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And she loved him.
There was nothing else to understand, but that.
She lifted her hands toward him, and she smiled. “How much begging do I have to do?”
“Take off your bra,” he ordered her, his voice a gritty rasp.
Cecilia levered herself up and reached around to obey him, pulling off one cup, then the other. Then she bared her breasts to him, his gaze alone making her nipples pull tight. She let out a shaky sort of breath as sensation washed over her.
“And your panties,” he said. His hard mouth curled in one corner, making her shake even more. “But you can leave the boots on.”
She didn’t know why that struck her as so unbearably delicious, but it did. She hurried to comply, pulling her panties over her hips, then fighting to get them over the leather of her boots.
And when she was done, she was on her feet again, standing before him. On display in a way that should have made her think twice.
But she was thoroughly his. That was what she thought about.
His black eyes burned. His mouth curved even more.
And then he was reaching for her, pulling her close and then lifting her up.
Cecilia held on to his wide, hard shoulders as she crossed her legs around his waist. Then she moaned as he shifted her farther, lifting her up and then holding her there—stretched taught above the hardest part of him at last.
His face was close to hers, drawn into a fiercely sensual mask that made her whole body hurt. In the best possible way.
“Beg me,” he whispered.
His expression was raw. His black eyes were lit with a golden need. And Cecilia felt the same inside as if she’d been scraped clean. Hollowed out.
And all that was left was this.Him.
This thing that had always been between them, coiled tight and wild and impossible to ignore—though they’d both tried.
Love.
There was no other word for it.
She dug her fingers into his shoulders and she gazed down into his face, taut and hard with the force of that same rampant need that was charging through her, leaving her molten hot and nearly bursting out of her own skin.
“Please, Pascal,” she whispered, filled with the exquisite joy of a surrender that felt like a triumph. “Please.”
And then he thrust into her, deep.
He impaled her upon him, and for a moment they both froze, swamped with the same wild sensation.
The heat. The sweet, slick perfection.
Home, Cecilia thought. Love.
Yes.
And she didn’t know which parts of that she’d said out loud.
But then it didn’t matter.
Pascal was bringing her back down to the couch again, bracing himself above her as they both adjusted and he slid in even deeper.
Her mouth was in the crook of his neck, and her teeth were at his shoulder.
