The heavy, black satin sheets were a cool comfort against Mariella’s skin. The penthouse was silent now, except for the steady rhythm of Paul’s breathing behind her. He was pressed against her back, one strong arm draped across her waist, his warmth seeping into her bones.
Mariella was acutely, intoxicatingly aware of every point of contact, his breath on her neck, the steady thrum of his heartbeat against her spine. Addicted. The word wasn’t an exaggeration. It was a diagnosis.
And then, Paul chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against her shoulder. “I did take note of your enthusiasm for volume.”
Mariella blushed, biting back a smile. “I gave an honest performance.”
He pulled her closer, lips brushing her ear. “You did. I might need to install better soundproofing before our next se
