Three days

Chapter 3 - KATE

He guided me to the bed like a man who already knew every step.

The backs of my knees brushed the cool edge of the mattress and I sank down. The hotel sheets were crisp and faintly scented with lavender detergent, smooth against the bare skin of my thighs. Alex stood between my legs for a moment, looking down at me. The low lamp on the nightstand cast a warm gold light across his face, deepening the faint lines at the corners of his eyes and making the brown of his irises look almost black with want.

He reached for the belt of my robe. The soft fabric whispered as he pulled it open. Cool air kissed my skin the second the robe fell away, sliding off my shoulders and pooling around my hips in a dark pool of silk. I was completely bare underneath. His gaze moved over me slowly — the curve of my breasts, the soft plane of my stomach, the dark thatch of hair between my thighs. I felt the heat of that look like a physical touch.

“Christ, Kate,” he breathed, voice low and rough. “You’re even more beautiful than I remembered.”

I reached for him. My fingers found the hem of his shirt and pushed it upward. The cotton was warm from his body. He helped me pull it over his head; the fabric brushed my wrists as it came free. His chest was leaner than before, the lines of muscle sharper under lightly tanned skin. A faint trail of dark hair ran down from his navel. When I placed my palms flat against him, his skin was hot and smooth, and I could feel the hard, rapid beat of his heart under my hands.

He leaned down and kissed me — deep and claiming. His mouth tasted faintly of mint and something darker. His tongue slid against mine, slow and thorough. The faint scrape of evening stubble against my chin sent a shiver down my spine. I moaned into his mouth and wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him down with me as I fell back onto the bed.

His weight settled over me, solid and warm. The scent of him rose between us — clean soap, a hint of cologne, and underneath it the warmer, saltier smell of his skin. I felt the hard length of him press against my thigh through his jeans. A fresh wave of heat rolled through my body. I arched up, seeking more contact, and he groaned low in his throat.

“I want to make you come first,” he murmured against my lips, voice rough with restraint. “Just like I promised at the door.”

His mouth left mine and trailed down the side of my neck, lingering on the sensitive spot behind my ear until my whole body tightened. Then lower — across my collarbone, between my breasts. He cupped one breast in his hand, thumb brushing over the tight peak, before closing his mouth around it. The wet heat of his tongue sent a sharp pulse straight between my legs. I gasped and threaded my fingers into his hair.

He switched to the other breast while his free hand slid down my stomach and between my thighs. I was already so wet that his fingers glided easily through my folds. He stroked me lightly at first, teasing, then pressed two fingers inside me — thick and sure — while his thumb found my c**t and began to circle with deliberate pressure.

“Alex—” His name came out broken.

“I know,” he whispered against my damp skin. “I feel how ready you are. You’re soaked for me.”

He worked his fingers in a steady, curling rhythm, the wet sound of it soft and intimate in the quiet room. His thumb never stopped its slow, precise circles. Every nerve ending seemed to tighten around that single point of contact. My head fell back against the pillows. A helpless, shaky sound escaped me as the pleasure built fast and sharp.

He watched my face the entire time, eyes locked on mine, as if he needed to see every flicker of sensation he pulled from me. When my breathing turned sharp and uneven, he didn’t slow this time. He pressed deeper, curled his fingers just right, and rubbed my c**t with firm, relentless strokes.

“Come for me, Kate,” he said, voice low and commanding. “I want to feel it.”

The orgasm crashed through me in hard, pulsing waves. I cried out, back arching off the bed, inner walls clenching rhythmically around his fingers as pleasure ripped through every nerve. My vision blurred at the edges. He kept working me through it, drawing out every last tremor until I was trembling and oversensitive.

Only then did he ease his fingers out of me. I whimpered at the sudden emptiness.

He stood just long enough to unbuckle his belt — the metallic clink sharp in the quiet — and shove his jeans and underwear down. When he stepped out of them, I finally saw all of him: hard, thick, the head already glistening. The sight made my still-fluttering muscles clench around nothing.

He returned to the bed and settled between my thighs. The heat of his bare skin against mine was almost shocking. He braced himself on one forearm; with his other hand he guided himself to my entrance, rubbing the head of his c**k slowly through my wetness, coating himself in me. The slick, intimate friction made us both shiver.

Our eyes met.

Then he pushed inside.

The stretch was slow and perfect and overwhelming, even more intense after the orgasm he had already given me. I cried out softly as he sank deeper, inch by careful inch, the thick heat of him filling me until he was buried to the hilt. We both went still, breathing hard. His forehead pressed to mine; his breath was hot and uneven against my lips.

“Kate,” he said, almost broken. “You feel… f**k. You feel like home.”

I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him even closer. “Then stay.”

He began to move.

The first thrusts were deep and measured, as if he was relearning the exact shape of me. But the restraint didn’t last. Soon his hips were rolling harder, the wet sound of skin meeting skin filling the quiet room along with our quickening breaths. I met every stroke, lifting my hips to take him deeper. My nails dragged lightly down the damp plane of his back.

He buried his face in the curve of my neck and groaned my name. One of his hands slid beneath my lower back, tilting my hips so he could hit that deep, perfect place inside me. Every thrust sent a fresh, sharp wave of pleasure through my still-sensitive body, building again far faster than I expected.

“I’m close again,” I gasped.

“I know. I can feel you tightening around me.” His voice was strained, almost desperate. “Come for me again, Kate. Let me feel it while I’m inside you.”

The second orgasm hit harder than the first. I cried out, back arching, walls clenching tightly around his c**k as another wave of intense pleasure tore through me. The sensation of coming while he was buried deep inside me was overwhelming — deeper, fuller, almost too much.

Alex followed almost immediately. His rhythm stuttered, then drove deep one last time as he came with a low, guttural sound that seemed to tear from his chest. I felt the hot pulse of him filling me, the way his body locked tight against mine. I held him closer, arms and legs locked around his trembling frame while we both rode out the aftershocks.

For a long time neither of us moved.

His weight was heavy and comforting on top of me, skin damp and hot. Our hearts still raced against each other. He pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses along my shoulder and the side of my neck, as if he couldn’t quite stop tasting me even now.

Eventually he shifted just enough to keep from crushing me, though he stayed inside me, still half-hard and sensitive. His fingers brushed damp strands of hair away from my face.

“Three days,” he said quietly, echoing the promise he’d made at the door. His eyes searched mine in the soft lamplight. “I wasn’t joking. I want every hour. Every night. I want to remember what we used to be… and find out what we still are.”

I lifted a hand and traced the faint lines at the corner of his eye.

“Then stay,” I whispered.

Alex leaned down and kissed me again — slow and deep and full of everything we hadn’t said yet.

Outside, the city continued without us.
Inside the room, time finally began to move again — one heartbeat, one shared breath, one lingering kiss at a time.