Chapter 39
Christian made love to Fleur until the world outside ceased to exist. Again and again, he poured himself into her, filling her with his seed until she lost count — until the only things she knew were the weight of his body, the heat of his breath, the possessive growl that rumbled from his chest every time he buried himself inside her.
By the time he was finished, Fleur lay breathless, utterly wrecked, floating in the aftermath of something that had felt less like sex and more like a claiming. Her limbs were liquid, her mind hazy, her body still trembling with aftershocks that rippled through her in lazy waves.
Christian reclined against the leather seat, looking like a wolf who’d just finished a feast — sated, smug, dangerous. When Fleur tried to sit up, his arms tightened around her waist, locking her in place.
She sighed and surrendered, slumping against his chest. His skin was hot beneath her cheek, his heartbeat a steady, grounding rhythm beneath her ear.
The Alpha King reached for her coat and draped it over them both, tucking it around her shoulders with a gentleness that contradicted everything she knew about him. He held her close, his chin resting on the top of her head, his breath evening out as they lay tangled together in the steamed-up car.
In that moment, they forgot the broken car. The snow that hadn’t stopped falling. The world beyond this fogged glass sanctuary. Time stretched, soft and infinite, and Fleur let herself sink into the quiet peace of being held.
A phone pinged, shattering the silence.
Christian stirred, reaching for his phone with a low grumble. He glanced at the screen, and when he looked down at her, his expression had softened into something almost tender. “Help’s here. Time to go home p>
Fleur blinked, surprised. She hadn’t noticed him call anyone. Then again, she’d been rather… occupied.
She helped him straighten his shirt, buttoning the buttons she’d torn open earlier, while he adjusted the straps of her gown. She pressed her palm to his forehead, checking his temperature. His eyes followed her every movement, tracking her like she was the only thing worth watching.
The rescue team chained up the car and shoveled snow from around the tires. This time, Christian took the wheel, following the tow truck through the white drifts.
They were escorted to the nearest hotel — not the five-star accommodations Christian was accustomed to, but a modest lodge with a flickering sign and a lobby heated by a single industrial heater.
Fleur sat by the heater, letting the warmth seep into her bones while she watched Christian speak to the clerk at the front desk.
Her eyes traced the broad line of his shoulders, the way he leaned against the counter with a predator’s lazy grace, the commanding set of his jaw even in his fever-weakened state. There was something about him — that dark, intimidating aura, the animal that seemed to coil just beneath his skin — that made it impossible to look away.
He turned abruptly, and she snapped her gaze to the wall, studying the peeling floral wallpaper as if it held the secrets of the universe.
Damn it. Please tell me he didn’t see that.
Christian walked toward her, his footsteps slow, deliberate. His face was unreadable — that cold, businesslike mask firmly in place.
“Fleur.” Her name on his lips made her start. “The clerk says there’s only one room available.” His voice was flat, expressionless. “Do you mind sharing p>
She rolled her eyes internally.
Really?
After everything they’d done in that car, he was going to play the cold businessman again?
“Do I have a choice?” she shot back.
Christian held her gaze for a long moment. Then he nodded, pulling a key card from his pocket. “Here. Go ahead to the room. I’ll follow after I sign the forms p>
Fleur took the card and made her way upstairs. The bellboy followed with their luggage. Her phone battery had died, so she plugged it in first thing — she needed to call the twins. She was in the middle of unpacking when the door swung open.
Christian’s imposing figure filled the doorway. He stepped inside, closed the door, and slid the safety latch into place. Then he turned to her, brows drawn together.
“Why wasn’t the door locked p>
His tone was sharp, laced with frustration. Fleur swallowed, nerves flickering in her chest.
“I… I thought you’d be coming right up, so p>
“Next time you’re alone in a room,” he cut her off, voice dropping into that authoritative register that made her spine straighten, “you lock the door. Understood p>
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
He shrugged off his coat and tie, disappearing into the bathroom. When he emerged, he was wearing nothing but his boxers. Fleur’s eyes went wide.
“Mr. Wayne p>
Christian cocked his head, a ghost of amusement flickering across his otherwise stoic features. “This is how I sleep p>
“But— it’s freezing, and you have a fever—” Her protest faltered as he gestured around the room.
“The temperature is well maintained.” He crossed to the bed, movements unhurried, every line of his body radiating a predator’s confidence. “If you’re done fussing with your things,” he said, nodding toward her suitcase, “come here p>
He patted the mattress beside him. “Let’s call it a night p>
Fleur’s throat went dry. Sharing a bed with him. After what had happened in the car. Her skin still remembered his touch, his mouth, the way he’d growled her name. And now he was composed, coiled power beneath that calm surface, his cold blue eyes giving nothing away.
She couldn’t read him. Couldn’t tell if this was strategy or simply practicality. And that uncertainty made her pulse race.
“What are you thinking, Fleur?” His voice came low, lazy.
“Sharing a bed is She chewed her lip. “It’s too intimate, Mr. Wayne p>
“First.” He held up a finger. “It’s Christian to you.” A second finger. “And second, we were in a very intimate position just an hour ago p>
His eyes darkened, desire bleeding into his gaze as it swept over her, slow and deliberate, like he was undressing her with nothing but his stare. “Sharing a bed is nothing p>
Shameless prick.
She grabbed her nightie and fled to the bathroom.