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Angela closes the door, and Court locks it after her.
He turns to Zoya and gathers her up in his arms. She lets her head drop on to his shoulder and sighs.
"They shouldn't make you go out so soon," she says, reiterating her worries.
"It's nothing I can't handle," Court says.
"I don't care if you can handle it," she says, voice strained.
"I know." He squeezes a little, then pulls back so he can look into her eyes. "Z, I need to do something and it's going to sound stupid."
Her eyebrow quirks. "Stupider than you sounded at the hotel the other day?"
Court feels a flush creep up his neck. "Maybe," he says, rough.
"Then what?"
"I want to check you for injuries. All over. Just to.. make sure before I leave."
Zoya stares at him. Court holds her gaze. He hadn't asked to do that at the hotel, he's been too busy holding her and making ridiculous room service orders. They'd spent a third or more of the time sleeping in each other's arms. Basking, she'd called it.
"Okay," she says, hugging him around his chest. "Come on."
They go to her bedroom the next floor up, close and lock that door, too.
Being the subject of Court Gentry's intense focus is not something new to Zoya. But this feels—different. Somehow more.
They stand in the middle of the room, Court's hands cupping her too-thin face. "Okay?" he asks.
"Okay," Zoya nods.
Court kisses the top of her head, and his hands move into her hair and caress her skull, carefully touching every dip, her temples, the indention where her head and neck meet. He kisses her forehead, hands tracing her ears and jaw, then kisses both of her closed eyes and the tip of her nose.
He kisses both of her cheeks, his hands tracing her neck, the vertebrae of it, touching both of her collarbones and her shoulder joints.
Zoya shivers. She opens her eyes to help Court take her tank top off, and he steps behind her to kiss to each scapula, touching each of her vertebrae with his hands and then his mouth—gentle, gentle, like she could disappear or break.
Her ribs are next, Court checking each one with a tracing finger, first the left side, then the right. He thumbs over her hip bones, then comes around her again to touch her sternum.
Zoya lets him, stands still as she can, but when he licks from her suprasternal notch to her diaphragm, her arms come up to grab at his hair with a gasp. She feels her thighs clench.
Undeterred, he takes her left hand in both of his and touches every bone and joint, kissing each finger, the back of her hand, her palm, her wrist. He runs his hands over her arm, moves it to check the elbow, kisses the bend. He hesitates a moment over the healing cut where Zoya had stashed two large leather sewing needles. Zoya starts to explain that it doesn't hurt but cuts herself off when his head dips and he blinks his (long, incredible) eyelashes against the wound. The explanation turns into a half-gasp instead.
He does the same to her right arm, slow, careful, hands and mouth. He licks the tip of her thumb as he releases her, and Zoya shifts on her feet, feels how wet her underwear is and shivers again.
"Those aren't injured," she sighs as he takes her breasts in each hand, dipping down to lick each nipple to hardness. He's pressed against the zipper of his jeans; Zoya can see it, wonders somewhere in the back of her mind if the teeth are leaving an impression on his cock.
But he ignores it, dropping to his knees and caressing her lower back, below her ribs. He kisses her tummy, licks around and into her bellybutton, mouths her too-prominent hip bones, listens to her say his name.
"Sit on the bed for me," he says, standing up, and she does, stepping out of the rest of her clothes on the way. Zoya sits down on the edge of the unmade bed, and Court kneels before her again, hands on her thighs, knees, her shins and calves.
He sits down on the floor, fully clothed still, and looks carefully at each of her feet, hands gentle but more firm so he doesn't tickle her by accident. He kisses her insteps, each ankle, the front of each knee. He stares up at her, hands on her upper thighs, and he levers himself back to his knees.
"Court," Zoya says then, shakily, her hands cupping his face. His eyes slip shut. "I'm okay. I'm here."
"I told them," he says, so quietly, turning to kiss one of her palms. "I told them you weren't dead. I didn't believe it. I never did."
Zoya kisses him once. "I know. And you rescued me." He nods between her hands. "I'm here. I'm safe. I want you to stay safe too."
Court nods again. "I will be. I'll be back." He opens his eyes, taking her in. "I want you to concentrate on getting better."
Zoya smiles. "I am pretty sure Angela and her friends will make sure." She grabs the back of his neck but doesn't push. "You're going to take off your clothes now, right?"
A shift. Court smiles and stands, tosses his clothes off like they've offended him. He makes a noise when his pants and boxers come off, and Zoya notes that he doesn't actually have a zipper mark on him, even if it was probably a close call.
"Come here," she says, and he goes straight into her arms after she backs up onto the pillows. Court tucks his face into her neck, laying on his side and holding her close. They breathe together for a moment.
Zoya breaks the quiet to turn herself to face Court, still in his arms, and kiss him—no peck this time; this is something more wild, something to press all the feelings in her body, where she tingles and sparks everywhere from Court's hands and mouth, into his.
Their tongues meet, and Court's hips buck against her. He groans into her mouth, arm locking around her waist to get her closer. He wants to sink into her right then, even if the angle is awkward, but Zoya's sucking his tongue and he can't do anything but kiss her back.
They pull apart, and Court moves toward Zoya with his eyes still shut, chasing her mouth. She shifts and runs her thumb over his lips, and Court sucks it in, nips the tip, eyes opening to watch her gasp.
"Let me go down on you," he says around her thumb. "Please."
"Then you're getting on top of me," she says, eyes on his mouth. Court can feel her press her thighs together as she speaks. He nods, sucking once more and letting her go so he can get to the end of the bed.
Zoya gets on her back, and Court fills her vision, the musculature of his shoulders and back moving in the low lamplight when his hands cup her ass to move her back just a little so he can comfortably kiss her inner thighs and bury his face at their apex.
Zoya slaps a hand over her mouth and muffles a moan, her other hand clenching in the sheets. She thought she was the center of Court's focus before; now her center was his focus, and his tongue and lips touch every part, dipping into her, caressing her clit with perfect, varied strokes, his hands on her thighs to keep her from squeezing them shut on his face.
Zoya tries to breathe and nearly fails when he shifts down, tilting her up, and laves his tongue, wet with her and his own spit, over her perineum and ass. His hands shift to keep her open as he repeats and repeats the motion, and Zoya can see one side of his mouth lift when her thighs try to close again, when a moan gets past her hand at the sight of him.
"Court!" It's a strangled, guttural thing, and he leaves another lick and kiss there before moving back up to concentrate on her clit again. Zoya bucks and shifts, Court holds her hips down with his hands and doesn't stop, licking and sucking on her like he's starved.
He feels her struggling more and more to move under his hands, hears her breath speeding up, sees the flush on her face, her nipples, and he keeps going, jaw starting to ache, his own dick pressed into the bed but getting no real relief. He's so hard, he thinks he might tear the sheet if he moves.
But right now, there is nothing but Zoya, the taste of her, the radiant heat from all the places she is flushed, the movement under his hands and all around him as she presses up to his tongue and mouth, the shivers in her thighs as he licks and licks and hums.
Even after her ordeal, Zoya is strong enough to move his hands with one particularly hard buck up, and then she's crying out, pushing against his tongue and shuddering, hands catching his and squeezing hard. Court keeps still, feeling every fold twitch against his mouth as he kisses against her, holding on while she slowly goes limp against the sheets.
"Court," she says, low and urgent, and pulls his hands, pulling him above her and kissing him hard, shivering when their tongues touch and she can taste herself in his mouth.
Zoya shifts slightly down and strokes Court's cock, feeling how slick he is, and she makes a sound between their kisses, feels him twitch.
"Fuck me," she says into his mouth, and Court pulls away to adjust their positions, carefully pushing Zoya's legs up and then gasping himself when she puts her knees over his elbows.
He hovers over her, arms locked, and for a half second, he stops just outside of her, feeling the heat of her, eyes closed, and then presses in, the angle letting him slide as deep as he can.
"Z," he groans out, and she echoes him when he pulls out half way and thrusts back in. His hip twinges but it's so distant, everything fading away except where he and Zoya are joined and she is dripping and meeting his every movement.
But Court can't kiss her this way, he's too high up on his arms, and he slows to move closer, Zoya's legs wrapping around his middle back so he can claim her mouth.
She opens for his tongue, tilts up to meet his thrusts, and sinks her hands into his hair, clenching when he snaps his hips harder and faster. She gasps his name, arms coming around his shoulders, he sucks a mark into her neck.
Then he hears her say "there there there there" and he obeys, keeping the speed and angle the same and hearing her shuddering gasps, feeling her tighten all around his cock. She heats up, impossibly, and Court has to kiss her to stave off something high and whiny from leaving his mouth, thighs shuddering with pleasure and effort.
Zoya's legs and arms clench around him at the same time the tight heat of her contracts, and she's shouting something unintelligible and coming hard against him, around him, her nails leaving imprints in his skin.
Court kisses her, catching the last of her noises in his mouth, and presses her forward with his hips, thrusting deeper again and again, feeling Zoya's moans as vibrations against his chest and in his mouth, and then he breaks, pleasure like lightning all over him, bucking into her and stopping as he spills and shudders, Zoya's name the only thing he can think or say.
And she just holds onto him, feeling him twitch deep inside her in the aftershocks, kissing him and running her hands up and down his back.
He doesn't collapse down on her; he carefully pulls out of her and lowers down, settling his body against hers and putting his face into her neck, over where he'd left a mark. He breathes. He feels her skin, everywhere they touch, feels her hands move over his spine and back up. He lets a few tears come and go, and Zoya hums and holds him tighter. "I'm here," she says again, and she feels him nod against her shoulder.
They stay that way until Zoya's leg starts to fall asleep, and she nudges Court. "Angela will be back," she says between kisses to his neck and cheek where she can reach. "We can get cleaned up and come back here."
Court nods again and moves to help her up, gets the damp sheet off the bed and onto the floor. Zoya goes into the ensuite and, after a moment, brings a damp towel to carefully wipe Court's face off, enjoying how his eyes close while she tends to him. She lays back down, watches as he wipes himself off (perfunctory) and then carefully tilts her hips up to wash any remaining stickiness away (attentive).
Tossing the towel on top of the sheet, Court joins her in bed and pulls her in, tucking her head under his chin and kissing her hair.
"You'll be careful?" She kisses his chest. "You said you'd be back."
"I will be. I promise." Court tightens his hold, briefly. "And you can contact me, I'll make sure you have the new numbers." He pauses to breathe her in. "And I'll be back as soon as I can."
Distantly, they hear the door open downstairs and Angela telling someone else that she was leaving in 15 minutes.
Court and Zoya spend 10 of those minutes basking, two of them getting dressed and going downstairs, two more hugging and repeating their promises, and the last 60 seconds, Court holds Zoya's face in his hands and takes her in before he smiles and steps out the door, toward the new mission.
On the plane, he sends Zoya his numbers via Signal. Thank you for today, he adds.
The next time I'll be coming with you. You can thank me in person then.