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And when he thrust deep within, completing their joining, there was no pleasure to be found at all. Not in the physical sense.
But her soul felt alive. Complete. For the first time.
And as the pain slowly began to fade and the pleasure began to build again, she felt so full with it that she could scarcely breathe.
Desire was a wild, needy thing inside of her. She wanted it to be satisfied. Needed it to be satisfied. And yet at the same time she wanted this to go on forever. Wanted to prolong the moment where she would reach her peak. Because once that happened it was the end. Of this perfect moment where they were joined. Connected. Where they were one with each other. The desire to cling to him, to cling to this, was doing battle with the desire to find completion. Ferocious, intense. She didn’t know which one would win. Didn’t know which one she wanted to win.
“Gabby,” he said her name. Just her name.
Gabby would always belong to him. Only to him. The very idea of someone else saying it made her ill.
His teeth scraped the edge of her collarbone, the small slice of pain mingling with the pleasure, drawing her back to earth, making her feel so acutely aware of everything. So perfectly in tune with her body, and his.
She could feel his building pleasure along with hers. Could feel how close to the edge he was as his muscles tensed, as his control frayed.
She opened her eyes, determined to watch his face. Determined to watch this man who was everything she was not. Hardened, masculine beauty. Experienced. World-weary. She would watch him as he felt the same thing she did. As they experienced this storm of pleasure on the same level. It reduced them, this desperation, reduced them down to their souls. To ravenous, needy things that had nothing beyond this moment, this common need.
It was how Princess Gabriella D’Oro, recent virgin and definite bookworm, met with Alessandro Di Sione, rumored fearsome monster and a man who claimed to have a hardened heart. How they not only met, but understood each other. Spoke in perfect words that each other alone could understand. How had she ever thought they were different? How had she ever looked at him and seen a gulf they couldn’t bridge? They had. She was closer to him now, in this moment, than she had ever been to another person in her life.
It was powerful, fearsome, awe-inspiring. These needs that only the other could meet. That only the other could inspire. A hunger only he could arouse and satisfy.
“Alex,” she said, arching against him, the source of her pleasure meeting his heart and body as he thrust deep within her. A shower of sparks rained over her, pleasure breaking over her like an electrical storm, flashes of light blinding brilliance behind her eyes. She closed them, but only for a moment. Then she forced them open again, watched his face as he, too, gave himself over to this thing between them. She watched as that face, that face that could have been carved from granite, softened, the lines on his forehead shifting, a look of pure pain and desperation contorting his features as he growled his release, his entire body trembling as he spilled himself deep inside of her. She held him, as pleasure continued to rack his frame, as aftershocks kept moving through her in an endless wave.
They were connected in this. This pleasure. This moment.
And when it was over they simply lay there, entwined in each other. Breathing together.
She knew that Alex would feel regret later. Because no matter what he said he wasn’t a monster. She had to wonder why he was so desperate to convince not only others, but himself, of the fact that he was.
She knew it came down to his fear that he would become like his father. She knew enough about him to understand that. But she also knew him well enough to understand it would never be him.
He had made some mistakes in his life with his family, but he had been a young man. Barely more than a boy. She had made far fewer mistakes. If only because she interacted with less people. Life wasn’t as difficult when you hid from it.
He looked at himself and saw nothing but a potential monster and he was dedicated to forcing others to see the same.
She knew better.
He was so dry. So funny and brilliant. He cared. Very deeply. For her, for everyone else around him. He pretended he didn’t. The way he looked after his grandfather, the pain that laced his voice when he spoke of his half brother and his past treatment of him, the way he had taken such great care with her, told an entirely different story than the narrative Alex had spent so many years carefully constructing.
He had only given when she had pushed. And both passed the point of resistance. He had never pressured her for anything, and she knew without a doubt that he never would have.
He was a hero in her eyes and yet he insisted on casting himself as the villain.
She wished, more than anything, that he could see himself through her eyes. That he could see himself clearly. She would make it her mission to change his thoughts on himself. She would.
No, it wouldn’t change in a moment. No matter how much she might want to. She was going to have to show him, over time. Show him the man he really was. But in order to do that she would have to stay with him. Leave Aceena. Convince him to attempt to make some kind of relationship with her. He had arrangements with women, he had said as much. Why couldn’t he have one with her?
Eventually…he would have to see that they were good together. Her thoughts were spinning, her entire body humming. There was so much going on in her brain. But she had never been good at letting things rest. She was always try
ing to solve the problem. Always trying to get down to the truth. To figure out the source of the problem so that she could stamp it out.
Unfortunately, there was no history book she could look at to conduct a simple study on Alex.
She would have to study him in person. Not a hardship, really.
“You’re very quiet,” he said.
“Thinking,” she said honestly.
