Page 40 of Falling

fifteen

GENEVA

It’s startingto snow when I step outside the restaurant. Peter is still inside, settling the bill. I’ve offered to pay several times, but he just scowls at me.

The streets are nearly empty. I’m sure everyone is holed up inside. The streetlights highlight the fluffy flakes as they drift to the ground. The scene is surreal and beautiful.

Stepping out into the empty street, I stick my tongue out. I laugh thinking of all the times Rand and I did this very thing on our occasional ski trips growing up.

Those were always the best weeks of the year. My father stayed home to work, so it was just the three of us. We would terrorize the slopes while my mother sat curled in front of the fire, reading to her heart’s content.

“Take a picture, perv,” I say to the man leaning against the arch in front of the restaurant. I knew the minute Peter stepped outside. Call it a disturbance in the force. My body just feels it when he’s near. A photo flash snaps in my face.

“Thanks,” he teases. “My spank bank was running low.”

I laugh. Peter can always make me laugh. He’s also made me rage, cry, and feel way more over the years than I’d like to admit. In some ways, I think that’s what love is. To hand a piece of yourself bit by bit to another person, trusting them not to destroy you. I’ve fallen in love with Peter Winsloe. It’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done.

“Come help me catch snowflakes,” I say. He pushes off the wall to join me in the middle of the street. He leans his head back and opens his mouth. I have a moment to take in the muscled column of his neck. He laughs before looking back down at me. Our gazes meet. Then his lips are on mine.

His lips are cold from the night air. His tongue, though, is warm when it slides inside my mouth. He tastes like cinnamon from the dessert we shared. My hands grab the front of his coat. His hands smooth through my hair.

I want to stay like this forever, in the middle of the street, in this place. I don’t want to keep going; for the fantasy to end. I don’t want a life where he’ll grow tired of me.

He stands back up, his stormy gaze sweeping over me. His brows are furrowed as he studies me like I’m a puzzle that needs solving. I can almost see the war waging inside of him. There’s no point in me trying to sway him. He’ll make the decision he thinks is right, damn the consequences.

“Come on,” he says, finally taking my gloved hand. I almost have to jog to keep up as he drags me down the street. He nods to the receptionist as we move through the hotel lobby. We step into the elevator and he’s on me again. His body is hungrier this time. His tongue is more urgent. With a swish, the elevator doors open, and he steps back.

His keycard is ready when we reach the room door. I’m pulled inside roughly. Peter locks the door and strips out of his outerwear. Then he strips me out of mine. With one more calculated gaze, he lifts me to his waist. My back is pressed against the wall.

“I’ve reached my breaking point, Geneva,” he growls. “I can’t just stand back and watch anymore.” His lips crash against mine.

My hands find the buttons of his shirt, scrambling to get the buttons open. He breaks our kiss only long enough to rip it over his head. My nails sink into flesh as he presses me harder into the wall.

Suddenly, I’m being carried into a bedroom with a king-size bed. Peter is not gentle as he tosses me onto it. He follows me down, making short work of my shirt. His gaze stalls on the clasp of my bra.

“I know you’ve seen a front closure before,” I tease.

“Not one of yours.” His hand flicks it open. My breasts tumble out. He gently strokes the hard peak of my nipple like it’s something to be cherished. His mouth replaces his finger, and I arch at the pleasure that shoots through my body.

“Peter,” I moan. My hips buck against the thigh wedged between mine.

“Shh, little mouse. I’ve waited a long time for this. We’re not rushing through it.” His words make me moan even louder. I reach for the button on his jeans as his lips kiss a trail to my other breast. This time, he doesn’t shove my hands away. My fist closes over hot flesh when I have his jeans opened enough. His hips rock as my hand becomes slick with pre-cum.

Then he’s gone as he works down my body. I want to scream in frustration for him to come back. That I wasn’t finished with him. But he’s very much in charge, and he wants something different. My pants are dragged down my legs and discarded.

“I like these,” he says, playing with the soaked intersection of my panties. “But they’re in the way.” Twisting his hand in the waistband, he rips them from my body. There’s a new pulse of heat making my body even slicker for him. “Better,” he says. Then I feel his tongue take a long, slow journey through my lips.

“Peter,” I beg.

“Mmmm” vibrates from somewhere in his chest directly to my clit. I become shameless in a heartbeat. I can’t get enough of what he’s doing to me.

I roll my hips, riding against his face. His strong arm presses my hips into the mattress as he continues. Not being able to move is both excruciating and exquisite at the same time. My body begins to vibrate as my orgasm sneaks up on me.

“Peter!” I scream as I come undone. He gives me no quarter as he wrings every vestige of pleasure from me.

“I like when you scream my name,” he says, placing one last kiss on my mound. I’m too exhausted to answer. He climbs back up my body until he’s gazing at me. “Doing okay?”

I nod my head. It’s all the energy I’ve got.

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