We barely make it through the door before his mouth finds mine again.
The sun crested the horizon while we were still tangled on that lounger, golden light spilling across the beach like a spotlight we hadn't asked for.
Derek pulled back first, his eyes darting toward the mansion's windows, toward the staff who would be waking soon.
"Inside," he'd breathed against my lips. "Now."
Now we're stumbling through my bedroom, a trail of clothing marking our path like breadcrumbs. His shirt catches on his elbow and he curses, laughing, while I fumble with the button on my jeans.
The champagne makes everything feel soft-edged and hilarious.
"Graceful," Derek observes as I nearly trip over my own discarded pants. "Very sexy. Truly the most coordinated woman I've ever seduced."
"Shut up and help me with this." I gesture at the clasp of my bra.
He crosses the space between us in two steps, and his hands are warm on my back, deft where mine were clumsy.
The bra falls away, and suddenly his palms are sliding around my ribcage, pulling me against his bare chest.
"Much better," he murmurs into my hair.
We tumble onto the bed in a graceless heap, all tangled limbs and muffled giggles. The mattress bounces beneath us, and I end up half on top of him, my hair falling across his face.
Derek brushes it aside, his expression shifting as he looks up at me. The laughter fades from his eyes.
"You're different," he says, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. "Last time we were together, you were shaking."
"Last time we were together, your father walked in before anything actually happened." I lean down, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "And I'm not a virgin anymore, so there's less to be nervous about."
"So I figured." Something in his tone makes me pull back.
"What do you mean, you figured?" I narrow my eyes at him. "How could you possibly know that?"
Derek's hands settle on my hips, his thumbs drawing lazy circles against my skin. "Tyler asked me about you last week. Wanted to know if you preferred the beach or the pool and whether you'd mentioned him."
"So? That could mean anything."
"Ellie." His smile is knowing. "My brother doesn't ask questions about women. Ever. The fact that he wanted to know your preferences?" Derek shakes his head slowly. "That told me everything I needed to know about what happened between you two."
I absorb this information, turning it over in my champagne-fuzzy mind.
Tyler asked about me. Tyler, who made it clear before he left that strings and expectations weren't part of our arrangement.
"He told me we weren't exclusive," I hear myself say. "I assumed he just wanted freedom to sleep with paddock girls in Monaco without feeling guilty about it."
Derek's grin spreads wide and delighted. "Oh, this is precious. You're jealous."
"I'm not—"
"You're absolutely jealous." He pulls me closer, his chest shaking with barely contained laughter. "Ellie the Ghost Girl, lying awake imagining all the models throwing themselves at my brother while you're stuck here missing him. That's adorable."
"I hate you." I shove at his shoulder, but there's no force behind it. "I genuinely, deeply hate you."
"No, you don't." His hand slides up my spine, fingers spreading between my shoulder blades. "You like me. You might even like me as much as you like Tyler, which is clearly causing you all sorts of complicated feelings that we should probably discuss at length—"
"Or," I interrupt, "you could just shut up." I kiss him hard enough to steal his breath, but Derek has other plans.
His hands grip my waist and suddenly I'm on my back, the mattress soft beneath me, his body a warm weight as he hovers above.
"My turn," he says, and the playfulness in his voice has shifted into something more intent. "I believe you told me to shut up. Let me show you exactly how I plan to occupy my mouth instead."
He kisses down my throat, my collarbone, the valley between my breasts. Each press of his lips leaves heat blooming across my skin, and my fingers find his hair, threading through the honey-brown curls.
"Derek—" I know where this is going.
"Patience." His breath is warm against my stomach as he works his way lower. "Good things come to those who wait."
"I've been waiting all night."
"Then a few more minutes won't kill you." His teeth graze my hipbone, and my back arches off the mattress. "Though watching you squirm is definitely a bonus."
His mouth reaches the waistband of my underwear—the only scrap of clothing I'm still wearing—and he pauses, looking up at me with dark eyes.
"These need to go."
I lift my hips in answer, and he slides the fabric down my legs with agonizing slowness. The cool air hits my heated skin, and I shiver, suddenly aware of how exposed I am.
But this is Derek. Derek, who sat with me on the ice. Derek, who makes everything feel easy even when it shouldn't be.
His hands part my thighs gently, and then his mouth is on me.
The first touch of his tongue pulls a sound from my throat I don't recognize. He starts slow, barely there—featherlight strokes that make me squirm for more contact.
My hips lift involuntarily, seeking pressure he refuses to give.
"Derek, please—"
He hums against me, and the vibration sends sparks cascading through my nerve endings. His tongue traces a lazy circle, then another and another and another.
I fist the sheets, my knuckles aching. The tension coils tighter in my belly with each pass of his tongue.
He finds the spot that makes my thighs tremble and focuses there, applying just enough pressure to drive me mad but not enough to push me over.
"You're doing this on purpose," I gasp.
His only response is to slow down even more.
The pleasure builds in waves—cresting, receding, cresting higher. My skin feels too tight, too hot.
I'm aware of every point of contact: his hands gripping my thighs, his breath warming my most sensitive flesh, the soft brush of his hair against my inner thighs as he works.
One finger slides inside me, and my back bows off the mattress. He curls it upward, finding the spot that makes my vision blur, and begins a rhythm that matches his tongue—slow, steady, relentless.
"I can't—" The words dissolve into a moan as he adds a second finger, stretching me, filling me. The dual sensation builds toward something inevitable. "Oh… God."
His free hand presses flat against my lower belly, holding me in place as I start to shake. The pressure adds a new dimension to the sensation—a fullness that amplifies everything he's doing below.
I'm trembling now, my whole body vibrating with need. The tension winds tighter and tighter, a coil ready to snap. His tongue moves faster, his fingers curl deeper, and I'm right there, right at the precipice—
The orgasm crashes through me without warning. It starts at my center and radiates outward, wave after wave of pleasure that makes my muscles lock and my breath stop.
I hear myself cry out as Derek keeps moving, keeps touching, drawing out every last tremor.
Then I feel him shift between my thighs, and before the orgasm finishes crashing through me, he's pushing inside. I gasp at the stretch.
When did he roll the condom on?
He slides home in one smooth thrust, and my inner walls clench around him reflexively, still pulsing with aftershocks.
The sensation of being filled while I'm coming sends me spiraling higher, the orgasm extending into something deeper, more intense.
"Still hate me?" he asks, buried to the hilt.
"Undecided." I clench around him deliberately, watching his eyes flutter. "Ask me again after you do that at least three more times."
His laugh is low and shaky. "Challenge accepted."
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