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“Ah!” she cries out, relishing the fullness of his invasion.
And she starts to move up and down, cradling her husband and picking up her rhythm, in perfect counterpoint to Maxim as he meets her rise and fall. She leans forward, resting her hands on his chest. His eyes blaze a fiery forest green, the pupils large and dark. Full of love. Full of lust. Full of need.
“I love you.” Alessia’s lips hover over his.
He jerks his hips up, craving more. “I want you.” And he moves suddenly, surprising her and twisting them both, still linked, so he’s on top of her—his weight pressing her into the mattress as he drives into her.
He folds his arms around her head, cocooning her as he moves with an intensity and passion that leaves Alessia breathless and near…near…
She cries out as she comes, and Maxim buries his head in the crook of her neck and follows, calling her name as he climaxes.
Alessia returns to earth, surprised at the speed and intensity of her orgasm. She holds him tight against her, loving that they are still intimately connected. Her heart overflows with emotion as she nuzzles his hair.
She cannot believe that this is her life now, as she lies with the man she loves.
Her loving husband.
Her reformed rake.
Will it always be like this?
This intense.
This passionate.
She hopes so… forever and ever. Feeling beyond replete, she takes Maxim’s left hand and threads her fingers with his and raises his hand to her lips.
“This is the sexy thing… sexiest thing,” she whispers, correcting herself.
“What? My hand?” Maxim grins, his eyes reflecting her love.
“No.” She kisses the shining platinum ring. “This means you’re mine.”
“Always,” he murmurs against the corner of her mouth. He tightens his arms around her and they lie together, entwined, skin against skin. “I just want to hold you. Until the end of time.”
“Will that be long enough?” Alessia whispers and kisses his chest.
“Never…”
* * *
When Alessia wakes, she’s alone. It’s Saturday morning, and she’s had a busy week. Lying back on the soft silk, she revels in the quiet but listens to see where Maxim might be—but the apartment is silent. She calls out his name, and there’s no reply. Perhaps he’s gone for a run or maybe to fence with Joe.
She smiles, remembering their evening. They’d been out with Tom, Henry, Caroline, and Joe to celebrate her acceptance into the Royal College of Music. Their evening had started at a new restaurant in Mayfair, where Maxim and Caroline knew the chef—the Mediterranean food was terrific—and they’d ended the night in the small hours at Maxim’s club. It had been a relaxing, cheerful evening—a perfect way for Alessia and Maxim to decompress after the stress of Rowena’s revelations earlier in the week and Alessia’s taxing auditions.
Today she’ll start packing up the apartment, as they hope to move within a week. She’ll need to go shopping for food because her great-uncle and Bleriana are joining them for lunch tomorrow, and she wants to cook her favorite Albanian dish for them. She checks the time, and it’s after ten. It’s not like her to sleep in. She climbs out of bed and heads into the wet room.
Fifteen minutes later, dressed in tight jeans and a white T-shirt, she enters the hallway and notices the red light.
Oh.
Maxim is in his dark room. She’s never known him to use it. The only time she’s been in there was the first time he kissed her. Walking up to the door, she presses her ear to it and hears him humming tunelessly to himself and moving around inside. Tentatively she knocks on the door.
“Don’t come in!” he shouts.
She smiles. She had no intention of going in. “Coffee?” she calls.
“Please. I should be finished in about five minutes.”
“Have you had breakfast?”
“No.”
She grins and heads into the kitchen, deciding that avocado on toast will be on the menu, one of Maxim’s favorites. Maybe with some smoked salmon.
* * *
I have been waiting all week to develop my photographs from our time in Cornwall, and I’m thrilled with the results. I pin the last of the pictures to dry and admire my work.
It’s my wife. Smiling. Beautiful. Tresyllian House is a stunning backdrop behind her. Next, Jensen and Healey gamboling up the lane, Alessia in the background, the evening light at magic hour. And the photograph is just that…magic. Alessia on the beach, staring out to sea.
Man, she’s beautiful.
Then one of the deer on the horizon—this might be print-worthy, and it can be added to the collection of my prints we sell in the gallery in Trevethick.
But my favorite is the photograph I took in the lambing shed. Alessia’s hair is escaping her braid, tendrils framing her beautiful face, and her eyes are shining with pure excitement—but it’s her smile of joy, her smile at me that would light up the world if we let it, that I love. I grin back like an idiot at her infectious, intoxicating smile, pleased with my handiwork. I want this framed, and on every desk I own.
