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After breakfast, Tiffany went to shower. She was still in there when Ivan returned from taking their breakfast dishes downstairs.
Without warning, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. It was commanding, firm, all-consuming and intoxicating. He picked her up and carried her back to the bed.
“Ivan, I’m still wet,” she exclaimed.
“I don’t care.” Ivan plunged his tongue into her mouth, and then rained kisses down her face and neck.
Her hands gripped his shoulders, and she gave herself over to his kisses. Minutes later, Ivan was buried to the hilt inside her. He made slow, maddening love to her, and the only thing Tiffany could do was hold on as he painstakingly took them both careening off into a world of mind-blowing orgasms. Tiffany lost count of just how many she had in that short amount of time. Afterward, Tiffany didn’t even possess the strength to raise her head off his chest. “This has already been the best birthday I’ve ever had. How in the world are we going to get up and drive to Lake Geneva?”
“I’m not sure yet,” he murmured. “But we’ve got about twenty minutes to figure it out.”
“In that case…can we do that again—all of it?”
A smile of male satisfaction covered his face. “Yes…but not before I’ve had a chance to recuperate.”
But he flipped her over and under him. He kissed her with a newfound strength that left them both breathless.
*
True to his word, Ivan had them both up, dressed and on the road in twenty minutes. But Tiffany fell back asleep before they had even made it to the interstate.
When she woke up, it was an hour later. She glanced out the window.
The memory of her birthday morning was still fresh in her mind. Sex with Ivan was explosive. Each time left her replete, but wanting more. Just thinking about the last time was enough to stir the embers within her. There was no complicated equation. The more of Ivan she got, the more she wanted. He was addictive. They would be on the road another hour and a half, and yet she was ready to have him take her in the backseat.
Tiffany rotated slightly so that she could observe his profile. There wasn’t one thing about him that she did not find physically desirable. “Ivan,” she said slowly.
He glanced over. “Yeah?”
“Can we…stop somewhere?”
“Do you have to use the restroom?”
She reached out and stroked his leg through his jeans. His leg was rock hard. She bit her lower lip. “Not exactly.”
“Honey, we’ll be there in about ninety minutes.”
“I can’t wait, Ivan. I was just thinking about earlier this morning and my birthday present and—”
“Ah,” he smiled knowingly.
She nodded, moving her hand even lower.
Ivan’s jaw clenched. “I do know a place…”
*
Two hours later, Ivan maneuvered his Range Rover up a winding pebble road. At the top of the hill a log house surrounded on three sides by trees came into view.
“Welcome to Windmere.”
Tiffany took in the chestnut-colored A-frame house. She stared at him. “You said it was a small cottage.”
“It is.” He got out and went to retrieve their luggage.
“You know, you and I view the word small completely differently.” Tiffany got out and went to help with their things. “Call me old-fashioned, but since when does a ‘small cottage’ describe a six-thousand-square-foot home?”
“It’s not that big.” He laughed. “Come on.”
