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“Then let me tell you,” he said, pulling me closer so he could murmur in my ear. “Love is sending someone away, because you would rather hurt than hurt them, Love is fighting beside them, bleeding along with them, and putting their well-being above your own. Love is trembling at their touch so much that you do not notice that they are trembling at yours.”
“I’m not trembling.”
“I am,” he whispered, and kissed me.
I kissed him back, because I didn’t know what else to do. I never had. From the first time I met him, the only way I’d ever found to deal with him was, well, this.
And it worked pretty well, because he immediately deepened the kiss, one hand sliding under my hair, one remaining on my thigh, gliding up and down the silky fabric. Okay, make that really, really well, and God, this wasn’t helping, I thought, biting his lower lip. I was supposed to be pushing him away, not trying to climb down his throat!
Then he groaned and did that thing, that slide-his-hands-down-my-back-to-grip-my-ass thing, and—
What the hell; this fight wasn’t going anywhere anyway.
“I never felt fear like when I saw you fall,” he murmured, when I paused for breath. “And didn’t know if I would be fast enough to reach you—”
“It doesn’t matter now.”
“It does.” He caught my hand, which had gone exploring under that sweater. “I know you don’t want me here tonight—I knew before I came.”
“Okay.” I started working on the jeans, which wasn’t as easy as you’d think left-handed.
“You’ve been independent for so long, it’s all yo
u know. I was like that, too. I understand.”
“Great. Good to know.” The jeans were too tight, especially with him sitting down, and then there was the problem of the damned jumpsuit.
“Can you understand why I couldn’t not come?”
“Can you just shut up and fuck me?” I gritted out, wishing Radu had sent a dress. Some short little thing that would be easier to—
Screw it.
The jumpsuit ended up on the floor, and I ended up back on his lap, and, oh yeah, that was better, that was perfect.
Damn, I loved the theatre!
Hard hands gripped me, moving over me while also trying to get him out of his own clothes. Which wasn’t easy in a chair that wasn’t built for two and also had a squeaky spring somewhere inside that was advertising the preshow, not that anybody could see. We were in the top row of boxes, so pretty high up, and the front of the box was fairly tall, and there were no seats on the left of us, where the curtain remained open. Just the stage where some musicians were warming up, but they were in the pit far below.
Squeak, squeak, squeak. Louis-Cesare growled something profane, I laughed, and he rolled us onto the floor.
And, okay, yeah. Better, especially since I’d ended up on top. There was plenty of room in front of the first row of chairs, the plush carpet looked clean, and the dim light filtering in from the theatre was just enough to see by. Ten/ten, would fuck again, I thought, and pulled his sweater off.
And stopped halfway, because he’d just caught something in his mouth.
In fairness, it had been swinging in his face, so.
Callused hands slid up my back, pulling me down as he started to suck, sending shivers throughout my body. I didn’t have his sweater all the way off. It still trapped his arms, which was nice, which was perfect, I decided.
“You can’t get away now,” I told him.
I don’t recall trying.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
Mental communication was new to me, mental laughter even more so. And strangely intimate, because I couldn’t usually do it with anyone but him. And because it was still echoing in my head when he slid into me.
He was hot and hard and long and thick and gah! I came almost instantly, vibrating before he even started thrusting, with little explosions going off behind my eyes. Like my body had been waiting for this forever; like our whole relationship had been foreplay.
