Chapter 3 One Night in the Penthouse

The elevator doors closed with a quiet hiss, but Lily's heart thudded loud and fast in her chest. She wasn't leaving. Not tonight. Not after that photo. Not after the way Alexander looked at her with fire in his eyes and command in his voice.

"Stay the night," he'd said.

And here she was.

Alexander hadn't spoken much after showing her the headline, but he didn't need to. His silence was charged. The way his jaw clenched. The way he looked at her when she wasn't looking. As if she'd already crossed some invisible line.

He led her through a long hallway lined with artwork and ambient lighting that softened the sharp luxury of the penthouse. At the end of the hall, he opened a door.

"You'll stay here tonight," he said. "It's the guest suite."

Lily stepped inside. The room was bigger than her entire apartment. Warm tones, plush bedding, thick rugs, and a view of the city that could steal your breath.

She turned back toward him. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said, his gaze lingering. "Unless you'd rather stay in my room."

The words dropped like heat against her skin.

She blinked. "Are you serious?"

He shrugged. "Would that scare you?"

"Would it excite you if it did?"

A faint smirk touched his lips. He stepped closer. "I don't need to scare a woman to excite her, Lily. I just need to touch her right."

Her breath caught. His words shouldn't have affected her. But they did. They wrapped around her like silk, pulling tight, pulling deep. She should say goodnight. Shut the door. Lock it, even. But instead,

"Prove it," she whispered.

For a moment, the only sound was the city outside.

Then he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

He didn't rush her. He didn't slam her against the wall or devour her lips. He just looked at her. Like she was something rare and precious-and very, very real.

"Tell me to leave," he said.

She didn't.

He stepped closer.

"You're scared," he said.

"A little."

"Good. So am I."

Her eyes widened at that. Alexander Stone? Scared?

He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. His touch was featherlight, but it sparked something electric across her skin.

"This isn't part of the deal," she said.

"No," he murmured. "But you walked in here anyway."

She didn't answer. Couldn't. Because his fingers trailed down her jaw, to her collarbone, resting just below the hollow of her throat. Her pulse throbbed beneath his touch.

"I want to taste you," he said, voice low. "But I won't unless you say yes."

She swallowed.

Then nodded.

That was all it took.

His mouth was on hers, hot and demanding. Nothing about Alexander was hesitant now. His lips claimed hers, tongue coaxing hers apart, tasting her like he had all the time in the world.

She melted against him.

His hands found her waist, pulled her against his chest. She felt every hard line of his body, the tension, the heat. He backed her toward the bed, never breaking the kiss, and when her knees hit the edge, he lifted her gently onto it.

His mouth moved to her neck, kissing down her throat, his breath hot and ragged.

"I knew you'd taste like fire," he whispered.

His hands slipped under her blouse, sliding up her sides, over her ribs. She arched beneath him, gasping when his palms cupped her breasts. Her nipples hardened under his touch, and he groaned low in his throat.

She tugged at his shirt, desperate to feel skin.

"Off," she whispered.

He obeyed, pulling the shirt over his head in one smooth motion. His chest was sculpted, warm, and inviting. She ran her fingers down his stomach, and he shivered under her touch.

Then he leaned down, took her mouth again, and his hand slid into her jeans.

She gasped, hips bucking.

"Alexander,"

"Shh," he murmured, fingers stroking her through her panties. "Let me make you forget."

And he did.

He stripped her slowly, reverently. Like unwrapping a secret. She didn't feel exposed, she felt wanted. Worshipped.

He kissed every inch of her, neck, breasts, stomach, hips, until she was panting, begging. When his tongue slipped between her thighs, she cried out, clutching the sheets.

He didn't stop.

Didn't slow.

And when she shattered around his mouth, he held her through it, murmuring her name like it was sacred.

He moved over her again, his own need unmistakable, eyes dark with hunger.

"Do you want me inside you, Lily?"

"Yes," she breathed. "God, yes."

He entered her in one smooth thrust, and they both groaned.

It was fire. It was velvet. It was too much and not enough all at once.

He moved slowly at first, watching her face, reading her responses. She met every thrust with her own, clinging to him, gasping his name.

"You feel like heaven," he groaned.

She wrapped her legs around his waist. "Then don't stop."

And he didn't.

They moved together, harder, faster, heat building until it consumed them both. She came first, loud and breathless. He followed seconds later, collapsing onto the bed beside her, chest heaving.

For a moment, the only sound was their breathing.

Then he reached for her hand.

She laced her fingers with his.

And just before sleep took her, he whispered,

"This changes everything."