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She wished time would stop, so she could catch her breath, ease the taut pull of her thighs and the building pressure inside her, but then she realised how tame her cry had been. For he was the one who was suppressing his cries now, and there was no longer any measured exhalation, no slow, relentless rhythm.
It was his turn to lose control.
He braced himself high up on his forearms and began to move faster. Beatrice watched with pleasure as he pounded out a rhythm that felt as if it was building to something still out of reach. She noted how his eyes closed as he took her harder, how his rapid sounds did not equate to the intimacy of the caress taking place deep within her.
‘Julius...’ she whispered, and then she lifted her hips to him, felt a kind of white heat zap her spine, and gave in to the urge to turn in his arms, to escape what he’d unleashed—a pleasure far too deep.
And yet he dragged it from her, demanded it of her, so that she was panting and spent and yet still somehow restrained. She had resisted letting go all the way even as she’d pulsed around him. Even as she’d arched into him she’d pulled back.
‘No, no,’ he told her. ‘No more hiding.’
Beatrice knew she was crying, but this time they were not lonely, hopeless tears. This time they were frantic ones. She had played with fire and now she was burning, for it was a pleasure that felt too acute, too much, too good to be real.
‘Vengo...’she told him in Italian. She was coming. Almost.
They were locked in battle—him desperate to release, Beatrice on the edge and refusing to leap—but then he thrust one final powerful time and she tensed with that last push.
He shouted an airless cry that marshalled the white heat back to the very base of her spine, tapping fresh reserves as he shot into her and made her a liar—fornowshe shattered.
The intensity startled Beatrice, who was almost cross that he could summon these pulses and this energy...could coil her so tight and then hit release whenever he wanted.
At last, tension released, he stroked her stomach as if coaxing out the last from himself and from her, and then he slid out of her and collapsed on top of her. They lay in silence until the need to breathe overtook them both and he rolled off.
Beatrice knew he was looking at her, but she kept her eyes closed, gulping in air. Only now was she a little scared—she had no idea what to do, what was supposed to happen next.
Dizzy and sated, Julius lay on his side, one arm supporting his head, and watched her flickering eyelashes. It was as if she was pretending to be asleep, and it somehow made him smile.
‘Beatrice...?’ Usually he spoke so easily, so comfortably about sex, yet he knew she was hiding now, here in his bed, and did not quite know how to address that. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Very,’ she said without opening her eyes.
And that was the only thing she really knew.
Just that she felt very, very okay...
CHAPTER EIGHT
JULIUSWASVERYnice to sleep with.
As insleepwith.
Of all the events today, the one that surprised Beatrice the most was that instead of asking difficult questions he’d pulled her in and she’d fallen completely to sleep—and she would have remained there had it not been for the buzz of her work phone.
‘Why didn’t you turn it off?’ he said, as her eyes opened to the intrusion.
‘What time is it?’ She frowned.
‘Maybe ten?’
As she went to sit up and retrieve her phone he shook his head.
‘Leave it,’ he told her.
‘It might be important.’
‘This is important.’
Julius had not been asleep. He was up on one arm and his hand was warm on her stomach, drawing light circles and looking down at where his fingers traced shapes on her skin. He looked as if he was considering—quite what she didn’t know.
