“No, I’m not. That’s how I did it with her, too.”
Revulsion coursed through Sasha. “You’re a fucking pig. Were you thinking of her while you fucked me on the plane?”
“Quite the opposite,” Thomas replied. “I was thinking of you while I fucked her. I repeated the whole experience on the plane with you because I wanted that exact experience again, but with the right person.”
Sasha’s rage calmed. “Fine,” she said, coldly. “Go on.”
“Do you need me to? Can’t you picture it now?”
Of course, Sasha could imagine it more vividly since he’d gone through almost exactly the same motions with her, but she still wanted to hear Thomas say it. She wanted to feel that intensity of emotion—the hatred, the passion, the anger. The more he made her feel, the better.
“Tell me,” she repeated.
Thomas sighed and explained how he’d made her come with his fingers then bent her forward and fucked her hard and fast from behind.
“Did you come as hard with her as you did with me?” Sasha asked, feeling a knot of anger rolling in her stomach.
There was a pause before Thomas said, “I didn’t come at all.”
Sasha sat stock still. “You didn’t?”
“She doesn’t do it for me like you do, Sasha,” he replied. “No one does.”
Sasha felt the familiar sensation of affection seep into her. She was about to ride another part of the rollercoaster, the part where they reconciled and had explosive, lustful, romantic sex.
“Come back to England,” Thomas said. His voice had lowered to a sultry whisper.
“No,” Sasha replied.
“You’re still mad at me for fucking Alicia,” Thomas said with a heavy sigh. “Why did you make me recount the whole thing if it was just going to rile you up—?”
“No,” Sasha said, interrupting him. “That’s not what I mean. I mean I’m not coming to England. I want you to come here.”
Thomas cottoned on. Sasha wasn’t saying no to a liaison; she just wanted it on her own terms.
“Meet me halfway?” he replied.
A thrill of excitement coursed through Sasha. This was why she’d fallen for Thomas Lloyd. For the spontaneity. For the adventure.
“Where do you have in mind?” she asked.
“Iceland. Reykjavik. I’ve always wanted to fuck in a hotel made of ice.”
“Now who’s crazy?”
“I’m booking the flights now. I’ll meet you there. Oh, and Sasha?”
“Yeah?”
“Buy some birth control pills, will you? I want to feel all of you.”
She snapped her phone shut and closed her eyes as anger, pleasure, and power pulsed through her veins. For the first time in her life, Sasha realized what it meant to be alive.
Chapter Thirty Six
Sasha had never flown halfway across the world just for sex before. She realized that Thomas must want to make it up to her so bad after what happened with Alicia. She made a mental note to get mad at him more often.
Her mom had told her not to go. She’d said that Thomas was bad news. As much as she loved England and Aunty Mabel and Olivia, she couldn’t bring herself to fully trust the man who’d turned her life upside down. Julia told her daughter about men she’d known in the past who behaved like Thomas, erratic, blowing hot then cold, who loved the breakup as much as the makeup. Sasha had shot back at her, “Is that why you married Dad? A nice, sensible man who left you when you got ill?” Sasha didn’t like arguing with her mom, but Julia just couldn’t understand why her daughter still decided to take that flight.
Sasha touched down in Reykjavik. It was the height of winter, which meant the sun never rose. Twenty-four hours of darkness meant no way of knowing where one day ended and another began—the perfect setting for a marathon makeup sex session. Lucky also, because the hotel only existed in the winter months. It would have melted by April. The idea that their moment here would be just a snapshot in time added to the romance of the situation.
The hotel was made entirely of ice and glass—the floor, ceiling, and all the furniture. It was beautiful and insane. It was certainly going to be one of the more memorable experiences of Sasha’s life.
Sasha was wearing a huge down coat, beneath which she’d worn Thomas’s favorite of her Amore outfits. It was so cold she could feel that her nipples were hard beneath the sheer top.
She went up to the woman standing at the counter made of ice.
“Do you have a reservation?” the woman said in her thick Nordic accent.
“Yes. It’s under Lloyd.”
“Aha. Mr. Lloyd arrived several hours ago and has gone to the saunas. He’s booked out our largest suite for your stay. It’s one of our art suites, whereby the furniture has been sculpted by a local ice carver. Would you like to follow me?”