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“Are you going to bring us back from the brink of insanity?”
Silence.
And then, a guttural groan as he dropped his head the final distance, claiming her lips with an intensity that knocked all the breath out of her lungs.
Their bodies melded; they were one. And he was right. There was insanity in this, madness and despair, need and beautiful, breathtaking inevitability.
Chapter 7
EVERYTHING WAS THE SAME but different. Naked in his bed, she twisted as his hands ran over her flesh, lightly, hungrily, curiously, his body desperate for her, even when he was determined to go slowly, to draw this out. He remembered her body in incredible detail, but as he looked at her, touched her now, she was different. Her breasts were rounder, more full, her waist slim, with a scar from one side to the other, evidence of where their son had been plucked from her womb and into this world.
He kissed the edges of that fine, silvery line and she moaned, a noise he would never tire of hearing, a noise he had ached for, in the back of his mind, since he walked out of her flat three years earlier.
Her hands crept down, running over the flesh, so he kissed her fingertips. Even as he hated so much about her choice, even though he resented her for having made it, he couldn’t help but worship her body, the body that had grown and nourished their son, the body that had given Jack life.
He kissed his way across the scar and then pulled up on his elbows, his eyes meeting hers. Her cheeks were pink, flushed, her eyes fevered.
This was madness, utterly and completely, and yet he knew it was also essential. They had unfinished business, and until he’d got her out of his system, he wouldn’t be able to move forward.
Move forward?
And what exactly did that entail?
Fiero Montebello was a man of action, but he was also, always, a man of conviction. He had no idea what he wanted from Elodie.
Apologies?
To what end?
He dropped his mouth lower, his tongue brushing her sex so she bucked her hips, her hands moving lower on autopilot. He ignored them, running his tongue along her sensitive folds so she whimpered his name, just as he’d predicted she would.
Christo, he had no idea what he wanted, but suddenly making her beg for him to take her felt vitally important, as though forcing her to admit how much she wanted him would somehow atone for her sins, in a small way. Or maybe he was just petty. Maybe he wanted to punish her.
He ignored that thought.
It didn’t ultimately matter.
He wanted her. It made no sense. He wasn’t proud of it. But he had no intention of resisting her. Not this night, not now.
She must have fallen asleep. Her body felt heavy, languid. She stretched, and her back connected with something hard and warm, so she spun in the bed and startled, her eyes wide.
Fiero Montebello was beside her, watching her, his expression guarded, his features tense.
“What time is it?”
“Midnight.”
Her eyes swept shut. “I didn’t mean to sleep.”
His eyes roamed her face and she realised, belatedly, that she was naked.
Oh, God.
Memories of what they’d done flash
ed through her. His hands on her body, his body melded to hers in every way, her mouth shaping around his name, dragging over his flesh, crying for him, needing him.
“You were exhausted.”
