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His hand slipped down her belly, into the curls between her thighs, into the heat between her thighs, and found her clitoris.
Ivy moaned with pleasure and arched against his fingers.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please.”
“Please, what?” he said, and the thickness in his voice added to her excitement.
“Please,” she sighed, “make love to me again.”
He kissed her mouth. Kissed her belly. Parted her thighs and put his mouth to her and the first touch of his tongue sent her flying.
And then he was inside her, deep inside her, and she was lost. He said her name and she disintegrated into a million, billion pieces that flew to the far ends of the universe…
And knew the truth.
She had fallen in love with the complicated, impossible, wonderful man in her arms.
She lay beneath him, arms wrapped around him, his weight bearing her down into the mattress, his heart racing against hers, his skin damp from their lovemaking.
Until this moment even thinking about those things—a man’s body on hers, the thud of his heart, the scent of his sweat…Just imagining those things, remembering them, was enough to bring a dizzying wave of nausea.
But this was Damian.
And this was, as he’d promised, the difference between having sex and making love.
I love you, she thought, Damian, I love you…
Had she said the words? Was that why he was rolling away?
“Don’t go,” she said, before she could stop herself.
Damian’s arms closed around her. He drew her close to him, their faces inches apart.
“I’m not going anywhere, glyka mou,” he whispered. “I’m just too heavy to lie on top of you.”
“You’re not.”
He kissed her, his lips warm against hers.
“My sweet fraud,” he said softly.
It was a soft, teasing endearment. She knew that. Still, it hurt because she was a fraud.
She hadn’t told him about her past.
Hadn’t told him about his baby.
And she had to tell him. He had to know. But when? When?
“You’re trembling.” Damian drew the comforter over them both. “Better?”
“Yes. Fine.”
“Mmm.” He grinned. “Indeed you were.” He gave her a long, tender kiss. “I was afraid I might hurt you, sweetheart. You were so tight.”
His voice was low and filled with concern. This was either the exact moment to tell him everything—or the exact moment not to.
How could she admit to her ugly past?
