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He was hers.
She lifted her head, meeting his gaze, glorying in the tortured expression etched across his handsome face. “You’re mine,” she said, her tone hard, possessive. Every bit of her meaning it, as deeply and truly as he had all the times he’d said it to her. And he had. From the beginning. This was beyond both of them. That he thought he could turn away from it, that he thought he could scare her away was laughable.
The only thing that scared her was a life without him in it.
He was her opposite in so many ways. Dark and dangerous. Jaded. Experienced. And yet...they were the same.
In their souls, they were the same.
She angled her head, dragging her tongue along the length of him, a feminine satisfaction rolling through her when she felt him shake, tremble.
She took him in deep, and she put every bit of her motion into it. There was so much. So much that she wanted him to understand. About himself. About her. About the two of them together.
She could stay on her knees like this in front of him forever, pleasuring him, making him feel good, and it wouldn’t be a sacrifice. Because every ounce of his pleasure echoed inside of her. Didn’t he know? Didn’t he understand?
Everything that he felt she was, he was for her.
She wrapped her hand around the base, stroking him as she continued to pleasure him with her mouth, as he began to lose hold of his control, his grip tightening in her hair as his hold on the world went slack.
It was back to that feeling. That there was just the two of them and nothing else mattered. She wished she could hold on to it forever. Even though she knew it wasn’t possible. The world would always be out there. The opinions on Diego’s past. The temptations and distractions that came with everyday life.
But here, in the bedroom, with nothing between them, they could get back to this. Back to each other. Back to themselves.
She was never more her than when she was naked with Diego inside of her.
He growled, hauling her to her feet. “Enough. I need you. All of you.”
“And you can have me. All of me.” Slowly, ever so slowly, she began to remove the dress that she was wearing. It was red, a much-bolder color than she usually favored, as typically, something so rich and intense washed out her already-pale features even more. But there had been something about this gown that had set Diego’s eyes alight, and she had wanted to hang on to that. Had wanted to pursue it. And now, she pushed the delicate straps down her arms, lowering the zip slowly. Grateful she had decided to forgo wearing a bra, only a pair of matching red lace panties remaining as she let the dress slide into a silken pool at her feet.
He looked hungry, and she wanted to be the thing that filled that need.
It was deeper than sex. She knew it. She wondered if he did. There was a hunger in his soul, the thing that responded when she placed her hands on him.
They had both been lonely for so long. So very, very lonely.
It was his turn now to drop to his knees, wrenching her panties down and parting her legs. She wobbled slightly on her high heels, and he gripped her tightly, clinging to her bottom as he pleasured her the way he had done that first night they’d been together. As he worshipped her, drawing her pleasure tight inside of her like a bowstring, making her feel as if he might snap her in half.
She didn’t know how long it went on. She simply lost herself in it. Not just the physical pleasure, but the intense, spiritual connection that came with it. That sense of her soul being wound around another person’s. They weren’t alone. They were together. Every intimate act, so deep and personal, would have been shocking to her if it had been with anyone else. But with him it was communion. With him, it was a deep exploration that went beyond bodies. It was necessary. The fulfillment of this aching emptiness she hadn’t fully realized had existed in her before her eyes met Diego’s across a crowded room at her father’s house.
He flicked his tongue cleverly, his fingers plunging deep inside of her, and that string broke. She gasped, clinging to him as she rode out her release, as he continued to eat into her while her pleasure pulsed on and on.
He was everything. This was everything.
And she knew without a shadow of a doubt what it was.
He believed in love. That some could give it, and some could never properly receive it. She knew that he thought it wasn’t for him. But it was. Because the love inside of her heart had been created just for this man in front of her. She had never believed in soul mates. A woman who was convinced of the fact that her father was going to select her husband could not afford to be sentimental about such things. But she believed in him. And he had changed everything she had imagined to be possible. He was her soul mate. It didn’t matter if it was a cliché. Not when it was true.
There was no other man she could love. And that meant there was no other man built to receive that love.
It occurred to her then that no matter what he called it, no matter what he felt in return, it would always feel like enough. Because giving him her love was what she was made for. Worshipping his body, being with him. Being the one whose touch calmed him... It fulfilled something in her.
Whatever he gave back would be enough. She would love if it could be everything. But the fact of the matter was, she knew that whatever it was, it would be everything he had to give. And because she had been made for him, it would be enough.
She bit her lip, trying to decide if her next move was the wisest one. Ultimately deciding she didn’t care at all. “I love you,” she said.
That fire in his dark eyes turned sharp, his expression going molten. “What?”
“I love you, Diego. I love you so much.” S
he dropped to her knees, so she was on the same level as him, and she kissed his lips, tasting him deeply, tasting the intimacy they had just shared on his mouth. “I love you.”
“No,” he said fiercely. “No.” He grabbed hold of her wrists and hauled them both to their feet. “Don’t say that again.”
“I love you,” she said.
“Don’t be like my mother,” he said, the words tortured. “Don’t love me.”
“You’re not afraid you’re going to hurt me. You’re afraid that I’m going to hurt you.”
He laughed, cold and hard. “How could I possibly be afraid of you? You are nothing but a waif. I can snap you in half with my hands.”
“But you don’t. You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.” His voice went rough. “I don’t know that.”
“You do. You know it. You’re not afraid you’re going to hurt me.”
“So confident in your feelings,” he said.
“I am confident in that. Because I know you. I do. I know us. Deep down in my soul, Diego, I know who you are. My soul recognizes yours.”
“My soul recognizes nothing but my own needs,” he said. “And what I need from you right now is not love.”
He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her up off the floor and carrying her back toward the bedroom. He undressed, his movements savage, filled with rage. But she knew it wasn’t at her. It was at himself. He set her down on the bed, his movements rough, his hands unsteady. “Turn over,” he bit out.
“What?”
“Do as I say, tesoro. If you want to please me, if you love me, then love me through this. Give me what I actually want. Not words. Your body. Can you love me then?”
It was a dare, and he expected her to fail here. Expected her to turn away.
But she saw him. Saw right through him.
And she would meet him, match him.
He wasn’t actually demanding submission as proof of love. He was asking that she prove she could handle his darkness. And he was betting she would not.
But she could.
She obeyed him, turning over onto her stomach, allowing those large, unsteady hands to position her so that she was up on her knees, a pillow propped up beneath her chest. He cupped her, sliding his fingers between her legs, pressing both inside her, testing her readiness. She cried out at the intrusion, feeling almost shameful excitement over the intensity of the moment.
