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She cupped his cheek and brushed her thumb across his skin affectionately. “Christopher. If you come, can I make you do it again?” She wished she didn’t have to ask, but she didn’t know enough about these things and she couldn’t think of how else to reassure him, if that was indeed his concern.

His eyes looked glassy and were fixed somewhere over her right shoulder.

“My love. Will you talk to me?” Sofia asked.

He blinked as if waking up from an unpleasant dream. “No. I don’t want to talk about this.” His words were clipped, and he stepped away from her to bend and retrieve his towel.

She caught his wrist and tugged him back to stand.

“That is too bad because we are going to talk about it.” She could hear the edge to her voice and tried to modulate the peevish pitch.

“Not now, Sofi. I need a moment.”

“Yes now. Stop acting like a petulant child.” She released a string of Italian, ending her tirade with a stomp of her foot.

He raised his eyebrows, and she saw a flicker of the man she adored peeking his way back into the conversation.

Sofia reached for his hands, lacing them with her own. “If you come before …” she began again.

He snapped his hands away. “I don’t know. I don’t know, blast it!” He took a fortifying breath but did not reach for her again. “And at this juncture, it’s a moot point. He gestured to his cock which had indeed lost a degree of its enthusiasm. “Please let me have a towel. I am embarrassed enough as it is.”

She sighed and capitulated, reaching for the discarded towelling and holding it out between her fingers.

He made short work of wrapping it around his body, then ran a hand through his hair. A long, uncomfortable moment passed between them where neither seemed to know what came next.

“You should go to bed, Sofi. It’s late. I’m going to take a walk.”

“Please don’t go.” She lunged, grabbing his wrist. “You’re being too hard on yourself. Putting too much pressure on yourself.”

“At least something’s hard,” he muttered.

She wanted to agree that he should leave so that when he did it wouldn’t hurt so much. So she could tell herself that it was what she wanted anyway, that she’d told him to do it. But she bit back the words that would have come so easily to her only months ago. He wasn’t her papa. Or her mother. Or her brother. He was Christopher, and she had to believe that if she asked him to stay—if she asked him to hold her—he would.

It was the simplest request, but it required more courage than she had ever mustered.

“Stay. Stay and hold me then. Please don’t go.”

He softened immediately. His eyes, brooding and distant just moments before, warmed into a deep, affectionate grey. In two sweeping steps, she was crushed against him, his cheek resting on her head. “Of course I’ll stay. Of course I will. And we’ll talk. I’ll talk. We’ll work it out. I’m sorry I was an arse.” The tumble of words continued. “Of course I will hold you. Christ, I need you to hold me. I hate this. I wanted it to be perfect and ever since the last time …” He sighed and kissed the top of her head. “Come on, let’s go to bed and talk.”

Thirty-One

She followed him silently, then climbed, still naked, into the enormous bed. They found one another beneath the blankets, and he pulled her close to rest her head on his shoulder.

Christopher stroked her back beneath the covers and she began to relax. “You asked if I can climax again if I …” He stammered. “I honestly don’t know, Sofi. But if I came before and then I tried again and I couldn’t …” He stared up at the ceiling and sighed. “If I was twenty, I’ve no doubt I’d be up again before you were ready for me, but that’s not the case. I’m nearly thirty-seven and this isn’t a problem I’ve experienced since I was an untried young man.”

She listened to him intently, then took her time considering her response.

“If you didn’t fight so hard to hold back and you climaxed whenever it happened, you could find other ways to bring me pleasure. I’ve enjoyed all the other times. So much. And even if that was the end of our evening, so to speak, we’d just try again another time.”

His hand stilled.

“Would that be so bad?” She hated the weakness in her voice. The uncertainty in its quiver.

“Yes, Sofi. It would. It would be bloody terrible.” He sounded exhausted.

She sat up on her elbow and looked down at him. “How? Why? Help me understand.”

Swiftly, he raised his hands up to cradle her jaw, then twined his fingers into her hair, pulling her forehead down to press against his. “Because I need to be inside of you,” he growled. “My God, can you not understand how desperately, how fucking madly I need to …” He grumbled a series of expletives. “I need you. It’s not about orgasm. I could get off in twenty different ways, and I could get you off in twenty more.”