ALEXANDER
The elevator opened directly onto the upper floor of the private club, and Dashiell stopped beside me as he took in the low lighting, dark wood and wide windows overlooking Manhattan.
"This is a club."
"It is."
His attention moved slowly toward me. "Why are we here?"
"To have dinner."
"We have food at home."
"We also have your sister at home."
The elevator closed behind us as a host approached and greeted me by name. I had chosen the upper dining level because the tables were separated into secluded sections with enough distance between them that nobody else's conversation would intrude on ours.
More importantly, it was quiet, and some of the tension Dashiell had carried out of the hospital eased from his shoulders as he took his seat and reached for the menu.
His brows pulled together as he studied the menu.
"Too many options."
"Get the truffle risotto."
"Why?"
"You've looked at it three times."
His eyes narrowed. "Don't look pleased with yourself."
"Too late."
The waiter approached before he could respond, and Dashiell ordered the truffle risotto.
We ate without rushing, and although the hospital had consumed most of his day, he never mentioned Daniel. Instead, he spent several minutes explaining why the pendant lights over the neighboring tables had been positioned incorrectly and how much worse they would have been with brighter bulbs.
I listened because there was very little Dashiell could tell me that I didn't want to know.
People frequently mistook obsession for dramatic declarations, violence or possession announced loudly enough for everyone nearby to recognize it. Mine had always existed in quieter ways.
I could be occupied with an operating room full of people and still know the moment Dashiell entered it. A change in his breathing beside me could wake me from sleep, and anything he told me had an irritating tendency to remain stored somewhere in my mind regardless of how insignificant another person might have found it.
My attention had oriented itself around him years ago and never corrected the problem.
I had no interest in correcting it now.
By the time dinner ended, the exhaustion around his eyes had eased enough to make bringing him here worthwhile.
The club's private lounges occupied the upper level, and Dashiell went directly toward the windows when I opened ours.
Manhattan stretched beneath him in thousands of lights, and Dashiell remained by the windows for a moment, taking in the skyline before turning as I crossed the room toward him.
I stopped in front of him and tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear.
His eyes followed my hand. "What?"
"I wanted to touch you."
His expression softened enough that I kissed his forehead, then his temple before deliberately pressing my mouth to the tip of his nose.
Dashiell recoiled. "Why would you do that?"
I did it again.
"Alexander."
The warning in my name encouraged a third attempt, but his hands landed against my chest before I reached him.
"Stop kissing my nose."
"I like your reaction."
"That is not a valid reason."
"It is to me."
He slipped around me the moment I loosened my hold and headed toward the adjoining bathroom.
"Where are you going?"
"To wash my hands."
"You haven't touched anything dirty."
His hand settled on the bathroom door before he looked back.
"I touched you."
The door shut behind him, and I laughed, absurdly pleased that marriage had made my husband increasingly disrespectful.
When I followed him a short while later, I found the bathroom door locked.
Adorable.
The spare access key was kept in the drawer beside the lounge bar, and when I opened the door, Dashiell was standing at the sink with soap covering his hands.
His gaze immediately found mine through the mirror.
"You unlocked it."
"Yes."
"I locked it for a reason."
I closed the door behind me. "So I noticed."
"You're not supposed to ignore the reason."
I crossed the bathroom until I stood behind him. "You should know better than to put a locked door between me and the only thing in this world I've never learned how to leave alone."
His pretty eyes shifted fully to my reflection while the water continued running over his hands.
"That sounds unhealthy."
"It probably is."
"At least you're aware."
"Self-awareness has never stopped me before."
The faint color climbing his neck suggested my answer had affected him more than he intended to show, and when he returned his attention to washing the remaining soap from his hands, I slid my arms around his waist.
"You're interfering."
"Keep washing."
"Alexander."
"I'm not stopping you."
Dashiell gave my reflection a suspicious look but continued rinsing his hands while I stayed wrapped around him and pressed a kiss beneath his ear.
"Still angry with me, little anomaly?"
"Yes."
"Good. You're extraordinarily pretty when you're deciding whether to forgive me or commit a felony."
"I would not commit a felony because you kissed my nose."
"What would you consider proportionate?"
"I haven't decided."
"Take your time."
Dashiell shut off the water and reached for a towel, but instead of stepping away after drying his hands, he remained between my arms with his gaze fixed on mine through the mirror.
That was invitation enough.
I kissed the hinge of his jaw, slower this time, and felt his body gradually settle back against mine.
"You followed me in here to bother me."
"Initially."
"And now?"
My hand moved over his waist as I watched his face in the mirror. "I found something I'd rather do."
A rosy color spread all over his freckled cheeks, but he made no attempt to move away as my mouth traveled lower along his throat, making it clear he knew exactly where this was going and had every intention of staying.
The teasing that had followed us into the bathroom began slipping away as his breathing changed beneath my touch, and when my hands moved over him again, his body responded with an openness that made conversation increasingly unnecessary.
"Alexander."
"Yes, baby?"
His eyes found mine in the mirror, whatever he'd intended to say disappearing before it reached his mouth.
There were moments when Dashiell looked at me as though every warning he had ever been given about men like me had become irrelevant. Or he knew precisely what I was and had chosen me anyway.
The latter pleased me more.
My hands moved to his trousers, undoing them slowly before slipping past the waistband and down the curve of his ass. He tensed beneath my touch, his whole body jolting against me at the first careful press of my fingers.
A small, startled sound escaped him, and I watched his reflection as his lips parted, his lashes fluttering while both hands braced against the sink.
"There," I murmured against his ear. "That's the reaction I wanted."
I rubbed one finger against his hole slowly before adding a second, curling them just enough to weaken his knees. The involuntary way he tightened around me only showed how thoroughly I knew this body and every response I could draw from it.
"If you were a girl," I said quietly, almost conversationally, "you would already be soaked for me. Wouldn't you, baby?"
Dashiell made a soft, incredulous sound. "That is a hypothetical that has no practical application to my anatomy."
My mouth curved against his neck. "That wasn't a no."
His forehead lowered toward the mirror as a tremor passed through him, his voice changing when the sensation stole the rest of his composure.
"Alexander…"
"Yes, love?"
My other hand spread across his stomach, keeping him against my chest as I continued with slow, sensual strokes. "Look at yourself."
He eventually obeyed, lifting his head until our eyes met in the mirror. His cheeks were scarlet and his full lips parted around uneven breaths, leaving very little of the composure he'd walked into the bathroom with.
I followed every change in his expression.
"You're very easy to read like this," I murmured against his ear. "Every time you try to hide what you want, your body tells me anyway."
His hips pushed back into my fingers, proving the point without a word.
"There you are."
The response pleased me enough that I added a third finger, drawing a sharp gasp from him as one of his hands shifted against the sink for support.
"Alexander, seriously," he managed.
His breathless disbelief pleased me as I pressed my mouth beneath his ear. "Very."
I kept working him with the same unhurried attention until his thighs began to shake and coherent words gave way to sounds that were far more satisfying.