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She thought he was about to say something, likely something cutting and indisputablyhim.
But instead, he began to move.
And it was unlike anything she had ever experienced before in her life.
The heat of it. That unbearable, unimaginable slide, each one hotter than the last. Each one sending intensity and sensation searing through her. Into her limbs, lighting her up, making her dig her heels into the sofa they lay on so she could lift herself up to meet each impossibly beautiful thrust.
She’d spent her whole life posing for pictures and pretending, but this was real.
This was him, and her, and a slick joining that changed her every time he plunged deep inside. Changed her, then taught her.
Then it made her new.
Until she not only couldn’t tell the difference between the two of them, she lost track of all those differences she’d maintained within herself, too.
This was too real for separations. This was too powerful.
Molly felt a different kind of quaking come over her and almost protested, because it was too soon. She wanted this to go on forever. And she couldn’t tell if she cried because she knew it couldn’t or because of the sudden surge of wildfire ecstasy that ripped through her, making her arch up against him and cry out.
She thought she might even have said his name.
But he didn’t stop. He kept going, and that explosion shifted as his thrusts grew harder, more demanding.
All that golden light turned to fire. And her whole body seemed to light up, burning red and hot from the inside out.
And he knew. She could tell he knew, because he gathered her beneath him, his hands gripping her hips, as he pounded into her.
Molly met him, reveled in him, and to her surprise, shattered once more.
And that time, heard her name on his mouth as he followed.
She could feel a kind of oblivion beckoning, but she fought it off, because she didn’t want to miss a moment of this. Of Constantine, his face next to hers and that remarkably powerful body of his laid out over her as if wanting her that much had made him weak.
How had she missed out on this for so long?
But on the heels of that thought came another one, and she almost made a sound in response. What if she had given in to one of the many invitations she’d received over the years and done that with anyone but Constantine?
She shuddered at the thought.
And nothing had been settled between them, but she didn’t care. Because Molly might have been lost as a sixteen-year-old girl, but she’d been perfectly clear about one thing. That it was him. That it had always been and would always be him.
And she’d been right.
“Come,” he said in a low voice.
Molly didn’t have time to think about how or why his voice was different, only that it was. Because he was lifting her up, hoisting her into his arms as if she was one of those dainty, tiny girls who men were always toting about as easily as they heaved pints to and fro.
She felt a delicious sort of softness everywhere. She liked it. And so she did nothing at all but tuck her head beneath his chin, the better to contemplate the gorgeous strength of his collarbone, his neck, the underside of his jaw as he moved.
He carried her into the bedroom he’d claimed in this penthouse when they’d arrived, then brought her to a large, ornate bed that looked like the sort of thing whole French revolutions had been fought to protest.
Fitting, really, for Constantine Skalas.
He placed her down on the grandiose bed, then straightened, looking at her with a dark, unreadable look on his face that probably should have made Molly feel self-conscious.
But it didn’t. Nothing could. Not when she felt like this, loose and beautiful and made entirely new.
His jaw tightened, and he turned, walking off into what she assumed was the en suite bathroom.
