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He pushed up, his eyes locking to hers and glittering with a fierce look of triumph before he returned to his teasing, rolling his tongue over her nipples until she’d given up any hope of not begging and the words kept tripping from her, tumbling out of her mouth as though she were casting a spell.
And then he dragged his lips higher, to her mouth, and he swallowed her incantations deep within his soul, and she kept offering them. She lifted her legs, wrapping them around his waist, holding him close to her womanhood, begging him with her mouth and her body. A fire had been lit and she needed him more desperately than she knew possible. His chest was hair-roughened and her breasts were so sensitive that having him pressed against her was setting off a cascade of desire within her.
He extended a hand and pulled away from her, just for a moment – not long enough for common sense to reassert itself, and then he was nudging her legs apart and pushing his powerful erection towards her entrance.
She whimpered at the promise of what was to come but he stilled for a moment, his expression watchful.
“Tell me you want this,” he said, gruffly, his anger impossible to miss and difficult to define.
“I hate you,” she said instead, and in that moment, it was so true. From the depths of her being, she hated him.
His smile was without humour. “But you still want this.”
She glared at him but when he began to slowly tease her, nudging a fraction of the way into her core before pulling out, she snapped, all grip to reality and pride falling away. She was simply a sexual being in that moment, and he was her master.
“Yes,” she agreed, the words dark, resentful. “I want this, I want this, I want this.”
“Thank God,” he groaned, knowing he needed it just as much, just as badly. And then he took her, he gave her what she needed – physically – while ignoring the marks on her heart. He pushed into her slowly at first, so her tight muscles had time to rejoice at his return and then he moved quickly, faster, thrusting into her while his mouth homed in on her breasts and his fingertips braided with hers, holding her hands wide.
It was an ancient, primal dance and they were in utter unison. Every one of his thrusts was accompanied by her body lifting to meet him, by her need to complement each of his movements. It went beyond thought and logic – they were both trapped by the tug of something ancient and magical.
They clung together, their bodies intertwined as pleasure carried them upwards and together they burst into the heavens, and he kissed her then, his mouth taking hers, holding her cries, tasting her tears, and promising her nothing.
Except more pleasure.
That was the only thing she could count on from Xavier.
And pain – she admitted, an hour later, when he was fast asleep behind her, his back turned, his body distant from hers. For there was no greater pain, surely, than sharing what they had and then being pushed away. Discarded when you no longer served a purpose.
He had debased her, and he’d enjoyed it.
He was using her desire against her, using it to demean her and make her beg. There was no clearer indication of his rage with her than that.
She lay with her back to his, staring at the Rembrandt wall, wondering if she’d imagined their time together before. Wondering if the sweet, kind, funny man she’d fallen in love with had been a product of her childish dreams.
No. She had a thousand recollections to contradict that, to underscore that her memories were accurate. But now, she saw it was only a part of Xavier Salbatore. He was also ruthless, determined, egomaniacal and bitter.
And she was going to marry him.
Her eyes swept shut on the invasion of more hot tears and Joshua was there, in her mind’s eye, his smile while he played with his father, his look of utter delight, even when he’d been sick! They were two peas from the same pod – that was why she was marrying Xavier.
Because a man who would make a woman beg in bed was clearly a man who would not hesitate to fight her in court. She didn’t doubt, for even a moment, that Xavier had meant every word of his threats. That he had powerful connections who would intervene on his behalf. And the thought of tearing Josh’s life apart like that was impossible to countenance.
Joshua’s life? And her own life, she admitted. How could she let Josh go? She had to share him with Xavier, and she could do that. So long as she was there too. Still a part of his life.
When she eventually fell asleep, it was somewhere near dawn, and only an hour after that, Joshua’s cry woke her. She sat upright, momentarily disorientated until it all came crashing back. Her eyes flung to the man beside her – the cry had woken him too. Their eyes met and she jerked her gaze away, unable to look at him, needing space from him desperately.
She stood up and then coloured at her nakedness, quickly pulling on her pants and looking for her top, conscious all the while of Xavier’s lazy, indolent watchfulness.
She left the room without looking at him, but his expression was burned into her mind’s eye.
“Mummy!” Josh’s little face was creased, alarm in his eyes. “Where were you?”
She knelt beside his bed, instinctively feeling his forehead. No temperature.
“I’m just next door,” she cooed. “Were you frightened?”
“I didn’t know—,” He looked around the room, his little mind trying to catch up with all these new developments. “This isn’t my room.”
