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He was huge and hard within her, she was soft and trembling. Their mouths were so close she could breathe with him if she liked, and it was as if they’d both realized how close they were to losing this. How very short, indeed, the week they had remaining to them was.
She started to move then, and this time, it was a dance. It was joy.
It was love.
Brittany couldn’t say it, she didn’t dare say such a thing to the man she’d married purely for the headlines, so she showed him. Every roll of her hips, every lift and every slide. He peeled the straps of her dress down and took one of her hard nipples into his mouth, driving her wild as she loved him with every last part of her being. He pulled hard and she let her head drop back, and then it really was as if she’d fallen off into all those stars.
It was hard to tell who did what. There was only sensation and fire, bliss and longing.
Love, she thought, with each delirious thrust, but then she stopped thinking altogether.
And there was only Cairo.
He reached down between them and pressed hard where she needed him most, and Brittany exploded—but he didn’t stop. He surged into her, pounding her straight through one exultant climax and high again toward another.
He flipped them over on the lounger, coming over her in the soft, silken night as he thrust himself home.
Deeper. Harder. Better than perfect.
Again and again and again.
Until they flew over that edge together.
And stayed there beneath the quiet glory of the southern stars until the first hint of a brand-new morning, when everything changed.
