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Her heart shifted gear, pounding against her ribs violently, cracking her with every throb.
“Why?”
“You don’t want this.”
She laughed despite the seriousness drumming around them. “Oh?”
His own smile was laced with mockery. “You want this, but not really. Not in here.” He pressed his finger to the side of her face, indicating her head.
She moved it slightly, turning to face him and drawing his finger into her mouth. The groaning noise he made was a sound of torture.
“Alessia.” He hissed her name from between his lips. “Stop.”
“I don’t want to stop.”
He was right. She knew he was right. Common sense was screeching through her, but it felt as though she were looking at it from beyond a veil. On this side of that veil, all she wanted was to obey her body.
Boundaries, something inside of her called. Remember the boundaries.
“It’s not as though we haven’t done this before,” she said quietly, rationalising it to herself and him.
“True.”
And to reassure him, more than herself, “It doesn’t mean anything, Max. I know that.”
His eyes swept shut, that same silent battle almost tearing him apart, but a very brief moment later he was slicing her with the intensity of his gaze and a second after that he was kissing her hard, hungrily, desperately, his hands roaming her body with fierce intention now, pushing the bra from her so his hands could cup her naked breasts, his own body hard against hers, against the awkward shape of her rounded belly. He stepped backwards, drawing her with him, pulling her to the bed that she’d sworn would be her sanctuary from this madness. She needed that sanctuary, didn’t she? A space that wasn’t totally dominated by him? A space that was safe from memories of what they could do to each other and how much she desperately wanted him?
“Your room,” she said urgently, changing their direction without breaking the kiss.
He did though, wrenching his head up to look down at her, the expression on his face showing disbelief. “Now?”
She nodded, pushing at his shirt, lifting it over his head while they were separated. “Now.”
He groaned but did as she said, pulling her with him, traversing the space to his own room with barely concealed impatience. What difference did it make which bed they used? He needed only to know she was his again, even though it was temporary, even though they might both wake to regret it.
A moment ago, Alessia had been feeling huge and inelegant but being made love to by Max totally destroyed those thoughts. In his bed and in his arms, she was delicate and precious, his large frame, his strength, his power, making her feel safe and cossetted. He kissed her as though she were the only woman on earth he had ever known, he pleasured her body as though it were his sole purpose in life, his lips tasting every square inch of her slowly at first, and then with more hunger, moving his tongue over her feminine core until she was almost weeping with sensual hunger before parting her legs and relieving that desperate ache between her legs, pushing into her hard and fast until she was crying his name out, her body exploding with the pleasure only he could give. Stars flew through her, welcoming her into some kind of cosmic surrealism where her body was no longer a body and her soul no longer a soul; she was simply a collection of solar dust, made possible by Max.
She didn’t know how long it lasted. Time no longer mattered. She knew only that he held her while her breathing was rushed and then while it slowed, back to normal, and that he held her while her eyes grew heavy and her mind foggy, as a delicious post-orgasm exhaustion claimed her.
He must have been doing it for a long time before he even realised. He was watching her sleep.
It made him smile, because it was such a stupid thing to do – something he’d never before done – that he deserved the self-mockery he aimed squarely at himself.
But he didn’t stop.
He couldn’t. His eyes were glued to her face in repose – a sight he’d been denied for too long, courtesy of her determination to abide their separate rooms, keeping him at as much of a distance as she was able.
A seed of doubt embedded itself in his belly. She wouldn’t want this. He should wake her, move her to her room, remind her that she insisted on that delineation.
She made a little sighing noise in her sleep; he stiffened, holding himself completely still in case she should wake up. His eyes dropped lower to her beautiful nakedness, her body so slight still, with only the rounded belly to indicate she was carrying his baby.
He should wake her; he wouldn’t. He didn’t. Instead, he reached for the sheet, covered her, then clamped an arm around her waist and held her tight to his body. They stayed that way for the rest of the night.
Chapter Twelve
“WHAT HAS HE DONE?” She stared at the woman in total confusion, scanning the bags she held with a look of disbelief.
“Which room, signora?”
