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That kiss. I lost my damned mind with that kiss.
I wanted to tear the dress off of her, but she had nothing else to wear. I hauled it up over her hips instead and wrapped an arm around her waist underneath. She was wearing a thong; I could feel the bare flesh under my hand and groaned. I felt for the delicate piece of material at her hip and tore it apart.
“Yes,” Charlotte breathed against my neck, rolling the condom down. “Please, Noah…”
I lifted her legs, and she wrapped them around my hips. “Tightly, baby.”
Her legs squeezed, holding on, holding her up, drawing me to her. Her nails dug into my skin at the back of my neck. Her mouth was as hot and soft and wet as her body as I slid inside her.
My girl. My love. My Charlotte.
We rocked against each other so that I thought the little old hotel might come crashing down around our ears, but even more than the ecstasy of lust, the love I had for her spurred me. It drove me deep inside her, to make her mine—not as a possession but as a completion of me.
My life. She is my life.
“Noah,” she breathed, then screamed, clinging to me as if she’d never let me go.
Thoughts scattered, leaving nothing but sensation. In my dark world, there was softness, heat, broken cries and gasps, and her skin, her hands, her mouth, and the sweet tightness of her body, and the pleasure and love that bound us together, all of it rising to a crescendo and then crashing hard.
The first raging need satiated, I lowered her feet to the floor. Our biting touches dissolved into sweet, deep kisses; a mellowing of the passion into something long and slow and languid. I kissed her so thoroughly, I forgot to breathe. I had my Charlotte back, and at that moment, I needed nothing else in the world.
Not one damn thing.
chapter fifty
After the throes of ecstasy faded, we got naked and climbed into bed. Face to face. Entwined. I ran my fingers through the silken hair at the back of Noah’s head. I felt the ridged scars there, but what were they but testaments to what he’d survived? I loved touching them for that reason alone.
He ran his hands along my shoulders and arms, my cheeks and lips, my neck and breasts, looking at me by touch.
“You were amazing on that stage tonight,” Noah said, stroking my cheek. “I’ve never heard anything so incredible in my life.”
“Did you fly in to hear me? How long have you been in Salzburg?”
“I’ve been in Europe since July.”
My head shot up. “July? That was nearly a month and a half ago! What have you been doing?”
“Listening to you, Charlotte.”
“I don’t understand. You followed the tour?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“Yes. I told you that I needed to make myself worthy of you. I needed to be self-sufficient and learn how to live blind. So that’s what I set out to do.”
“How?”
He settled himself against the pillows. “Lucien arranged my flights and set me up with hotels in every city, but that was the extent of his help. I took off and did the rest, making my way from city to city, by bus or train, then finding my way to the hotel, then from the hotel to whichever venue you were performing in.”
I searched his face. He sounded different. Peaceful, in some intangible way I couldn’t quite put my finger on. “I can’t believe it. I can’t imagine how difficult that must have been for you, in foreign cities? With language barriers and different customs and…”
“It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Harder than PT. But I did it, and I never missed a single performance of yours. Not one.”
My jaw worked soundlessly until one question of hundreds fell out. “But I don’t understand. You’ve been in Europe for six weeks and you haven’t tried to find me until tonight?” My joy at seeing him was morphing into confusion. “I’ve been missing you so much and you’ve been here the whole time.”
His arms around me tightened. “I couldn’t tell you, though God knows I wanted to. Hearing you play—even when you were one violin out of a dozen, I swear I could still hear you. It was the best torture.”
