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“What…?” I lick my dry lips. “Did you confront them?”
His expression is pained. “Fran confessed about my mother. My mother admitted the truth.”
I can’t begin to imagine how difficult this must be for him. Maxime and his mother are close. “What’s going to happen to them?”
“You don’t have to worry about them.”
“Maxime.” I slip from his embrace. “Keeping it from me doesn’t help.”
He clenches his jaw. “My father banished my mother to Corsica. She can never come back to France.”
Oh, my God. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.” His eyes are harsh. “She deserved her fate.”
“What about Francine?”
He only looks at me.
“Tell me, Maxime. You promised me honesty.”
“She’s dead,” he says in flat voice.
I slam a hand over my mouth. “What? How?”
“She killed herself.”
Did she? My stomach flutters with a tremor. “How?”
“She drank her own poison.”
It sounds too much like punishment—an eye for an eye.
Cupping my cheek, he says, “Pack a bag. Take clothes for two days.”
The shock numbs me. I’m rooted to the spot. “Where are we going?”
“We’re staying in a hotel until I’ve had this place thoroughly cleaned.”
“We can do it.”
“No.” The word is a non-negotiable verdict. “I’m not taking any risks. Go now.” He gives me a little push toward the bedroom.
Acting on autopilot, I do as he says and pack hurriedly. We don’t take any toiletries, but buy new products on the way to the hotel. Maxime books us into the penthouse suite and puts the do not disturb sign on the door. The minute the door is locked, he pounces on me.
Grabbing my face in his hands, he kisses me like the world is about to end. The caress is rough. The pressure of his palms is hard. He bites my bottom lip and sucks it into his mouth before sweeping my tongue with his. Pouring fear and despair into the kiss, he claims my mouth without sparing me his violent emotions.
The kiss is too savage to enjoy, but arousal sparks in my body. God, how I’ve missed this. How I’ve missed being held and consumed. My body jumps right back to the past, to the ecstasy it remembers, seeking solace in the relief only he can give. No matter how many times I came on my own fingers, the release was never complete. There was always something missing.
Him.
I consume him right back, tangling my fingers in his thick hair and pressing our hips together. A low growl escapes his throat. Backing me up to the bed, he rips at my clothes. The front of my blouse falls open with the erotic sounds of silk ripping and buttons popping. The buttons bounce and run over the hardwood floor.
Maxime’s fumbles with the zipper at the back of my skirt. I pull his shirt from his pants and sigh into his mouth as I run my palms over the hard contours of his abs and the familiar destruction of his chest. Sucking in a sharp breath, he breaks the kiss and goes still. I love how sensitive he is to my touch. It’s the one thing he’s always been honest about.
I drag my hands over the flat disks of his nipples and back down his stomach to trace the deep line of the V that cuts to his hips. I slide my fingers over the metal and leather of his belt. Pressing my face to his neck, I inhale his spicy winter cologne. He hisses when I cup his erection. When I look back at his face, I catch him watching me with a molten gaze the color of melted steel as I outline the broad head with a finger through the fabric of his pants.
Unable to wait any longer, I unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. His cock is hard and hot in my palm, the velvet skin pulled tightly around his flesh. I squeeze, then stroke. He studies me with the intense attention of a predator as he lets me fondle him.
“You make me wild,” he says, gripping my skirt and bunching it up in his fists. “Be a good girl. Take off your panties for me.”
His wish is my command. In this, I don’t have a choice. I can only follow my body’s lead as it dictates my actions with a selfish need for fulfillment. Letting him go, I grip my thong and pull it down my legs while he looks on with savage hunger. When the underwear pools around my feet, he locks his hands around my waist and lifts me onto the bed.
Our urgency is too pressing for taking time to undress. My fingers fold around his thick, hard length, guiding him to my entrance. With his hands planted on the mattress next to my face, he parts me gently and slides home. The burn is familiar. So is the pleasure erupting in sensitive nerve endings. The rocking of his hips is a welcome rhythm, the only tune my body knows. There’s been no one but him. Like the words he vowed earlier, there will never be another. He’s all I have. Our union is broken and built on a shaky foundation, but it can’t hurt if I don’t pour my heart into it. It can only bring me closer to where I need to be, closer to coming.
