Chapter 147
Zander
The second the hotel door clicks shut behind us, Ivan is on me. Literally—he leaps into my arms like he's been waiting for this moment for months, and maybe we both have. His legs wrap around my waist, his arms lock around my neck, and his lips find mine in a kiss that's equal parts relief and hunger.
I catch him easily, my back hitting the wall with the force of it, and he doesn't stop kissing me. His soft whimper vibrates against my mouth, and my chest tightens with how badly I've missed this—missed him.
I carry him to the bed, heart pounding. His scent is everywhere, sweet and addictive, wrapping around my senses like a drug. The low heat of his pheromones fills the room; it's intoxicating, impossible to think of anything but him.
I toss him gently onto the bed and take a second just to look at him. His hair is a wild halo on the pillow, cheeks flushed, lips already kiss-swollen. He peels off his shirt in a rush and throws it aside, then shimmies out of his pants with a grin that makes my knees weak. My hands fumble with my buttons—I can't get undressed fast enough. Dress shirt, belt, pants, underwear—they all hit the floor in a heap. I kick them aside and crawl onto the bed.
His legs instinctively fall open for me, and the sight makes me groan low in my throat. "You have no idea," I rasp, my voice rough, "how long I've wanted this."
Ivan looks wrecked already—flushed, lips red from my kisses, pupils blown wide. "Then don't wait," he whispers, desperate too. "Zander, please."
I climb back over him, our bare skin sliding together. His back arches into me instinctively, a needy little whimper falling from his lips when I grind down. Every sound he makes just feeds the wildfire inside me.
My hands roam greedily, reacquainting themselves with every inch of him. I trace the lines of his chest, fingers brushing over his nipples, and he moans against my lips, hips twitching.
I missed that sound.
I drag my hand lower, down the curve of his waist. He's different now—softer. No longer the razor-sharp model physique he had before Nia, but I love it. I love every inch. My hand flattens over the faint scar on his belly, and a rush of emotion tightens my throat.
My husband.
My everything.
"I know, you're about to be sentimental right now, but we can do that later. For now, please just…" His glare turns into a shiver when my thumb brushes lower.
"Just fuck me."
I wrap my arm, around his hard on.He's already leaking, already trembling. It takes barely a few strokes before he spills over my hand with a choked-off cry, clinging to me like I'm the only solid thing in the world.
But he's still moving his hips, desperate for more. That greedy little whimper makes my vision blur with want.
"Not enough?" I growl against his throat.
"Never," he gasps, eyes wild, lips kiss-bruised.
That word lights something feral in me. I slide my hand lower, finding him tight and trembling around my touch. It's been months—of course it has—and every inch of him feels too good, too much.
I try to take my time, to prepare him properly, but he ruins me with a broken, needy plea.
"Now." His voice cracks on it, and it sends a shiver through my spine.
"Ivan—" I kiss him, trying to steady us both as I press another finger in gently, wanting to make sure he's ready. "You're not yet… let me take care of you. It's been months. I don't want to hurt you."
"Please," he begs again, voice hoarse and desperate. His nails dig into my shoulders.
"I can handle it. Zander… alpha husband, please. Now."
He knows exactly what he's doing, and it destroys me. Every ounce of restraint I have frays apart.
I'm so hard it hurts.
I could probably hammer a nail with how hard I am.
I shift his hips and line myself up, every muscle in my body tight with restraint. Slowly, I press into him, inch by inch, and my vision whites out for a moment. It feels like coming home after being lost for months—he's impossibly tight, clinging to me, and the wet heat around me nearly undoes me on the spot.
"Dammit," I groan, forehead pressing to his shoulder as my fingers dig into his hips. I wanted to take my time, go slow, savor every second. That was the plan. But months of pent-up hunger and fear have burned that plan to ash.
I slam forward with a ragged sound, and Ivan cries out—a sound caught somewhere between a scream and a moan, raw and beautiful.
I freeze instantly, heart lurching. "Did I hurt you, beloved?" My voice is hoarse, frantic. I search his face for any sign of pain.
His hands find the back of my neck, pulling me down until our noses brush. His green eyes are hazy with lust, wild and bright. "Don't stop. Give it to me," he rasps.
I won't deny him.
I pull back and thrust again, deeper this time. His nails scrape down my shoulders, his head tipping back as a broken moan spills from his lips. His nipples graze my chest with every movement, stiff peaks brushing my skin, and each little friction makes him shudder. The sounds he makes go straight to my gut.
I grab his hips, guiding him to meet my rhythm. The bedframe rattles; the air is thick with the mix of our breathing and the raw scent of him, sweet and sharp, filling my lungs until there's no room for anything else.
"Zander…" he gasps, voice breaking on my name like it's a prayer.
"You feel so good," I growl into the crook of his neck. "So perfect for me."
I press kisses over his collarbone, biting lightly, desperate to mark him again. His body arches against mine, chasing every thrust with his own needy little movements. His chest rubs against me, slick with sweat, every brush of his nipples sending tremors through him.
"More," he begs, voice wrecked. "Don't you dare stop."
I adjust my angle, each push deeper, chasing the spot that makes him fall apart. His thighs tremble around my waist; his breath comes in harsh sobs of pleasure. The desperation between us is messy, unrestrained. There's no finesse, no slow lovemaking. Just months of longing crashing together like a storm.
"I missed you," I rasp against his lips. "Missed this. Missed us."
He kisses me back, sloppy and hungry, biting my lip like he's trying to devour me. His hands clutch my back; I can feel every tremor in his body as I drive forward, again and again.
The world blurs down to the creak of the bed, the slap of our bodies, his voice breaking into helpless cries each time I thrust into him. My name spills from his lips over and over, and each time it makes my chest ache with love just as much as it makes my stomach twist with desire.
"You're mine," I whisper against his mouth.
"Always," he breathes, clinging tighter, like he'll never let go.