Completely (New York 3)

Kal drank his wine and refilled his cup, and hers when she held it out, but the thought didn’t go away. It looped in his head, over and over. He tried to push himself back into a straight line while she unbuttoned the Oxford shirt with steady hands, eased it off, dropped it onto the floor.

“How you feeling?”

She knocked down the rest of the wine in her plastic cup, then wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “I have no idea. Better?” She held the cup out. He filled it. The cups were small. The bottle was two-thirds empty, and he wasn’t sure if he’d lost a round of drinks somewhere, lost some time, maybe. The clock on the table next to the bed was blinking 12:04. Her phone buzzed again when he looked at it, like maybe he was magic.

How long had he been here?

She shrugged.

Had he asked the question out loud?

“I don’t know.” She opened her mouth to say something more and belched like a lumberjack. Then she grinned, amused and conspiratorial, and his pants started to feel tight.

“Are you married?” His crotch asked the question before clearing it with his brain.

The princess wiggled on the ottoman, then resettled herself, knees together, calves and feet fanned out to one side. “No.” Her arms had been pale when she took off the shirt, but now they were as pink as her neck, which just made him think about how hot her body would be on him, all over him. “Are you?”

She fiddled with her plastic cup, her fingertips circling around the lip of it, rubbing up and down over the ridged sides, dancing across the bottom. Looked at him. Toward the corner. Back at him.

Away, back, away, back, as her fingertips did things to a plastic cup that would be dirty and terrible if she did them on his body.

“No.”

No, he wasn’t married. No, she wasn’t either.

So.

He took the cup out of her hand, placed it on the desk alongside his.

He took a deep breath and tried to think what he knew about her, whether he ought to do what he was almost definitely about to do, but the only thing his mind seemed willing to contemplate was how cold he’d been and how hot her skin looked, how warm and alive.

When he’d emptied his lungs, he stared at the wall for a long time and tried to come up with a reason not to succumb to his body’s demand that he turn back around. Kiss her. Press himself against her.

She touched his shoulder.

After that, it was kind of a blur.

At some point later, in the bed, Kal tried to put together how they’d got there, if he’d made the first move or she had. All he could access was a sensation like antlers crashing together, a kind of fumbling airborne mess of passionate violence against buttons and zippers, his mouth on hers, her teeth biting at his lip, the heat in her hands, the taste of wine in her mouth.

It was insane. They were acting insane.

It didn’t matter.

What mattered was her body, slick and welcoming, the way his hands fit on her hips, the athletic precision of the princess fucking him, her skin glowing, her blue eyes wide open, heart beating against his open palm and rosy pink-tipped tits bouncing, alive, alive.

She tightened and moaned, flailed at his chest until he rolled her onto her back and fucked her hard enough to make her come without mercy, without shame or pride, his own release so intense that it killed him, kind of.

He didn’t move off her.

She didn’t ask him to.

He had just enough sense left, falling asleep, to think how bad this was going to be in the morning.

Chapter 4

Rosemary came back to life slowly.

First, to the pressure in her bladder and the downy softness of the pillow beneath her cheek. Then to the