Her hips rose towards him and her legs spread. Her eyes shuttered closed, already imagining him pushing inside of her. What would it feel like, to be filled with him?

“Alva,” he said, his voice suddenly strained. She opened her eyes again. “I…”

“What?”

“I wasn’t planning on this, you see.” He removed his fingers, expression miserable.

“What on earth’s the matter?”

“I didn’t bring anything. Um. Any protection.”

“Any—oh!” Understanding dawned upon her abruptly, and, just as abruptly, she blushed. “I have some.”

She scrambled to her feet, hurrying to her armoire. “My friend Amelie gave them to me. It was a joke. I think. It’s hard to tell with her, honestly.”

She found the little envelope, tucked deep inside one of the back compartments, and turned around to find Sam right behind her.

“You have marvelous taste in friends.”

“Oh,” she said as his arms snaked around her. “Well.”

“Indeed,” he said. Lifting her up so his hands cupped her bottom, he carried her over to the bed.

Outside the window, the snow was falling heavier—large, fluffy flakes illuminated by the weak moonlight. It made her simple bedroom seem enchanted somehow, a room out of time, hidden from consequence. When he dropped her lightly on the bed, the plain bedclothes seemed as luxurious as the finest silks and velvets. The no-nonsense iron bedstead, its worn curves glowing gold in the firelight, creaked when he joined her.

He kissed her long and deep, his hard length pressing against her. His clever hands were bringing her banked flames roaring back to life with a simple stroke. She needed him. Her hands urged him to go faster, to hurry, and finally, when her whole body was vibrating, he rose to his knees and pulled one of the folded condoms out of the envelope. A purr of delicious warmth shivered through her as she watched him smooth it over his length, those strong fingers tying the silly pink ribbon at his root.

He was grinning again, the beautiful fool, and she was grinning back, even as he parted her legs with casual authority and pulled her closer.

He kissed her as he thrust into her, her first gasp muffled by his mouth. As he began to move she brought her hand up to stifle herself, but he caught it, pushing it to the pillow.

“I want to hear you,” he said.

“The servants—”

“I want to hear you.”

So she let her hand stay where he’d put it, and as he thrust inside her she forgot to censor her cries. He touched her as he fell into an easy rhythm, playing with her tightened nipples, stroking her between her legs. It was as though he was intent on absorbing her, collecting her every curve and gasp and tremor. Like there was no discovery more important to him than her.