Page 37 of Hotter on Ice

He had endless reasons why they shouldn’t continue, but she had just given him the one argument that won over all of his. This was going to happen.

“I want to fuck, Alya,” he warned. “That’s what this will be.”

If she was afraid of him, she didn’t give any sign of it. Instead, she brought her hand to his face again, and her face lit up with want. “And I want to be the woman you want to fuck.”

Henning closed his eyes, trying to contain the last hold on his self-control. “You’re so much more. Don’t you know that?”

Her nails dug into his skin, and his self-control snapped. In one, hard thrust, he entered her. His mouth crashed down on hers, and he unleashed all his wants and fears in a kiss. Lips, tongue, teeth, anything to have more of her. More. Her hips met each of his strokes, over and over.

“Do I make you wet?” he growled.

“Yes,” she cried. “Yes, yes.” Her voice was a mix of lust and frustration.

She closed her eyes and moaned.

Over and over, he thrust in and out, and she whispered,yes, again and again.

“Is it my cock you want?” He bit out the question.

“I want y—”

He couldn’t bear to hear the answer, not right now. So before she could finish, he pushed in hard. The sound that came from her mouth was so beautiful, so full of desire and satisfaction, and it was for him. Christ, yes, it was for him.

“That’s fine, baby,” he said, holding on, trying not to break. “I’ll give it to you whenever you want.” He swallowed, the urge to let go warring with the urge to take it slowly, to be careful with her. No, it was better that this happened now, that she understood this other side of him. So he leaned down, taking a breath of her intoxicating scent and whispered in her ear. “But tonight, you’re mine.”

Her lips brushed the rim of his ear, sending a shudder of pleasure through him.

“Yes, Henning,” she said, her voice a heavy rasp. “I’m yours. And you’re mine, too.”

He turned his head, and she looked at him, her long, dark lashes low over her eyes. This was all just for him. So he let go. The urge to be rough and selfish was strong, to show her just how broken he was. And he was sure he wore it on his face, a face more beast than human, and the unleashing of this part of him brought the most primal satisfaction. Her cry filled the room, and her nails dug into his skin.

“Henning.”

He closed his eyes, drowning in the clusterfuck of emotions that wouldn’t stop coming.

“Oh, fuck,” he muttered, and she came around his cock, his hips pumping over and over, deep inside her.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

ALYASATDOWNon the couch of the hotel’s lobby, smiling at theBehind the Runwaycrew, trying to get her head on straight. One guy tested the lighting, and another swept her hair over one shoulder then the other. All she could think about was last night. It had been intense and so incredibly raw. Alya had seen a part of Henning that she had felt, lurking beneath his restraint this whole time. It was a side he tried to bury.

The sex itself had been out of this world, in a category all by itself. That connection, the desperation with which he clung to her, the way he finally let her give when he needed to take, holding her against him so tightly—it made her heart ache. They didn’t speak after it was over, but Henning held her against him as he rolled over on his side, his cock still buried deep inside her until she finally nodded off to sleep.

How long did he stay awake? There were no more nightmares, at least none that she was aware of, but when she woke up, she could feel the shift between them. They had crossed a line that they couldn’t uncross. Did he regret it? He was gentle with her, so gentle, and he barely spoke. The connection between them hadn’t disappeared, but all traces of the playfulness that had bloomed since they had arrived at the Icehotel had withered. She could feel he was letting her go.

All these ideas swirled around in her head as she smiled up at theBehind the Runwaycrew, waiting for this interview. She should be nervous by now. She always was whenshewas in the spotlight, not just a designer’s clothing, especially these last few years. But the stomachache that usually plagued her before anything where she was supposed to “just be herself” was absent. In fact, in her interview yesterday, it hadn’t been there either.

Alya thought back to Brianna, getting drunk in the Icebar, laughing so freely, daring anyone to judge her. The all-night partying wasn’t Alya’s path, but maybe another part of it was. She had been groomed for this role for her whole life, her mother’s comments laced with warnings about men, backed up by her mother’s own real-life cautionary tales. So Alya had carefully constructed her life, her career, her image, knowing that it had to work for both her and Natasha.

But somewhere along the way, their situation had changed. The move to Australia had been a relief, a chance to start over, and it wasn’t just Nick she had needed some distance from. Here in Sydney, no one seemed to care who her mother was, and she and Natasha both had found that refreshing.

But still, that fear she dragged around from Los Angeles had clung to her, the fear that she was one public relations disaster away from becoming her mother. She hadn’t really understood how much it had guided everything she did.

Before last night, Henning had let Alya lead in the bedroom, so careful around her. Then, last night, the roles had flipped. He hadn’t held back, but it didn’t just set him free. She felt freedom in it, too, a totally new kind of satisfaction, beyond the pleasure itself. That’s what it meant to let go of the past: the space to see Henning more clearly, to understand him, to give to him and to find more in what they could be together. It was the space where all the risks lay, but it was also the space where they could find endless rewards.

Their connection was so strong, right from the moment she’d bumped into him in the Blackmore Inc. office. Was she falling in love with Henning, after just a few days together? Could he love her back? It seemed crazy to ask herself these questions, but she let herself anyway. She glanced at him, across the lobby, his brow furrowed as he jabbed at his laptop. He looked up at her, and his expression softened, but he didn’t smile.

The interviewer fromBehind the Runwaysignaled her, and the cameras moved in, so Alya turned her focus to them. If there was anything she could say about the documentary crew, they certainly knew how to make her feel comfortable. And talkative. She had no idea how much time passed as the woman led her through topics: the best locations to work, craziest thing someone had said on set and the strangest working conditions. She even talked a little about her childhood, navigating her mother’s career as well as her own.