Alex just moans softly, and she trails her fingers through his hair, brushing along the nape of his neck. "Richard." His name is a whimper, soft and needful and as close to a prayer as Alex Reagan knows how to make right now. It's urgent and yearning, and places her heart inside of it, stripping bare any and all of the armor that was between them before.

Lifting her hips so that she can wiggle out of the hotel pajamas, Alex just reaches forward and slides his own pants down, her hand curling around him and cupping him with a long slow stroke before she kisses him again, even or more deeply.