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Carlo swore in his native Italian, as he bent down and lifted her from the floor. He carried her against his chest, instinctively finding the stairs and moving up them. “Where?” He demanded at the top of the landing.
She nodded to the door of the guest bedroom because it was closer and she was desperate. He placed her down on the bed gently, kissing the bandage on the side of her head.
He eased the dress from her body completely and threw it across the room. Her underwear was a lace g-string. He pulled it off and discarded it. Naked on the crisp white bedlinen, Jane was as hauntingly beautiful as he remembered. Of course, he’d seen her often in his dreams and nightmares. How her body had controlled him. He shook his head as he undressed quickly, and came to lie over her. He ran a hand over her feminine heart, and slipped a finger inside. She was so wet, he couldn’t help but smile.
Jane ground her hips against him, crying out for more with complete, bodily frustration.
“Yes,” he agreed quietly. He removed his finger, purely so that he could ease himself into her slick core. She bucked against the bed as long disused muscles flexed to stretch around his size. She reached her arms above her head and dug her fingers into the goose down pillows. “Oh, Carlo,” she whimpered, her face glowing pink and shining with moisture as his movements sent waves of feeling spiralling through her. She gripped his shoulders with her fingernails, and dug her feet into the bed, pushing up to meet each thrust he made. Her hands lifted from the pillows and found instead his muscular chest. She traced lines over his abdominals, glad when her nails left marks against his otherwise flawless skin.
He kissed her hard, so hard that she tasted the tang of blood in her mouth. His? Hers? She couldn’t have said, but she kissed him right back, matching his intensity and silently asking for more. Her hands dug into his hips, her legs wrapped around his waist, as she began to shake with the overwhelming tangle of need that he always managed to stir in her soul.
Her core pulsed with the frenetic release she craved, and with one loud cry, she felt her whole body convulse and splinter apart. “Carlo,” she screamed, writhing beneath him as the now unfamiliar feeling of orgasm sent her whole body spiralling into a fever pitch of sensation.
He responded by thrusting further and deeper. He watched her fall apart, but he didn’t join her. He enjoyed her pleasure without freeing his own. He was not finished with his ex-wife yet.
Three long years without her, and his body needed more than a quick release. He rolled onto the mattress, carrying her with him, so that she was straddled across his frame. He cupped her cheek, as he moved his waist, and watched her whole face change. She reached her arms high above her head, swaying her back and moaning as he filled her in a completely different way. Sensations tore through her, threatening to send her completely wild. Already, her face had taken on an almost feral quality, as her wild blue eyes stared at Carlo as though he were some kind of magical drug that she had remembered herself to be hooked on.
He lifted his hand higher to the gash on her head, and for the briefest of moment, the gentle and considerate touch threatened to poke a hole in the magic of what they were doing.
“I’m fine,” she murmured through snatched breaths. “Absolutely fine.”
He nodded, but a small finger of compunction pointed itself towards him. His wife had been smashed over the head with something metallic and smooth only four days earlier. And he was shamelessly taking exactly what he wanted – no, needed – from her. Just because he could.
“Stop it,” she shook her head away from his hand, and lowered her mouth to his chest. She ran her tongue along his middle, from his navel up to his neck, and then back down to one of his nipples. She nipped it between her teeth then smiled playfully against his chest. She’d missed this. The wild abandon of two bodies completely in synch. Her fingers instinctively reached for his and laced through them; their arms lifted sidewards as one.
Beneath his caramel skin, his cheeks were flushed. She felt a smile on her face, as the power of what she did to him came back to her with a resounding thud. Though his body controlled hers utterly and completely, so too did hers render him powerless.
She arched her back and felt him jerk inside of her. As her own waves of pleasure became almost impossible to cope with, he erupted, bringing her with him on a wave of pure, red-hot pleasure.
She fell forwards, her head against his shoulder, her long blonde hair splayed out across the pillows, as her frantic breathing slowly returned to normal. His unique fragrance was still driving her wild; her pulse was hammering beneath her skin. She bit down on her lip, refusing to think. She couldn’t let herself crash back to reality. Not while she was in his arms and he was still buried deep inside her.
But reality was not easy to keep at bay. The aftermath of their lovemaking had become more and more unpleasant in the course of their marriage. Initially, they’d held one another close, all night. She remembered those heady first few weeks, when their marriage had been fresh and she’d still believed in fairy tales. But, time had passed and resentment had built. Desire hadn’t faded but the self-hate that followed the deep sexual satisfaction had become an unbearable inevitability.
Slowly, it began to flow over her body now. She rolled away from him, her breathing still forced, as she stared up at the ceiling. Goosebumps covered her slender frame. The house, after days without an occupant, was cold.
She hadn’t noticed until now, because Carlo had predictably made her blood feel like volcanic ash. She sat up, shakily, and slid her legs over the edge of the bed.
His hand snaked out and latched onto her wrist. “Hey.” His voice was gravelly. It sent arrows of awareness firing through her body.
She didn’t look at him.
“Cara,” he said with a note of exasperation. “That needed to happen.”
Her laugh was frighteningly thin. “Did it? Why?”
“We were both tense.” He shrugged, and propped his powerful body onto one elbow. He frowned as he took in her fine frame. He let go of her wrist so that he could run a finger down the knots in her spine, visible through her pale back. “It was tension release.”
It was not tension release. Not for Jane. It had, instead, built a whole new chasm of stress into the pit of Jane’s stomach.
The last three years had been predicated on the fact that Jane was over her ex-husband. That she’d got him out of her system, and could therefore live a perfectly unaffected life.
Only he wasn’t out
of her system.
If anything, three years apart had made her desire for him as great a necessity as water and food.
She felt a sob bursting through her body and she stood hastily, in an effort to suppress it.
