Page 129 of Top Shelf

After a moment, her fingers loosen in my hair, and a stunned laugh leaves her. “Holy shit.”

I drag my mouth away slowly and rest my cheek against her thigh, breathing hard. She props herself on an elbow and looks down at me, beautiful and ruined and far too pleased.

“Did you just co—”

“Yes.” Her smile spreads, and I close my eyes. “Do not look so happy.”

“Oh, I’m thrilled.”

“This is unfortunate.”

“This is the greatest night of my life. You came in your pants while eating me out in front of strangers, Viktor. I’m gonna need several business days to be normal about this.”

I press a kiss to her thigh. “You are never normal, min fru.”

She huffs a laugh, her fingers stroking gently through my hair. “Are you okay?”

With a hum, I place another kiss on the inside of her knee. “Yes.”

“Embarrassed?”

“No.”

“You shouldn’t be.” Her smile stretches. “That was so fucking hot.”

“You are pleased with yourself.”

“I’m pleased with you.”

That is worse. Somehow, that is worse than every filthy thing she has said and done with me tonight. I should turn off the light and clean her up. Should stand and retrieve water and pretend I’m a civilized man who didn’t just come in his pants to the sound of his wife begging.

But I don’t. Instead, I rise over her, bracing a hand beside her head to lower my mouth onto hers. She kisses me hard, tasting herself on my tongue, her hands clutching my jacket with the same desperation I feel under my skin. When I pull back, her breathing is uneven.

“So,” she whispers. “Are we going home to fuck now?”

I look at the dark glass, at the little gold light glowing beside the panel, still telling the strangers beyond the wall that the show belongs to us. Then I look back at my wife.

“Yes.” I kiss her lips as they curl into a smile. “But this time, it’s my turn with the rope.”

Her breath catches before the laugh can leave her, and it’s the best sound I could hear. Surprise and want and trust all tangled together. And I kiss her again, because I can. Because she lets me. Because she’s choosing me.

And because there is no part of her I do not want to keep.

Chapter nineteen

Heidi

The first thing I learn about travelling internationally with Viktor Karlsson is that he becomes even more unreasonable at altitude.

Not loud, obviously. The man has never once met a silence he didn’t think could benefit from his continued participation. But somewhere between Denver and our connection, he turns into a large, extremely efficient travel system with hands. He takes my carry-on before I can argue. He remembers where I put my passport. He produces water every time I start thinking vaguely thirsty thoughts, which is unsettling because I’m not convinced I’ve said half of them out loud.

At some point over the Atlantic, when I fall asleep with my cheek mashed against the window and wake with a crick in my neck that would embarrass me professionally, his hand is already there, warm and careful at the base of my skull.

“Don’t,” I mumble, eyes still closed.

His thumb pauses. “I have not said anything.”

“You’re thinking something physical therapy-related.”