Page 63 of Fated Love with You
“Miss Jane?” A man in all black clears his throat at my left.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Rochester kindly requests that you take a ride on the elevator, to the fifth level.”
I glance up the atria, seeing nothing but lush greenery amidst twinkling lights hanging off the fifth level’s railing.
“Tell him I’ll take the ride after I have another glass.”
“You know he means now, Miss,” he says. “Don’t make me have to report any difficulties.”
“Fine.” I toss back the rest of my glass. “I’ll leave now.”
“Thank you.”
Slowly making my way through the crowd, I head to the elevator bank. When the glass doors glide open, one of Ryder’s men is already inside.
“What floor, Miss Jane?” he asks, and I know I don’t really have to answer him.
He presses five, and I watch the car move farther away from the party.
The doors open and I slowly step off and move to the railing, but a familiar hand grabs mine and pulls me into the shadows.
“You were supposed to call me when you were finished.”
“You didn’t say that.”
“Pardon my assumption.” He looks me up and down, eyeing every inch of my dress. “You look fucking stunning in that dress.”
“Thank you.” I blush.
“I’m looking forward to seeing what it looks like after I take it off you…” He pulls me against his chest, and I brace for a long kiss—but his lips don’t meet mine.
Instead, he claps my hands and holds them out in position before guiding me to the symphony’s notes from below.
Staring into his eyes, I let him lead until our bodies move in sync, until the world below disappears.
We dance together in the dark for another song, then another.
When the final note ends on the fourth song, he stamps his mouth over mine without a single word.
He runs his palms against the back of my dress, splaying his hand across the exposed skin. His fingers find the zipper, and he slowly pulls it downward.
“Turn and grip the railing,” he softly demands.
I oblige, facing the party.
He presses into me from behind in one swift, hot thrust. I gasp, my hands braced against the railing as he rocks into me, deep and possessive, his grip claiming my hips.
His hips drive into me harder, and I meet every thrust, matching his rhythm. The room blurs around us—only theslick sound of skin, our tangled breaths, and the dizzying heat between us exist.
When we come, it’s together. Intense. Shattering. His body shakes against mine, and I cry out his name, gripping the edge of the counter like it’s the only thing anchoring me to earth.
There’s a near voyeuristic thrill to it, knowing that at any given moment, someone could look up and see him fucking me, owning me, in this ballroom.
I collapse in his arms, and he holds me until I come to, keeping me steady until I stop shaking.
He stays there for a moment, buried inside me, his lips pressed against the back of my shoulder.
