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And he was surging inside her, pounding into her again and again and again as if they would die this way, or die if they didn’t, or die and be reborn and do this dance forever, just like this.
Cecilia met him. She was a part of him. She kept her legs wrapped around his hips and met his every thrust.
She remembered the glory of this six years ago. The brief flash of pain, then nothing but need and longing made flesh.
And it was better now. Deeper, harder.
It was too much and not enough. It was everything and yet they strained together for more.
Pascal did something with his hips, making her throw back her head to ride it out. Then he bent his head to take one tight nipple into his mouth, and she was done. She shattered. Her whole body clenched hard around his, then shook.
She shook and shook and shook.
But still he kept going, pounding her through one shivering climax, then straight back into the fire to burn toward another.
Cecilia held on to him for dear life, and she loved him. She cried, she called out his name and she let herself drown in the exquisite flames, the remarkable burn, as it mounted inside her all over again.
But it wasn’t until she started to shudder again, her thighs clamping down hard on him, that he finally lost that deep, measured pace that he’d been using to drive her wild.
And for a moment it was all speed and fury, beautiful and deep.
Then Pascal was shattering, too, her name on his lips as he lost himself inside her at last.
And Cecilia thought, with perfect clarity,this.
She wanted this. All of this. The storm, beautiful and elemental, that was this man and the passion that had sparked between them from the first. From long before she’d understood what it was that called her to his side in that clinic. She wanted the thunder of the need she felt for him, the lightning that was their passion that felt like its own fury, like pain and sometimes like loss. And the rain that followed, but brought life to the world.
It had brought her their son.
She wanted that storm with everything she had, everything she was. It was worth the price she’d paid. It was worth anything.
She reached up and took Pascal’s face between her hands. She felt his scars on one side, the evidence that he could overcome anything. She searched his gaze, black-gold and unfocused, though he slowly focused in on her.
And for a moment it was as if he was new.
As if the rain had washed them both clean, so they could start again.
Cecilia wasn’t afraid anymore. Not to beg for what she wanted, and not to set free the things that roared inside her, desperate to get out. And certainly not of the man still lodged so deep inside her, it was hard to remember they were different people.
“I love you,” she said, very distinctly. “I love you, Pascal.”
The effect on him was instant and electric.
And not good.
His brows clapped together. His eyes flashed. He scowled at her, and then he moved back. He disengaged himself from her body and pulled himself away, a lot as if she’d scalded him.
Cecilia stayed where she was; propping herself up on one elbow she watched him stalk away from her.
It wasn’t as if there was any angle on that beautiful body of his that she didn’t admire.
She watched him shove a hand through his hair. Then he stood with his hands on his hips, glaring toward his windows as if he could level Rome with the force of his temper. She wasn’t surprised when his hand drifted down to stroke the scars on his jaw.
“I love you, Pascal,” she said again, so there could be no mistake.
And when he turned back to level that same glare at her, she only smiled. She sat up, but she did absolutely nothing to cover herself. She simply smiled back at him.
And he looked at her as if she’d taken a swing at him.
