CHAPTER 2: OLDER MEN DO IT BETTER

The moment the penthouse door shut, Alistair’s restraint evaporated.

He pinned her against the door, his large, calloused hand sliding up to grip the back of her neck with a terrifying but delicious pressure, and he slanted his lips over hers again.

He was rough, but in a calculated way that made her body melt.

She whimpered as his hands slid up her thighs, bunching her skirt higher and higher, while his lips trailed down her throat until they found the sensitive dip of her collarbone.

He pulled back and looked down at her like she was a rare steak and he was a starving man. “Goddess… you have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he growled, his voice low and vibrating against her skin. “I’ve spent thirty-eight years in control, Solange, and you broke it in a single second.”

He lifted her, and her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist as he carried her toward the massive king-sized bed, his kisses growing more frantic and more starved with every step.

When they sank onto the silk sheets, the contrast was jarring: her pale, trembling skin against the dark, expensive linens.

She watched as he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing broad shoulders, a defined chest, and arms corded with muscle, and her mouth went dry. When her gaze drifted lower, a tiny gasp escaped her, and a slow, knowing smirk curved his lips.

When he moved over her, the sheer heat radiating from his body made her breath hitch.

He took his time exploring her, his mouth trailing fire over her skin and down her stomach, and Solange arched into him with her fingers digging into his shoulders. It felt like her body had been waiting for him since the moment she was born, and every touch felt like a homecoming.

“Look at me,” he commanded softly when her eyes fluttered shut with bliss. His eyes were no longer bright blue but a dark, swirling midnight. “Tell me you want this.”

“I want you,” she breathed, the words coming out as a jagged plea. “Please…”

He moved lower, his large hands parting her knees, his gaze dark and appreciative as he looked up at her.

The first slow touch of his mouth made her cry out, her hips lifting off the bed.

After that, the world dissolved. He worked her with a relentless, hungry patience, as if he were memorizing every inch of her, until her fingers were tangled in his salt-and-pepper hair and she was trembling and breathless and falling apart beneath him.

“God, her old roommate had been right,” she thought dazedly. “Older men really were better. They knew the map of a woman’s body better than she knew it herself.”

He rose over her again, his forehead resting against hers, and when he finally joined their bodies, she cried out at the sharp sting that melted into an overwhelming, soul-deep fullness.

He froze, his breath coming in ragged hitches. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice tender even though it was strained. “Just breathe for me.”

“Please…” she begged, her head tossing on the pillow. She couldn’t even put into words what she needed. All she knew was that she wanted something specific, something that would ground her and make everything complete.

As if he could read her mind, he reached up and closed one hand gently around her throat. It wasn’t enough to hurt, but it was firm enough to make her gasp, and a rush of adrenaline flooded her veins and made every other sensation burn brighter.

He watched her face as he began to move, his gaze possessive and dark. “Good girl,” he growled softly. “You’re doing so well for me.”

All she could do was whimper. Her mind had let go of everything except the exquisite feeling of him, and of being completely held.

The world narrowed down to the slide of skin against skin, the sound of their mingled breathing, and a strange golden light she could see glowing behind her eyelids.

Solange buried her face in the crook of his neck as the tension inside her snapped, and she came undone with a broken cry that left her shaking in his arms.

“That’s my good girl,” he rasped, his voice a low, gravelly vibration in her ear. “You feel like heaven, baby.”

Solange could barely think. His praise was like a drug, making her heart swell even as her body shivered through the aftermath.

He didn’t give her time to recover. He turned her gently onto her side and pulled her back against his chest, and his hand found her throat again, his grip steady and certain.

She whimpered as the world turned soft and fuzzy at the edges. She felt light-headed, like she was floating in a sea of pure sensation, as he began to move with her again.

“You like that? Only I can make you feel this good,” he growled, his breath hot against her neck. “Tell me you’re mine.”

Solange couldn’t form words. Her breathy sounds became slurred and incoherent as she slipped into a blissful place where nothing existed but his voice and the way he owned her, and when the next wave crashed over her, it was the most intense yet.

Alistair let out a guttural groan of his own, his muscles locking as he followed her over the edge, holding her so tightly that it left them both spent.

“I’ve never felt anything like that in my life,” he panted against her skin, his voice thick with wonder. “What is it about you that drives me so crazy? Why am I so intoxicated by you?”

Solange only heard him through a warm, hazy fog. She felt him gently take care of her before he pulled her into a tight, protective embrace.

For the first time in her life, she felt completely safe and cherished, and as she drifted off to sleep in his arms, she truly believed the nightmare of her life was finally over.