Читать книгу Modern Romance February Books 1-4 - Линн Грэхем, Maisey Yates - Страница 22
ОглавлениеGABRIELLA AVOIDED HIM for the entire plane ride. He supposed he couldn’t blame her. He didn’t know what he had been thinking. Confessing those things to her. Saying those words to a virgin.
To a woman that he could never touch. Not any more than he already had.
So, he had allowed her to avoid him. On the plane, then again in the car as she had stared out the window, gazing at the unfamiliar city skyline. And he had watched her reflection in the window, uncaring about the buildings that had become so familiar and mundane to him. New York City failed to enthrall him. What fascinated him was seeing them through her eyes. Wide and glistening as she took in everything around her, her mouth open slightly. Her lips looked so soft. He would give a good portion of his fortune to kiss them again.
He continued to think about her lips as they arrived at his penthouse in Manhattan. Normally, after this much time away from work he would go directly into his home office and set about catching up. But tonight... Tonight it simply didn’t appeal.
The first thing he did when they arrived was set the painting up in the living room, taking a step back and looking at it for the first time since they had taken it from Isolo D’Oro.
“It’s beautiful,” Gabriella said, looking around the space, then at the painting. “All of this. I can’t quite believe that I’m here.”
“Yes,” he said in agreement. But he didn’t mean the view or his penthouse were beautiful. He meant her. Always her.
So then he looked at the painting to avoid looking at her. Close study of Gabriella’s features could only lead to ruin. He had been so taken with the woman in the painting upon first viewing that he hadn’t noticed much of the surrounding objects. For the first time he noticed that everything on the table of the vanity was painted in loving detail. That it was all very purposeful. The woman was wearing a necklace, the reflection of which could barely be seen in the mirror. Emeralds, and white diamonds. On her finger, almost entirely concealed by the tumbling locks of her dark hair, he could just make out the hint of a ring. There was a box, ornate and beautiful, certain to contain more jewelry. A tiara, set next to a beautiful bracelet. His breath caught, and he took a step closer. There was a book set on the vanity, as well.
That meant...
He moved closer still, scanning the surface of the table. Yes. There they were. A small pair of earrings.
“The Lost Mistresses,” he said.
“What?” Gabriella asked.
“This is all of them. The artifacts my grandfather sent us after. They are all in this painting. The painting is the last one.”
He turned to look at Gabriella. She was staring at him, her dark eyes wide. “What does that mean?”
“It means that I don’t think you’re being fanciful when you thought there might be a deeper link between our grandparents.”
“But the painting... It was by someone called Bartolo.”
“I know. But there is something. At one time your grandmother was in possession of every one of these objects. They were the dearest things to my grandfather’s heart at another time.”
“Alex...”
At that moment, Alex’s phone rang. It was his half brother, Nate. Things were better between the two of them in recent years, but they had never been close. It surprised him that the other man would call him for anything.
“I have to get this.”
* * *
Gabriella watched Alex as he paced out of the room, his phone pressed to his ear. It was strange to be here. In his house with him. Not domestic—because she doubted anything with Alex could ever feel domestic—but intimate. Of course, he hadn’t stayed in the room with her to take his phone call. A stark reminder that they didn’t really share much about their lives.
She looked back at the painting, looking closely this time at the objects in it. Alex’s grandfather was Giovanni Di Sione. As far as she knew he had no connection to the royal family. No connection to Isolo D’Oro. If not for this painting... On its own it was coincidental. Combined with these other objects...
Alex came back out of the room he had just gone into, his dark jacket on, his expression purposeful. “I have to go out. I will be back as soon as possible. You can help yourself to any of the food in the fridge. Or any of the alcohol.”
“You don’t have a library. What am I supposed to do?” She was only half teasing.
“You’ll have to watch a movie, cara mia.”
She did her best to keep busy while Alex was gone. But one hour turned into two, which turned into three. Then four. Before she knew it she was dozing on the couch, feeling rather sulky, and a little bit concerned. She should have asked him for his mobile number. So she could at least make sure he wasn’t lying dead in an alley somewhere.
And once that thought was in her mind, she couldn’t shake it.
Surely Alex was dead in an alley. Or if not dead, perilously close to bleeding out onto the cracked concrete sidewalk.
The idea made her stomach hurt. It was also ridiculous. Still, now that it had taken root, there it was.
She walked across the expansive living area and opened one of the bedroom doors to reveal a large bed with a black bedspread. She frowned. Not quite sure which room belonged to Alex. She opened the door next to it and saw another bed that looked almost exactly the same.
She let out an exasperated sigh and walked deeper into that room, letting her fingertips trail over the lush bedding. She was tired. She hadn’t unpacked any of her things since she wasn’t sure which room she would be staying in. She had changed into her sweats to get a bit more comfortable but she wasn’t going to go hunting for her pajamas.
She sat on the edge of the bed, bouncing slightly on the mattress before lying back. She looked over at the clock, the glowing blue numbers showing that it was well after midnight.
She suddenly had a thought that was even more disturbing than the idea of Alex dying in an alley. Maybe he was out with a woman. Why else would he stay out all night? If the issue wasn’t that he couldn’t make it home, then he wasn’t here because he didn’t want to be home.
The only reason she could think that a man would want to stay out all night was if he was with a woman.
He might be doing the things with her that he wouldn’t do with Gabriella. Acting out those words he’d said to her, so deeply erotic. As if he’d woven a fantasy together that was spun with a desire called up from the very depths of her soul. Desire not even she had realized she possessed.
She hated whoever the other woman was. A woman who would—even for a night—capture all of Alex’s attention. Not just a piece of him.
Not just his smile, or the glint in his eye. Not just his rough, perfect voice, or promises he could never keep. But his body. No barriers between them.
She would touch him everywhere, this mystery woman. Her hands beneath his clothes, learning secrets about him Gabriella would never, ever know.
She burned. She didn’t know that jealousy would burn from the inside out. Scalding her. Making her feel raw and restless and angry. She had never been jealous before.
There had never been a man before.
She had been too busy burying herself in dusty books. Wrapping herself in a blanket of safety, insulated by the shelves of her library. By the family estate.
Protecting herself from more rejection.
What she’d said to him had been true. Her own parents didn’t truly want her. Didn’t really choose her. It was difficult to believe that anyone else would. She was invisible. That was the best case scenario. The worst was that she was in the way.
She swallowed hard, closing her eyes tight and curling her knees up to her chest.
The next thing she knew, she heard heavy footsteps coming into the room. Her eyes snapped open, locking onto the clock. It was after three now.
She was on her back, moving into a sitting position. “Alex?” she asked, her heart thundering heavily.
“Gabriella?” Her name sounded strange on his lips. As though he were convinced she was some sort of apparition.
“Yes. Is this your room? I should have investigated further, but I...” Didn’t want to. She couldn’t very well finish that sentence.
Couldn’t tell him that a part of her had been hoping this was his room. That she would encounter him later.
Shortsighted. As well as a little bit creepy. Shortsighted mainly because she was still wearing her sweats, which was hardly the official uniform of seduction.
“You were asleep,” he said.
“Yes. I fell asleep waiting for you to come back. I thought maybe you were dead.” Her other concern hit her, cold and hard. Obviously he wasn’t dead, but he could very well still have been having sex. “Were you with a woman?”
He let out a heavy sigh and sat down on the edge of the bed. “No. Would it have bothered you if I was?”
“That’s a stupid question. Of course it would have.” She saw no point in playing coy. She was sleepy, and cranky, and a little bit gritty behind the eyelids. She was in no state to play coy.
He shifted his position, lying down beside her, and her breath caught. There was still a healthy expanse of mattress between them, but still. “It was my brother. My half brother, Nate. I told you about Nate.”
“Yes, you did.”
“He found the ring. It has an inscription on it. B.A.”
“Bartolo,” she said.
“Probably. They are the same initials on the painting, Gabriella. They were his. She was his, just like your grandmother said. But it’s more than that. I know that my grandfather had to start over when he came to America. And I wonder just how completely the new beginning was.”
“You think he was my grandmother’s lover.” His suspicions mirrored her own. It made sense. There just didn’t seem to be another way someone could possess all of the same objects that appeared in the painting. More than that, it was her grandmother’s reaction to everything. The fact that she had seemed to want Giovanni to have the painting. “She knows,” Gabriella said. “She figured it out before we did.”
She thought back to the way that her grandmother had looked at Alex when he’d first come into the room at the estate in Aceena. “I bet you look like him,” she said. She couldn’t see him now; she was staring through the darkness, looking in his direction, barely able to make out his silhouette against the dark bedspread. “I mean, like he did.”
“I guess that’s why she let me take it in the end.”
“They loved each other. They couldn’t be together because she had to marry royalty. My grandfather.” Suddenly, her throat felt tight, painful. “The artist... Bartolo...he did love her very much. I know. You can see it. It must’ve killed him to part with those things.”
“Not quite. He’s still very much alive. For now. It wounded him to part with them. I wonder if he thinks seeing them will return some of his strengths.”
“It isn’t the objects he needs,” she said, her voice wistful.
“You are right.” He reached across the distance between them, drawing his fingertips slowly across her cheek. She closed her eyes, tried to fight the tears that were welling in them.
“It is a tragedy, Alex. To think of that. Just think of how much they loved each other all those years...”
She could see her life suddenly, stretching before her. Bleak and lonely. She realized that she could never marry a man who didn’t incite fantasy in her. Down to her very core. That she couldn’t possibly ever marry a man who understood art the way she did, or appreciated books, or had a library. That she couldn’t marry a man who was closer to her age and experience or didn’t think of her as an owl. Because that man wouldn’t be Alex.
It was Alex for her. Now and always. Forever.
She realized now that maybe she had not been protecting herself so much as waiting for this. For him. For the kind of desire that reached down deep and took over your soul. For the kind of desire that went well beyond common sense. The kind that didn’t care if heartbreak lay down the road. Even if it was a short distance away.
She thought of the way her grandmother had spoken of Giovanni—because she was certain that Giovanni and Bartolo were one and the same—of the fact that no matter the heartbreak she could never regret their time together, and it made her tremble. She wasn’t certain if she was that strong. To grab hold of an experience while giving no thought to the pain that the consequences might cause.
It was the kind of thing she had been avoiding all of her life. Being like her parents.
But they don’t do anything because of love. It’s because of selfishness.
Her chest felt like it had cracked open. Of course. That was the difference. Action was always empty, dry, when there was no love. There had been a time when her mother had kissed her good-night before going off to a party, but the gesture had been empty. And the proof was in the fact that now that Gabriella was an adult neither of her parents ever spoke to her. Those goodnight kisses could not be a happy memory, not now that she could see them so clearly for what they were. The proper motions that her parents went through in order to salve what little conscience they had.
This...this had nothing to do with going through the motions. Had nothing to do with doing the right thing. It was just...need.
Alex was a man so far removed from the world. Everything in it seemed to move around him. And he seemed to exist in it untouched.
She wanted to touch him. Not just his skin, but beneath it. She wanted to reach him down deep where his heart beat. Wanted to heat him from the inside out, warm his blood, his soul.
Mostly, she just wanted everything he had promised her back in the library. When they parted, the wound would linger. No matter what happened now. If he was going to leave a scar, she wanted it to be such a scar. So deep, so affecting, it would never heal.
She inched toward him, reaching out and placing her hand over his cheek, mirroring his action.
“Gabriella,” he said, his voice a growl, warning.
She didn’t listen to it.
She leaned forward, claiming his mouth with hers, kissing him as though she had a right to do it. As though she knew how.
She knew that he would recognize her limited technique, because she had learned it from him. It was all she knew. So when she traced the seam of his lips with her tongue, she was keenly aware of the fact that she was plagiarizing his earlier kiss. But if he was aware of it, he didn’t show it. He was still beneath her touch, completely motionless. But he hadn’t pushed her away.
They parted, her hand still resting on his cheek. She could hear ragged breathing filling the space between them, but couldn’t tell if it was his or hers. Both.
“Gabriella,” he said again, “you have no idea what you’re asking for. No idea what you’re doing.”
She pressed her forehead to his, the tips of their noses touching. “I want to make love. I know what that is, Alex. Sex. I’ve never wanted it before. Not in a specific sense. But I do now.”
“I can’t offer you anything. I won’t make you any promises, because I will only break them.”
“Maybe.”
“Certainly.”
“Well, tomorrow the sky could fall, or I could get hit by a bus—”
“It won’t, and you won’t.”
“You don’t know that. We don’t know anything beyond right now. I saw my grandmother’s face. I know there was a lot that she regretted. But I don’t think she ever regretted being with Bartolo.” She knew that these words were tantamount to admitting that she felt more for him than simple attraction, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.
“I am the worst of sinners. I condemned my half brother to a life lived outside of the family. It was me who stood in his way. Made him feel like he could never be close to us. He told me that tonight. It is on me, Gabriella.”
“Alex—”
“I carry the blood of my father. Weak selfishness that I’ve worked a very long time to overcome. So believe me when I tell you I will regret nothing of what happened here tonight. My nobility is nothing more than a construct. There is no conviction behind it. But you, Gabriella, you, I fear will regret this.”
“Maybe. Tomorrow. But not now. And the only thing we have for sure is now.”
A feral sound rumbled low in his chest and he shifted positions so that he was over her, his arms braced on either side of her shoulders.
She locked her leg over the back of his calf, an action designed to hold him prisoner even though she knew it wouldn’t be truly effective. Still, she wanted him to know that she wanted him here. Desperately.
“Alex,” she said, his name a prayer on her lips. She bracketed his face with her hands, looking at him, trying to see what he was thinking, even through the darkness. “Don’t you know how much I want you?”
He tensed, pulling away from her slightly. Her heart hammered hard in her chest, clawing at her like a small beast.
“Alex,” she said his name again, ready to beg him if she needed to.
He flicked on the light. The way it illuminated his face cast the hollows of his cheekbones into darkness, adding a tortured quality to his features.
“If I’m going to sin, then I’m going to do it with my eyes open,” he said. “If I’m going to have you, then I’m going to look at you while I do it.”
She breathed a sigh of relief, sliding her hands around to the back of his neck, holding him to her. “I’m glad.”
“You won’t be. Gabriella, I am too old for you, too jaded, too tired. I can offer you nothing. It’s a strange thing to realize that. I am a billionaire. I have more money than I could ever spend in a lifetime. I have all of these things. And for a great many years that has been good enough. I have had whoever I wanted in my life when I wanted them. I have had ultimate control over my own reputation. Wielding it like a sword when I needed to. But none of that helps me here. None of that helps with you. It is...insufficient, and I am a man who is not used to falling short.”
“You have yourself. That’s all I have to offer. That has to be enough.”
“Tonight it will be.”
Alex lowered his head, kissing her deeper, harder, than he had before. A restless groove in the pit of her stomach spread through her entire body. Like a creeping vine that took over everything in its path. Winding itself around her limbs, around her throat, making it impossible for her to breathe. Binding her to Alex in a way that was so intense, so permanent, she knew that parting from him would be so much more painful than she’d imagined it would be.
But she wouldn’t stop. Even knowing that, she wouldn’t stop.
This time, he did not keep his hands still. He did not simply press his palm to her stomach. He let himself explore her body, his fingertips skimming her breasts before he took one firmly in hand, sliding his thumb over one hardened nipple. She gasped, arching against him, her entire body alive with sensation.
“This is a gift I don’t deserve,” he said, his tone fractured and reverent.
She couldn’t speak, but if she could, she would have told him that she was the one receiving a gift. So many lonely, isolated years. So much hollowness inside of her. She had hidden herself away to avoid being hurt again. To avoid more rejection. The neglect of her parents had been enough. And when she went out, she put on a mask. She didn’t let anyone see both parts of herself. Princess Gabriella never messed with Gabriella as she was day to day. She didn’t give anyone the chance to reject who she really was. But Alex had it all. Held it all in the palm of his hand as surely as he held her body. And he was here. He was touching her. Pouring out all of this attention, all of this care, onto her.
It was so beautiful she could barely breathe.
He pushed her shirt up over her head, baring her breasts to him. She had taken her bra off when she had put her sweats on, and now she was relieved. One less barrier between the two of them. She didn’t want anything standing between them. Didn’t want any walls up whatsoever. She wanted to give him everything—her body, her soul—and no matter how foolish she knew it was, she couldn’t stop that desire that roared through her like an untamed animal.
It would end in heartbreak. It would end in destruction.
But when she was old, she would look back and she would have this moment. She would have Alex. And she knew without a doubt that giving in to pure, true love was something she would never regret.
She had no idea how this moment had happened. How this woman in this bed, in this man’s arms, was the same woman she had been only a week ago.
She was changed. She was new. Already, he had changed the world for her. Lifted the veil so that she could see the colors more clearly, feel pleasure more keenly, feel desire sharp like a knife’s blade sliding over her skin.
It was painful, incandescent and magical all at once.
He made quick work of her sweatpants and underwear, leaving her completely bare to him, his dark gaze filled with hunger, a desire that couldn’t be denied, as he took in the sight of her body.
“Gabby,” he said, her name a whispered prayer. “I never thought I appreciated art. But this... You. You are every bit of beauty a painter has ever tried to capture onto canvas. The fields, the mountains, all of the smooth female skin that has ever been painted in an attempt to show some of the glory that is here on this earth. They fall short. It all falls short of you.”
Her heart felt so full she thought it might burst. How was this real? How was this man saying these things to her?
It was inconceivable that she might be enough for this man.
That he was afraid that he might not be enough for her. That he was apologizing for the lack of what he had to give.
It didn’t make sense. It didn’t make sense at all.
But she reveled in it. Accepted it. Took it as her due for so many years of feeling like she was less than.
“I need to see you,” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper she barely recognized.
“Not yet,” he said. “Not yet.”
He lowered his head, kissing her neck, kissing a trail along her collarbone, and down to the swell of her breasts. Then he shifted, taking her nipple into his mouth, sucking it in deep before tracing it with the tip of his tongue. The pleasure that sparked along her veins was shocking, white-hot and almost terrifying in its intensity. There was so much more to making love than a simple caress, and still, this had nearly burned her to the ground. How would she survive at all?
She wouldn’t. Not the same.
Nothing passed through the fire and came out the same. But at this point, she didn’t want to. She wanted to be changed. By him. Irrevocably, eternally.
He continued his exploration, peppering kisses over her stomach, encircling her belly button with the soft stroke of his tongue before traveling downward. “You see, cara mia, were I to take my clothes off, I would not be able to resist sinking inside of you. And you deserve more than that. You deserve for me to take my time. As I told you in the library, once I’m very deep within you I will not be able to hold myself back. And so, your pleasure must come first. Now.”
He gripped her hips, drawing her toward his mouth, her thighs spread wide as he pressed his lips to the center of her need. A short, shocked scream escaped her mouth as he lavished attention on that sensitive bundle of nerves with his tongue, as he tasted her, slowly, deeply. He shifted again, pressing his finger against the entrance of her body as he continued to lavish pleasure on her with his mouth. The invasion was foreign, but it felt good.
He added a second finger, stretching her slightly this time, the vague painful sensation drawing her out of her reverie, but only for a moment.
Before long she grew accustomed to that, pleasure mounting inside of her again as he established a steady rhythm, working his hands and tongue in time with each other. She felt need, tension, gathering in the pit of her stomach like a ball of electricity, scattering outward, sending shocks along her system as it continued to build an intensity. So hot, so bright, she felt like she might burst with it.
And it did burst. Rolling over her in waves unending, unfathomable in its depth. She gripped the bed covers, trying to use something to root her to the earth, anything. Because without it, she feared that she would lose hold of herself entirely.
He rose up above her, kissing her deeply, her own desire a musky flavor on his tongue. “Are you all right?” he asked, his chest rising and falling with the effort it took for him to breathe.
“Yes. More than all right. I’m... Alex, I didn’t know it was like this.”
“What did you think it would be?” His words slurred as though he were drunk.
“I didn’t know. Because I didn’t know it would be you.”
“Does it matter so much that it’s me?” She sensed a rawness behind that question, a vulnerability.
“That’s the only thing that matters.”
He growled, kissing her again as she grabbed hold of the edge of his button-up shirt, undoing the buttons as quickly as possible. She spread her hands over that broad expanse of chest. His hard muscles...that perfect sprinkling of chest hair that reminded her just how much of a man he was. How different they were. It was heaven to touch him like this. To finally have the promise of that glorious body fulfilled, in her hands. She pushed the shirt from his shoulders and threw it over the side of the bed, running her hands down his back, exploring the intricate musculature there. She parted her thighs, arching against him, feeling the evidence of his arousal against where she was wet and aching for him already. She should be satisfied, after what he had just done for her. She found she was far from it.
“I need you. How can I need you this badly after all of that?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“I would tell you that’s sex, cara. I would tell you that’s desire. But it is not sex or desire in any way that I know it. I do not shake for want of being inside of a woman. You make me shake. You make me feel as though I won’t be able to breathe until I have you. Until I’m joined to you. What witchcraft is that, Gabriella? You must tell me.”
“How can I? I’m just a virgin. You are supposed to be wise. You’re supposed to be the one teaching me.”
“How can I? When I feel you have so much to teach me.” He kissed her gently as his hands moved to his belt. She could hear him undoing the buckle slowly and a shiver of anticipation ran through her. She helped him push his pants and underwear down his narrow hips and he sent them over the side of the bed to join the rest of their clothes. She could feel him, feel his hot hard length, pressed against her heat.
“I want to see you,” she said, her voice husky, unrecognizable to her own ears. “I’ve never seen a naked man before.”
He straightened, a dull slash of red coloring his cheekbones. “So many honors I don’t deserve, Princess.”
He sounded tortured, and at any other time she might have felt sorry for him, or wondered why. But not now. How could she feel sorry for him when she was too busy exulting in this triumph for herself?
He was perfect. Masculine beauty depicted in sculpture could never have prepared her for Alex.
Marble was cold, lifeless. It might show the shape of a man, but it didn’t show the vitality. His life, his strength. It was everything and more. His broad shoulders, perfectly defined chest and washboard stomach, bisected by a line of hair that ran down to his very evident desire was enough to take a breath away.
He was so very...large. Thick. Part of her was made nervous by that, the other part marveled at the glory that was in front of her. The glory that would be hers.
“You’re right,” she said, her words hushed.
“About what?”
“You are in possession of very rampant masculinity.”
He laughed, the sound tortured. “I only hope that it isn’t too rampant for you.”
“It’s just perfect for me. How can it be anything else?”
He dropped forward on his knees, between her thighs, his hands on her shoulders. She looked up at him, her heart pounding heavily.
“You’re beautiful,” she said.
“And you are more than I deserve,” he said, kissing her, wrapping his arm around her waist and drawing her body hard up against his as he pressed the head of his arousal against the entrance to her body.
She winced slightly, bracing herself for his invasion. It hurt. But she wanted it. There was no question. Even as he pressed forward, and she stretched around him, trembling as he joined their bodies together, she didn’t want anything else but this. It was desire so perfectly and beautifully realized, the fulfillment of fantasy. Not because it brought pleasure. But because she was joined to him. Because they were one. Even though it hurt.
And when he thrust deep within, completing their joining, there was no pleasure to be found at all. Not in the physical sense.
But her soul felt alive. Complete. For the first time.
And as the pain slowly began to fade and the pleasure began to build again, she felt so full with it that she could scarcely breathe.
Desire was a wild, needy thing inside of her. She wanted it to be satisfied. Needed it to be satisfied. And yet at the same time she wanted this to go on forever. Wanted to prolong the moment where she would reach her peak. Because once that happened it was the end. Of this perfect moment where they were joined. Connected. Where they were one with each other. The desire to cling to him, to cling to this, was doing battle with the desire to find completion. Ferocious, intense. She didn’t know which one would win. Didn’t know which one she wanted to win.
“Gabby,” he said her name. Just her name.
Gabby would always belong to him. Only to him. The very idea of someone else saying it made her ill.
His teeth scraped the edge of her collarbone, the small slice of pain mingling with the pleasure, drawing her back to earth, making her feel so acutely aware of everything. So perfectly in tune with her body, and his.
She could feel his building pleasure along with hers. Could feel how close to the edge he was as his muscles tensed, as his control frayed.
She opened her eyes, determined to watch his face. Determined to watch this man who was everything she was not. Hardened, masculine beauty. Experienced. World-weary. She would watch him as he felt the same thing she did. As they experienced this storm of pleasure on the same level. It reduced them, this desperation, reduced them down to their souls. To ravenous, needy things that had nothing beyond this moment, this common need.
It was how Princess Gabriella D’Oro, recent virgin and definite bookworm, met with Alessandro Di Sione, rumored fearsome monster and a man who claimed to have a hardened heart. How they not only met, but understood each other. Spoke in perfect words that each other alone could understand. How had she ever thought they were different? How had she ever looked at him and seen a gulf they couldn’t bridge? They had. She was closer to him now, in this moment, than she had ever been to another person in her life.
It was powerful, fearsome, awe-inspiring. These needs that only the other could meet. That only the other could inspire. A hunger only he could arouse and satisfy.
“Alex,” she said, arching against him, the source of her pleasure meeting his heart and body as he thrust deep within her. A shower of sparks rained over her, pleasure breaking over her like an electrical storm, flashes of light blinding brilliance behind her eyes. She closed them, but only for a moment. Then she forced them open again, watched his face as he, too, gave himself over to this thing between them. She watched as that face, that face that could have been carved from granite, softened, the lines on his forehead shifting, a look of pure pain and desperation contorting his features as he growled his release, his entire body trembling as he spilled himself deep inside of her. She held him, as pleasure continued to rack his frame, as aftershocks kept moving through her in an endless wave.
They were connected in this. This pleasure. This moment.
And when it was over they simply lay there, entwined in each other. Breathing together.
She knew that Alex would feel regret later. Because no matter what he said he wasn’t a monster. She had to wonder why he was so desperate to convince not only others, but himself, of the fact that he was.
She knew it came down to his fear that he would become like his father. She knew enough about him to understand that. But she also knew him well enough to understand it would never be him.
He had made some mistakes in his life with his family, but he had been a young man. Barely more than a boy. She had made far fewer mistakes. If only because she interacted with less people. Life wasn’t as difficult when you hid from it.
He looked at himself and saw nothing but a potential monster and he was dedicated to forcing others to see the same.
She knew better.
He was so dry. So funny and brilliant. He cared. Very deeply. For her, for everyone else around him. He pretended he didn’t. The way he looked after his grandfather, the pain that laced his voice when he spoke of his half brother and his past treatment of him, the way he had taken such great care with her, told an entirely different story than the narrative Alex had spent so many years carefully constructing.
He had only given when she had pushed. And both passed the point of resistance. He had never pressured her for anything, and she knew without a doubt that he never would have.
He was a hero in her eyes and yet he insisted on casting himself as the villain.
She wished, more than anything, that he could see himself through her eyes. That he could see himself clearly. She would make it her mission to change his thoughts on himself. She would.
No, it wouldn’t change in a moment. No matter how much she might want to. She was going to have to show him, over time. Show him the man he really was. But in order to do that she would have to stay with him. Leave Aceena. Convince him to attempt to make some kind of relationship with her. He had arrangements with women, he had said as much. Why couldn’t he have one with her?
Eventually...he would have to see that they were good together. Her thoughts were spinning, her entire body humming. There was so much going on in her brain. But she had never been good at letting things rest. She was always trying to solve the problem. Always trying to get down to the truth. To figure out the source of the problem so that she could stamp it out.
Unfortunately, there was no history book she could look at to conduct a simple study on Alex.
She would have to study him in person. Not a hardship, really.
“You’re very quiet,” he said.
“Thinking,” she said honestly.
“About?”
She bit her lip. She could hardly tell him that she was plotting ways to convince him to love not only her, but himself.
“You’re very good in bed,” she said, rather than telling him the exact thoughts that were on her mind. That was what her body was thinking about, anyway. “Granted, I have no one else to compare to, but I can’t imagine there are very many men who exceed your skill.”
“It isn’t about skill, Gabby.” He brushed her hair out of her face, his body still entwined with hers. “This is chemistry.”
A burst of warmth fired up in her heart, then fizzled out just as quickly. It was more than that. For her, it was so much more than that.
She would show him. She would find a way. After a lifetime spent hiding away she knew one thing for certain. After standing in the light with Alex, she would never retreat back into the shadows.
