Chapter 9

Anna

She wasn’t sure when the warmth started.

Maybe it was after the first sip of the cocktail. Maybe it was when Michael leaned across the table to adjust the candle near her plate, his fingers grazing hers with casual intimacy that left her breathless.

Or maybe it had nothing to do with the drink at all.

Because just being around him like this—alone, elevated high above the New York skyline—was enough to unsteady her thoughts. The rooftop terrace atop the luxury hotel shimmered in the low golden lights strung above, their soft glow dancing over Michael’s dark features.

God, he looked good.

Too good.

And she couldn’t stop watching him. His hands. His mouth. The quiet control in the way he carried himself. It was confidence—not arrogance. Power, but never performative.

He was a man who didn’t need to announce his presence. He just was.

Anna shifted in her seat.

Her thighs pressed together beneath the table, and she sipped her drink again—smooth, sweet, almost too easy to finish. A tingling sensation stirred deep in her belly, then lower. It wasn’t overwhelming… not yet. Just a slow simmer that made her more aware of her body. Of his.

She caught herself staring at his lips as he spoke.

He was talking about something—wine regions, maybe? She wasn’t listening anymore. Her attention was drifting, heartbeat picking up.

He leaned forward slightly, his tone casual but firm. “You okay?”

She nodded, then quickly shook her head. “Yeah. I just…” she hesitated, her voice quieter now, “Would you mind if we left soon?”

Michael’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes—something dark and knowing.

“Of course,” he said, already rising from his seat. “Come with me.”

They walked to the elevator at the far end of the terrace, and as it opened, a well-dressed hotel concierge stepped forward, recognizing Michael immediately.

“Mr. Stone,” the man said with a deferential smile. “We weren’t expecting you tonight. If you’d like access to the private floor, it’s available. The suite has been refreshed.”

Michael paused for only a beat before glancing at her.

His tone was calm. Gentle.

“I can take you home,” he offered. “No pressure.”

But she didn’t want to go home. Not yet.

Anna looked at him, heart racing, her voice barely above a whisper. “I wouldn’t mind talking more… somewhere quieter.”

Michael’s lips curved ever so slightly.

“To the suite, then.”

The concierge nodded once and tapped his keycard at the elevator panel. The doors slid closed behind them, sealing them into a silence that pulsed with the tension neither of them spoke aloud.

Anna felt her breath catch in her chest again—not out of fear. But anticipation. Heat.

Because as much as she wanted to pretend this was about talking, they both knew…

Words would only be the beginning.

—————

Michael

He let her step inside first.

The suite was silent except for the soft hum of the city filtering through the high windows. Anna paused just inside the doorway, her back to him, one hand brushing over the back of the velvet armchair as if she needed something to hold onto.

Michael shut the door behind them slowly, never taking his eyes off her.

Her breath came shallow. He could hear it—feel it. Her heartbeat thudded like a drum, and though she hadn’t moved, her body was giving him every signal.

She was trembling.

Not in fear—

But in need.

Still, he didn’t move. Not right away.

The drink had been stronger than she realized. He knew how subtle those rooftop cocktails could be, especially when paired with low lighting, whispered laughter, and a chemistry they had no business denying.

But he wouldn’t touch her without certainty.

He stepped toward her, slow and deliberate. Her body tensed—but didn’t retreat.

Standing just in front of her now, he tilted her chin gently with his thumb, coaxing her to look up.

“If you’d like to talk,” he said, voice low, “we can sit and talk.”

Her eyes met his. Wide, glassy, burning with something between hunger and hesitation.

Her cheeks flushed deeper. But her answer came without wavering.

“I want you, Michael.”

Just four words.

But they shattered every wall he’d built since the moment he first saw her.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. He closed the space between them, his mouth crashing into hers with a hunger that had been caged too long. Her lips were soft, warm, pliant—and eager. Her hands gripped his jacket, pulling him closer, anchoring herself to him as if her body had made the decision long before her mind caught up.

He kissed her like he’d waited lifetimes to taste her.

And in a way… he had.

His hands moved to her back, finding the zipper of her dress, and with careful control, he pulled it down slowly. The sound of the metal gliding against fabric filled the room, subtle but electric. As the dress loosened, he inhaled her scent—floral, sweet, undeniably her—and something inside him snapped.

She was intoxicating.

The dress slipped down her shoulders, catching briefly at her hips before falling to the floor in a soft heap. She stood in front of him in lace and skin and breathlessness.

He dropped to his knees.

His hands gripped her thighs as he pressed his lips to the tender space just above her knee. Her breath hitched. He kissed higher—slow, reverent, patient. His hands hooked into the delicate waistband of her panties, easing them down.

She gasped as the air touched her, as his hands moved up again to cup her—gently, reverently.

When his tongue finally made contact, she shuddered, her hands tangling into his hair as a whimper escaped her lips. He circled her clit slowly, savoring every reaction, every pulse of her body responding to his touch. She was already so wet, and when he slid two fingers inside her, her hips jerked toward his mouth in raw desperation.

“Michael—” she gasped, her voice barely holding.

He didn’t stop. He wanted her undone. He wanted to feel her break apart against him.

She moaned as he curled his fingers inside her, his tongue working in rhythm, every motion calculated to bring her pleasure.

And when her thighs began to shake—when her fingers gripped his shoulders like lifelines—he knew she was close.

He looked up once before she came, and the sight of her—flushed, wild, his—would stay with him.

⸻

Michael & Anna

Anna’s body trembled—uncontrollably. Her legs quivered, her core tightening as wave after wave of pleasure consumed her. She was unraveling, completely undone by Michael’s mouth, his hands, the way he knew her already.

She hadn’t expected to need someone like this.

Not crave. Not want.

Need.

The more he swirled his tongue over her, the more he sucked and stroked her with expert precision, the more her body begged for more. For him. All of him.

When she looked down, Michael’s eyes met hers—dark, full of desire, burning straight into her soul. Her breath caught.

How could someone like him want her like this?

His beard glistened with her release as he finally lifted his head, lips swollen, breath hot. The sight made her own lips part, her tongue grazing them unconsciously.

Michael stood, towering over her, and slowly—purposefully—unbuttoned his shirt. One button at a time. His eyes never left hers, and she couldn’t look away.

God, he was beautiful.

Every inch of his chest, his arms, his carved abdomen—sculpted. Like something divine had taken its time molding him with nothing but reverence and desire.

Her breath quickened. Her thighs pressed together again, and her clit throbbed, desperate for him.

“I can smell your arousal,” he said with a low, wicked smirk.

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away.

When his pants dropped and his erection sprang free, her eyes widened—both from hunger and surprise.

He was… huge.

A flicker of hesitation rose in her chest.

Michael noticed immediately. He stepped closer and dropped to his knees again, gently kissing the inside of her thigh.

“I can stop,” he murmured, voice calm, controlled. “I’m not here to take anything. I’m here to satisfy you—all of you.”

She felt his breath against her skin, his lips now grazing her stomach as he kissed upward.

“Do you…” kiss “want this?”

Anna’s breath hitched. Her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow waves as the ache between her legs returned—sharper, deeper, insistent.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I want you, Michael.”

That was all he needed.

In one fluid motion, his hand cupped one of her breasts while his mouth found the other. He licked, sucked, worshipped her until she whimpered beneath him, body arching into his touch.

“Tell me what you want,” he growled softly, lips brushing her ear.

Her voice was hoarse, nearly a plea. “Please… I need it—I need you.”

His thumb circled her nipple again, and his voice dropped even lower.

“Do you want me to make love to you?”

Her answer came without pause. “Yes. I need it. Michael—please.”

Her entire body was trembling now.

That was all the confirmation he needed.

In one strong, precise thrust, Michael entered her, stretching her with a thickness that made her gasp. Her walls clenched instinctively, welcoming him, wrapping around him like she’d been waiting her whole life for this moment.

“Fuck,” he groaned, the sound guttural, deep. Her body gripped him like a velvet vice—tight, hot, perfect.

He thrust slowly at first, then deeper, harder, his mouth moving from her neck to her chest. He sucked one nipple, then the other, his rhythm never faltering.

Anna cried out as the pressure began to build again—fast, overwhelming.

“Oh Michael—I’m gonna come—I can’t—”

“Come for me, baby,” he growled, teeth grazing her shoulder. He could feel his wolf rising, ready to claim her, but he held back.

She was human. Fragile. Precious.

He would never hurt her.

Her fingers gripped the sheets, hips bucking beneath him as she shattered in his arms. Her moans were desperate, broken, real—and they unraveled him completely.

With a final, hard thrust, Michael came undone, his head buried in the crook of her neck as he released inside her with a low, shuddering growl.

They stayed like that—locked, breathless, trembling.

His lips brushed her temple. Her hand rested over his heart.

And for the first time in years, Michael Stone felt complete.

⸻