Chapter 9: One-Oh-Four

The elevator doors closed, and neither of us said a word for forty floors.

He stood against one wall and I stood against the other.

Between us, the mirrored panels showed a man in a black tux and a woman in a red dress, not touching.

I watched the numbers climb.

On thirty-nine I made up my mind.

The penthouse door shut behind us, and Stefan loosened his bow tie and walked straight to the kitchen.

He turned on the tap and filled a glass of water he wasn't going to drink.

"Pass the butter," I said.

He went still.

"What?"

"You said you'd say it at breakfast. It's one in the morning, and I don't want breakfast."

I crossed the kitchen in my bare feet and set my hands on the island, a foot from his hip.

"Rule two," I said. "I start it."

"Lydia."

"Mark the time, Stefan."

The glass went down on the granite.

He turned, and the look in his eyes made my knees go weak.

"It's one-oh-four," he said hoarsely.

"Good."

I took his lapels and kissed him.

There was nothing careful about it this time.

He caught me by the waist and lifted me onto the counter, and the stone was cold through the velvet and his hands were not.

My knees opened around his hips.

His mouth left mine and went down my throat, over the little gold moon, and into the hollow of my collarbone.

I made a sound I didn't recognize.

"I've wanted my hands on you all week," he said against my skin. "Say my name."

"Stefan."

"Then I'm not stopping."

His hands found the zipper at my back and dragged it down.

The dress sagged around my ribs and then my waist.

He looked at me, and he said my name, only my name, very quietly.

Then his mouth was on my breast, and I grabbed his hair and held on.

I knew the back of his neck.

That was the strange part.

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