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Because she saw a Simon no one else knew. Because with her, he was exactly who he was beneath the guilt and honor and the clutches of the past. He didn’t have to be a dad, or the grieving widower or the man who’d worn a shroud of loneliness for so long.
She barely had to lift her chest before he had the T-shirt off her.
He turned her malleable body until her back was to his chest—hard, warm and taut. The hair on his chest rasped against her smooth skin, the hard ridge of his abdomen a shock against her lower back before he adjusted her to his liking. Her bottom was tucked tight against his crotch, and she could feel him hardening, lengthening. Anticipation turned her mouth dry, her limbs shaky, her sex damp and ready.
But he didn’t make a move. He didn’t tell her he needed to be inside her like he usually did. In the middle of the night. At the first light of dawn. Once, with her face pressed against the ceiling-length glass windows which gave her a view of the courtyard but showed nothing to the people on the other side. Everything he suggested, Anya got addicted to it.
One corded arm wound around her while the other ended up between her breasts with the tips of his fingers resting on her pulse at her neck. Sometimes, his thumb would rub her lower lip; sometimes, he’d signal for her to open her mouth until she was sucking and nipping the pad of it. Sometimes, he’d take her like this, pushing into her from behind, setting a lazy rhythm that made her very blood molten.
He did none of those things today.
Anya felt as if she was being cocooned in the warmest of blankets even as his hard body around her stoked a fire in her lower belly. His mouth rested at her temple. She closed her eyes, willing her heartbeat to slow down.
Maybe the man didn’t have sex on his mind tonight.
But she did. And she wouldn’t know until she told him. She wasn’t going to sleep until he’d rocked her to an orgasm. Until the stress and uncertainty building to a crescendo in her head had an outlet in the form of physical release.
“Simon?”
“Hmm?” His warm breath coated her cheekbone.
“Are you sleepy?”
“Not really.” But his tone made it clear that the last thing he wanted was to talk. “Areyousleepy, Angel?”
“Nope.”
“Tell me what’s on your mind, sweetheart.”
“Ever since I woke up, I have this...restless hum under my skin. Like this knowing in the pit of my stomach.”
He pressed a kiss to her bare arm, humming into her skin. “Like dread? Like something bad is coming?”
That he didn’t laugh at her made her fall in love with him a little more. A little here and a little there and soon he was going to own all of her heart. “Not bad or good. Just a...big thing.”
“What did your astrology app say?”
“It said this next period was going to be all about change and growth and...whatnot. I thought I’d seen it all already.” With Meera and you, she didn’t have to say.
“Are you scared?”
“A little.”
“What can I do to make it better?”
His rough palm cupped her bare breast, the thumb and forefinger lazily circling the already taut nipple. Fire breathed out from where he touched through to her limbs.
“I...” Anya arched into him, begging him with her body. Begging him to give her what she needed.
“What, Angel?” he growled.
Anya gripped his wrist to stop the mind-numbing circles and thrust her nipple into his palm. A sultry groan ripped out of her as his thumb rubbed the plumply dark bud in butterfly strokes. “I’d like you inside me,” Anya whispered, turning all kinds of pink. “As soon as you can manage.”
Raising himself on an elbow, he kissed her mouth. Naked want shimmered in his eyes. “I admit to sneaking in here, even knowing you’d be tired, hoping I could do just this. Especially now that there’s not a lot of time to spare.”
Anya moved to her back and searched his face. “What happened?”
He played with a lock of her hair. “Meera and I are going to leave at three o’clock tomorrow. I mean, today.”
