this time, dragging each thrust out until she was sobbing please into the mattress. When she finally came, he’d watched her face in the wardrobe mirror, memorizing the way her mouth fell open on his name.
Now he traced idle patterns through the mess he’d left on her back, painting her with himself like she was canvas.
“You missed your meetinga,” she murmured, voice hoarse.
“I missed you more.” He leaned down, licked a stripe up her spine, tasting salt and himself.
“Besides, I’m giving you a private lesson.”
She laughed, breathless, and deliberately clenched around nothing.
“You’re insatiable.”
He slid two fingers back inside her without warning, curling and stroking the spot that made her jerk against the tie.
“And you’re still dripping with me. Don’t pretend you want me to stop.”
Her moan was answer enough.
He untied her, massaged the faint red marks on her wrists with his thumbs, then flipped her onto her back. Spread her thighs wide and just looked at the flushed, swollen folds, the way she glistened with both of them, and the fresh bruises blooming on her inner thighs.
“Christ, Soph. You’re wrecked.” His voice cracked.
“Your fault,” she whispered, reaching for him.
He let her pull him down, let her guide him back inside the wet heat that welcomed him like home. He moved slow and deep, hips rolling, forehead pressed to hers, swallowing every gasp.
“Look at me,” he ordered softly when her eyes fluttered shut.
She did. And he watched her fall apart again, watched the exact moment pleasure crashed over her, and felt her clench and milk him until he followed with a broken groan, spilling so deep it felt like surrender.
They’d migrated to the tiny shower stall (barely room for one, never mind two). Water pounded over them, steam fogging the mirror. He had her pinned against the tiles, one of her legs hooked over his forearm, the other trembling on tiptoe. Every thrust lifted her onto the balls of her feet; every withdrawal dragged a whimper from her throat. His hand was between them, thumb on her clit, relentless.
“Again,” he growled against her bitten neck.
“I want you limp before I feed you.”
She came with a cry that echoed off the tiles, nails raking down his back hard enough to draw blood. He followed right after, hips stuttering, emptying himself with her name on his tongue.
Back on the bed, he sat propped against the headboard, her straddling his lap, riding him slow and filthy. Her palms braced on his chest, nails digging into the scratches she’d left earlier. His hands gripped her ass, guiding but not rushing.
Sunlight striped across her breasts, throat, and dark bruises, which he kept adding to like signatures.
“Tell me,” he rasped, voice shredded from hours of use, “tell me who you belong to.”
“You, only you,” she breathed.
He flipped them suddenly, pinning her beneath him, driving into her with short, punishing strokes that had the headboard banging again.
“Say it louder.”
“You, Alex, fuck, only you—” they were both shaking.