“Vincent,” I cried out as the first wave of ecstasy rolled through me. “Please!”
He reached up and caught my hand, squeezing it. But he didn’t stop. Not until another orgasm tore through me a few minutes later. And another.
By the time he finally lifted his head to look at me, I was floating on a cloud of ecstasy so high, I felt like I could touch the ceiling. I whimpered as he stood, holding his shaft in his hand. I reached for him, wanting to taste him as he had tasted me. He shook his head.
“Later,” he promised as he climbed on top of me, guiding the smooth tip of his head to my core. We both groaned as he slipped just inside me and paused. He flexed his hips and pressed forward, entering me slowly. I cried out, my nails scraping his shoulders.
I realized we had both been waiting for this moment. Perhaps for years. Maybe even for a lifetime.
It felt like the end of something. And the beginning of something infinitely better.
“'Cesca . . .” he whispered softly, as if he were in church. I felt that way, too. There was something sacred and unforgettable about the moment. I felt it in my bones.
He began to move, and everything changed again.
His shoulders flexed under my fingers as he held himself up, trying not to crush me with his weight. I could have told him not to worry. I wanted his weight on me. I wanted the pressure. I wanted him to fuck me as hard as he possibly could.
“Yes . . .” I sighed as he started to do just that. “Yes, Vincent!”
I came almost immediately, Vincent cursing and muttering in Italian above me. I gasped as he spun me so that I was above him. He looked up at me with a hungry, challenging look.
“Set the tempo. If I do, this will be over far too soon.”
I felt the edges of my lips curl up to match his look. I’d never felt so alive. So complete. So ready.
We were perfectly matched. It was as if God had planned this. Made us for each other.
There was nothing sinful about the way we made love. It was filthy, yes. Hot. Dirty. But being with Vincent felt pure and good, so good that it washed away everything bad I’d ever done or seen. I felt born again.
I pressed my hands into his chest and started to move. My thighs gripped his thick legs as I circled my hips, rising and sinking back down onto him in a primal rhythm. I was mindless, too lost in feeling to try and maintain my equilibrium. Thankfully, my body knew what to do instinctively.
Everything between us was so natural, so easy, and yet so raw.
He thrust upward and into me. I groaned helplessly. His huge hands reached up to play with my nipples, and my head fell back, our bodies straining together in a careful, barely controlled way. We were both holding back, or trying to, both afraid to really let loose.
“Woman, you are going to kill me.”
I opened my eyes to look at him. I knew he meant the sex. How good it felt. But I told him the truth.
“No, I’m not,” I promised. “I never could have. Not really.”
“I know,” he said, his voice rough with meaning. “I know.”
And then I was on my back again. Vincent had moved that fast. But he didn’t slam me into the bed. He was somehow ferocious and gentle at the same time.
Now, at last, he gave me what I truly wanted. I wanted everything he had to give me. Not gentleness. I wanted the beast inside him to take what he wanted, to use me until there was nothing left.
Until we were both empty.
He moved over me with increasing speed and force, his body and mine moving in perfect tandem as we raced toward something that was just out of reach.
We found it together.
Light exploded inside me as I felt Vincent freeze for a heartbeat. He began to buck wildly above me. He expanded inside me, filling me with wet heat as he hissed out his pleasure without words. We held each other tightly, shaking and breathing hard for what felt like hours.
When I slowly came back down to earth, I was stunned. How could this man make me feel so much? How could any of this be real? No one found love like this. Not after so many failures. Not with your blood enemy.
Surely, it was love. There was no other explanation for what was happening to me. I could only hope it was happening to him, too.
I knew he cared. I had known he wanted me. But hearing the words yesterday made this a whole other ballgame.
He had told me he loved me. Had he meant it? Or was it just a byproduct of this overwhelming attraction we felt for each other? Was he a liar like so many other men?