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She contemplated knocking on his door, but didn’t. She pushed it inwards, hovering on the threshold.
There was no such thing as fairy tales. She’d been right. That wasn’t what this was. But he was her husband and in that moment she needed him with a ferocity that wouldn’t be quelled. He was asleep in bed. She tiptoed across the floorboards and then rolled her eyes.
Was she afraid of waking hi
m? Wasn’t that kind of the point?
Still, she crept towards the bed, pausing for a moment to study him.
He was a stunning specimen of masculinity but, asleep like this, she felt all his vulnerabilities as well. She could see the man he was and the boy he’d been. She could see all the parts of him and her heart lurched with recognition of the fact that she loved all those parts. His arrogance. His determination. Even his ruthlessness. For these aspects all made Matteo who he was.
She moved quietly but quickly, shedding her clothes, thinking she should have done it before she made her way to his room, then she pushed the sheet back and straddled him, dropping her mouth to his and kissing him.
He made a low moan from deep in his throat and his hands lifted, catching her face and holding her still so that his eyes could latch to hers. His room was dark but there was enough light cast by the moon and the lights beyond the villa for them to see one another. He stared at her for a moment, at her face, her lips that were parted in expectation, her eyes that were hooded with desire and her body that was naked, needing him.
‘I want you,’ she said simply and he groaned once more, dropping his hands to her hips and positioning her so that she could slide onto his length and take him deep inside.
She tilted her head to the ceiling at the feeling, so welcome, so familiar, so perfect. Her body was on fire. Every nerve ending was dancing inside her, quivering with the rightness of his touch. She dropped forward, bringing her mouth to his, kissing him hungrily as he moved inside her. She rolled her hips, her rhythm desperate and fast, her needs insatiable, and he laughed softly, nodding against her head.
‘I know.’
He caught her at the waist and rolled her easily, breaking their bodies apart. And, though it was a brief separation, it was enough for Skye to issue a sound of complaint that had him laughing once more, softly, a short sound that filled her with impatience. But then he was back, moving into her deeper, harder, his body taking control of hers and commanding their desire; building it up, wrapping it around them, making her tremble and writhe beneath him as pleasure built and built inside her, stretching like a coil that wouldn’t be contained.
She cried out as it reached fever pitch and then broke across her. She dug her nails into his shoulders and held on for dear life, hoping it would save her. The galaxy was around her, cosmic and beautiful, and she was flying through it, just a piece of flotsam, a heavenly, bliss, pleasure-filled piece of flotsam.
He dropped his mouth to her breasts and took one into his mouth, rolling his tongue over her nipple as his fingers sought the other, tormenting it between his forefinger and thumb. Her breasts ached for him and he knew that. He pushed deeper inside her and she sobbed—it was a sob of relief. Of joy. Of gratitude.
It was also a sob of fear.
What hope did she have of controlling her emotions when there was this to contend with? It didn’t matter if she called it ‘having sex’ or ‘sleeping together’ or ‘making love’. A rose by any other name...
She was making love. Every touch, every movement, every sensation, was binding her with the emotion and she would never be free of that.
‘I loved you so much,’ she said, the words not exactly what she wanted to say, yet they were a reflection of what she was thinking, feeling, needing him to know.
Another explosion built, starting deep in her abdomen and spreading to the far reaches of her body, carrying delirium in its wake so that her fingertips tingled and she burst apart with pleasure. He kissed her harder and then he joined her, the rapture holding them both, wrapping around them with the same sense of urgency and euphoric release. Their breathing was in unison. Hard and fast, it filled the room. He pulled away a little, his eyes heavy as they surveyed her.
‘That was a nice surprise,’ he murmured minutes later, once their breath had slowed and a hint of normality had returned to the room.
She didn’t say anything. She was a tangle of feelings that had gone from delight to despair in the space of seconds. The same desire that was beautiful and mesmerising was also a trap. It was a torment.
She looked at him and then turned her face.
‘Are you okay?’ The question was filled with such tenderness that her heart splintered off, new shards joining the old.
‘I am now,’ she bluffed, bravado brightening her voice. He rolled off her but pulled her to him, holding her back to his chest, his arm curled around her body in a gesture of intimacy that hadn’t even belonged in their marriage. She lay against him, her body curled like a conch shell, her eyes on the moonlit wallpaper opposite, her heart breaking as she felt his beating, hard and resolute.
Determined.
The problem with whatever the hell they’d just done was that everything felt so perfect. In contrast to the reality of their situation, when she was in his arms, when his body was buried in hers, she could believe that they were in a fairy tale.
The ending, the inevitable realisation that it wasn’t perfect, was like being dropped into the middle of a war zone. Remembering that only a week and a half earlier she’d stormed her way into his office demanding a divorce—a divorce he had agreed to!—was like being doused in cold water.
Slowly, once sleep had claimed him firmly in its grasp, she wriggled away from his warmth, moving to the opposite side of the bed at first and flipping on her side to look at him as he slept.
His breathing was even, his expression relaxed. He wasn’t tormented by the emotional barrenness of their marriage.
He didn’t care about it.
