“Can we please not talk about this right now?”
When I turned to walk away, his hand grabbed mine. Before I knew what I was doing, I was pressed up against him, my hands and mouth covering him. Hoisting me up, Soren’s other hand slipped between my legs, and a tremor spilled down him when he felt my body already ready, waiting for him.
He lowered my back onto the table—it shook when he did, pencils and paper scattering to the floor. My hands worked at his buckle as he slid my shirt up my body, exposing my breasts. Once I’d yanked the button of his white practice pants free, I ran my hands along the sides of his jockstrap before working it down his hips.
“I need to feel you.” He grunted as my hand circled his shaft when it sprang free.
I had barely nodded before his fingers hooked my sleep shorts and underwear with one finger, sliding them just enough aside so he could . . .
A primal cry spilled out of me, my back lifting off the table when he thrust into me. The legs of the table squeaked across the floor when he moved into me again. His chest covered mine, his face settling above mine as he fucked me. The screech of the table legs moving with each thrust, the sound of our gasps as we drove closer, the noise or our bodies pistoning together . . . my orgasm surged to the surface instantly.
“Look at me when you come,” Soren commanded. “Let me see the look in your eyes when my cock makes you come. I need to see it.”
My fingers raked down his back, my body writhing below him as I let loose. I kept my eyes open as my release fired through me, letting him watch.
“Watch me now, Hayden. Watch my eyes.”
The muscles running through his neck went rigid as he thrust into me one more time, holding himself deep as his orgasm released into me. Watching him come, feeling it as I stared into his eyes, spurred my second orgasm. I was so surprised by it, I thought I was having a heart attack, right before the familiar explosion of pleasure charged through me, making its way into every dip and hollow.
By the end, I was trembling in his arms. I felt broken apart and whole all at once. Soren’s eyes didn’t leave mine for another minute, his body still claiming mine long after our desire had been spent.
Our bodies were clammy with sweat, our chests moving as erratically as our breaths. His lips covered mine in what might have been the sweetest, most gentle kiss to have ever been given, before he lifted me and carried me across the room.
I trembled against him again. “Your bed or mine?”
His arms held me tighter. “Our bed.”
How was it possible to miss someone I’d only been “official” with for a week as much as I had over the past seven days?
That dull ache of separation didn’t take a single break my whole trip to Paris. Even when I slept, I’d wake up to the same heaviness. It was only one week, but it didn’t feel like it. I’d be leaving again for Paris in a couple of days, and that would be the trend for the next long while. The colossal client was in Paris, which meant most of my work life was now in Paris. Halfway across the planet practically—and here I thought I’d moved to the fashion capital of the world.
Of course I’d get booked by a client based internationally.
Soren had to hit the road later tonight with his team for an away game in the morning. Which meant we had a couple hours of overlap. Two hours in a week. I wasn’t experienced in relationships, but I knew that wasn’t a good way to start a new one.
My flight had come in late, so instead of swinging by the apartment to drop off my suitcase and link up with Soren before we headed to whatever he had planned for us, I told him I’d meet him there. I didn’t want to waste time since, in our case, each minute was precious.
When the cab pulled in front of the restaurant Soren had picked, I realized I was slightly underdressed. Leggings, a tunic, and flats weren’t cocktail dresses and designer heels.
Grabbing the small suitcase I’d carried on, I moved out of the cab after paying the driver. I felt jet-lagged from the time changes, tired from working twelve-hour days, and exhausted from missing him.
The instant I saw Soren moving through the restaurant’s door toward me, all signs of fatigue disappeared.
He didn’t say anything; he just wound his arms around me and pulled me close. The suitcase fell from my hands so I could wind mine around him. We stood like that for a minute, holding each other in the diffused light of a streetlamp on a dark street, until our breathing had synced.
“God, I missed you,” he said.
My body felt like it was melting into his from how close he was holding me. “Missed you more.”
His lips touched my temple before he stepped back. “Impossible.” His arm draped behind my back as he lifted my carry-on in his other hand to head back inside.
“I don’t think I’m dressed for the occasion.” I glanced at Soren, who was wearing dark slacks and a button-down shirt. “Maybe I should change,” I suggested as we moved by the restrooms stationed up front. I had a dress and heels in my carry-on that would suit this place better than my international flight attire.
“Don’t be crazy. You look perfect.” Soren wove us through the crowd of customers staggered through the waiting area, moving toward the hostess.
“Says the man who’s probably so desperate to get laid, he’d say that if I came in wearing a paper sack and galoshes.”
“You know me so well.” He winked at me before turning to the hostess. “Decker. Reservation for seven o’clock.”
The hostess ran a pencil down the clipboard she was holding, her forehead creasing when she reached the bottom. She started at the top again. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t have a reservation for Decker at seven.”
Soren’s head shook. “I called last week and made the reservation. I know I made one.”
She read through the reservation list again, her gaze drifting into the busy waiting area right after. “Is there any chance you could have given a different name?”
His neck rolled. “No.”
“Soren, it’s okay. We can go somewhere else.”
He scooted closer so he could see the reservation list. “No. I made reservations here, because I read they were one of the best restaurants in the city to have a romantic dinner.”
“We can go to that burger joint by the apartment and bring a candle and a rose to set on the table.”
My suggestion didn’t draw the response I was going for. His hand raked through his hair as he waved into the restaurant. “I made a reservation. If you want to see the call on my phone, I can show you. There’s just two of us. Can’t you squeeze us in?”