I hate waiting.

Thankfully, Grant did too.

True, we couldn’t have been doing that waiting in more comfortable surroundings. Our hotel room was the size of a football field, and considerably more opulent.

The carpet was a deep rich shag that made you feel as though any second you might sink into it up to the knee. Handcrafted furniture with embroidered silk cushions was spread throughout the room so that you could flop down anywhere and be assured of hitting a cushion before you’d gone a foot; a fountain in the center sprayed water in soothing patterns. Paintings that looked almost frighteningly like they might be actual Van Goghs and Picassos lined the walls.

The hotel staff had even thoughtfully laid out a complementary spread of delicacies for us: salmon tarts, curry chicken finger sandwiches, summer pudding, pickled watermelon spears, lemon white chocolate squares, almond bark dipped in acai berries, and more things that I couldn’t identify but that smelled simply divine.

I say ‘smelled’ rather than ‘tasted’ because my stomach still absolutely refused to let me eat anything, and mounted a full-scale revolution every time I thought about doing so. In fact, Grant wasn’t eating either.

What we were doing—in our quiet, dignified, and elegant way—was freaking the fuck out. I was slowly destroying my fingernails with fiddling, and Grant was pacing up and down the suite like a cat. I was pretty sure he was going to wear a hole in the carpet, or at least a trail.

“How long will this take?” Grant muttered for about the sixtieth time, wringing his hands.

“As long as it needs to,” I soothed, despite my own anxiety. “Give the shareholders some time. It just means they’re thinking it over.” If only they’d think faster.

He kept eyeing the walls like he wanted to punch them, which was just putting me further on edge. What if he took out a painting? True, he could probably cover the cost, but if these were the originals of whom I suspected they were, my guilt over the loss to the art world would never let me sleep at night.

Grant started wringing his hands, honest-to-God wringing them, and when he made a fist, that’s when I knew I couldn’t take it anymore. I jumped off my cushion and leapt in front of the nearest maybe-Van Gogh. I could at least protect one of them.

“Enough, Grant!” There was an edge to my voice, more frayed nerves than actual anger. He paused mid-stride, startled by my shout. “Please. We’re both freaked out right now and you either need to stop pacing the room, or…or find some other way to redirect all that nervous energy.”

“Oh, I do, do I?”

A smile quirked his lips as he raked his gaze up and down my body, and I saw the unmistakable hunger in his eyes. I felt heat flushing my cheeks.

“I didn’t mean—” I started, but he was already striding toward me.

Okay, I’ll admit it: my arms may have already been held out as he swept me up and carried me into the bedroom, laying me down on the bed as though I were a fragile piece of china he was afraid might break. His lust-darkened eyes devoured me, and I felt my heart speed up, my breathing go short.

“Didn’t mean what?” he asked.

“Nothing.” I reached for him.

He took my hand, his strong fingers interlacing with mine and squeezing tight, as if to reassure him that I was still there.

“I need you,” he said.

I kissed his cheek. “I know.” And I did.

He bent over me, his warm lips lighting fires below my skin as he kissed my neck. Somehow, he also managed to wrestle himself out of his tux, which I’d never realized had so many working parts involved. And God but it took a lot of willpower not to ask him to put the bowtie back on once he was down to his underwear.

My left hand slid across his bare chest, sketching the planes of his rock-hard muscles, teasing at his light chest hair, before dipping lower and rubbing him through his black briefs. He immediately hardened further against my fingertips, and he groaned deep against my skin; I flushed and grew wet between my thighs, already desperate to have him inside me.

His left hand still interlaced with mine, his right began to stroke and squeeze my breasts through the filmy fabric of my dress. Impatient to feel his touch on my bare skin, I reached over and unzipped it; Grant slipped it down my body with an impassioned growl and tossed it to the floor, descending to suck and bite at my breasts through the silk of my bra.

He abandoned his grip on my hand, his fingers trailing down to stroke over the lace of my panties, and then he dipped inside.

I yelped as he touched my clit, seeing stars. He slid down the length of me, and I savored the feel of his every muscle against my skin. His hot tongue teased at the hem of my panties before his hands tugged those down as well, and then his clever tongue was stroking against me, feinting at my clit, diving deep within me.

I arched shamelessly against his hungry mouth, my hands gripping at his powerful shoulders as I twisted and moaned his name, “Oh, Grant, oh, Grant, oh Grant…”

My eyes slid shut in ecstasy, and he stopped. “Look at me,” he ordered, his voice gravelly and deep. “Look me in the eyes while I lick you. Look me in the eyes and tell me how much you like it, how much you want it.”

I forced myself to keep my eyes open, looking into the forceful blue pools of his, even as the connection threatened to overwhelm me with its intensity, push me over the edge.

“Oh Grant, please—I want it—I want you—”

I pulled him free and a groan escaped him as he raised himself up on his arms, and then slid into me like he was coming home, a look on his face as if he knew he was exactly where the universe wanted him to be.

I gasped at the sensation of him, even better than I had remembered, even more strong. He thrust into me with steady, even strokes, watching my face, leaning forward to slowly kiss away the track of each tear.

He stoked the fires inside me, letting them burn brighter then cool down, a little hotter each time, still not quite reaching an inferno. I stared up at his eyes, drowning in those pools of intoxicating blue. My hands gripped at his back, at his ass, trying to drive him yet deeper inside me. The pressure built inside of me until I thought I might explode, and I pushed up against him, desperate for more friction, for just the little push over the edge.

“Please,” I whispered, stretching up to nip and nibble at his earlobe; he gasped against my neck, the heat of it tingling my skin. “Oh please, Grant, more, I need it deeper, I need you, I need—”

He pulled away and I cried out, hurt spilling into my voice. But he kissed me tenderly, silencing my protests, and firmly flipped me over onto my hands and knees.

“You want it deep?” he rumbled.

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. I had forgotten how to breathe. Breathing, what was that?

“Yes,” I managed. “Please.”

One of his hands gripped firmly at my shoulder, the other steadied my hip. I could hear his breathing, harsh and eager.

This felt primal, animal, as if he was about to claim me—but his touch was kind, tender. I was pinned, trapped, unable to see him—and yet it was I who had surrendered myself to him, who gave him my trust and turned my eyes from him to let him do as he wished.

It was everything I had ever been attracted to all at once and it was driving me mad; I was so wet, so ready.

I arched up against him, and he drove his cock deep inside me.

I cried out, begging him to fuck me deeper, harder, longer, to fuck me and never stop fucking me, to give it all to me until I couldn’t take any more—and then I lost track of the words that were spilling from my mouth, the words that were becoming gasps and incoherent moans, I lost track of everything but his powerful grip and his hard strokes slamming into me, taking everything I had to give and demanding more, more, more—

The fingers on my hip stretched up to circle my clit and again I saw stars, the whole freaking universe, screaming as my orgasm hit, my core clenching tight around him until he gave one final long thrust and spilled himself inside me with a moan.

I came back down to earth, and felt tears in my eyes. “You were gone,” I whispered, my voice almost breaking. “I went away, but I came back, and you were gone even though you were right there and I thought I’d lost you forever…”

“You could never lose me,” he whispered, and pressed a kiss to my forehead. Were those tears I heard in his voice as well? I couldn’t see. “We’re connected, you and I. The thread that binds us may stretch and fray, but it will never break. And whatever happens today, we’ll get through it. Together.”