She nods. “But I don’t want to stop it.” She shoves down my jeans and takes my length in her hand. I ache with desire, with this torrent of need that grows stronger each time I see her.
“So if I respect your boundaries and your walls, you’ll let me keep fucking you like that? Like the world is on fire?”
Her eyes blaze with lust. “I do want to be consumed.”
“Je te veux tellement,” I say, telling her in French how much I want her.
“Moi aussi,” she says.
Something passes between us, something that feels deeper than the way I felt on our bizarre wedding night.
I know what it is for me. I know what it isn’t for her.
And I know I have to keep a close watch on our arrangement, making sure I can make her feel safe while I also help her lose herself. Because that’s what I see in her—I see a woman who wants so much, who craves so deeply, but who’s terrified of what that hunger might do.
I suspect she wants to be the woman she was before. The one who wore her heart on her sleeve, wrote her bliss for the world, and shared herself with one person, believing she was the only one.
That part of her still lives, but she won’t let it come out.
Maybe she will with me.
I move her against me, her back to my front, so we’re side to side. I glide my hands around to her breasts, fondling them as I slide inside her easily. She moans, a low, sensual sound that vibrates between us. She leans her head back against me, her dark hair spilling over my shoulder. Her top leg hooks over my thigh, and she opens wider as I move inside.
It’s that kind of slow, luxurious lovemaking session that feels like it could go all night long. As the minutes tick by and pleasure twines between us, my skin hot and slick against her and her breath coming harder and faster, I can feel her give herself to me.
This is the part of her she tries to extinguish. She’s come out tonight, and she’s surrendering to me, and it’s fucking beautiful to feel.
It’s not that our sex is particularly kinky or particularly rough. It’s not that we’re doing anything dirty or risqué. We’re not screwing on the metro, or sneaking a quickie on the Pont des Arts, nor are we christening every surface in the house.
We’re in her bed, which may be precisely why everything about this moment feels more intimate. I’m in a private place, belonging to a most private woman, and she wants me to pleasure her in a way that erases the world beyond the windows.
I don’t need to blindfold or tie her up to do that. All I need is this white-hot desire that flows between us.
She turns her face toward me. I bring my lips to hers and kiss her as I move in and out. There is little that’s artful about this kiss, but it feels like drowning, like falling under. I can’t get enough of her lips, her taste, her breath.
She sighs against my mouth, and I swear it’s as if her body melts into me. She’s a liquid woman, all silvery-hot desire, and it wraps around me, making me hotter, making me harder.
And she takes freely. With no remorse, she soaks up all the bliss I want to give her in this luxurious, decadent indulgence. She comes once more, and it’s a beautiful thing, the way her ecstasy moves over her body. She shudders and cries out, and it sounds like something inside her is breaking free.
When she comes down, she mumbles something about how it’s my turn. I nip at her ear. “That would imply I’m done with you.”
I flip her to her knees and push her down to her elbows. She turns around and watches me, and it’s the most erotic, sensual thing to see her look at me like that. Pleasure rattles through my body, and it’s mingled with all these new sensations, deeper emotions, and a fervent wish to make this arrangement last a little bit longer.
I bend closer, pulling her against me, covering her. She comes again, calling out incoherent words of rapture, and finally, I let go too, my world turning white hot and electric.
A few minutes later, we’re sated and tangled together. She puts her hands on my chest and looks me in the eye. “Thank you.”
I laugh. “Why are you thanking me?”
“For understanding what I need. For giving it to me. Even if I didn’t know what I needed.”
“I like giving you what you need. You should stop worrying so much about people wondering if you like me. I know the truth. I know you do.”
“I do.”
But that’s the trouble. I have to keep it on this level. This I like you level. If I let loose the truth, I might lose her. I need her to feel safe with me, and safety means keeping myself at an arm’s length.
The problem is I don’t want an arm’s length between us anymore.
I’ve fallen for the woman I made a deal with.
That’s why I touched her like a starving man at the club, but this potent need didn’t start tonight. It ignited when she proposed this arrangement. It took root when I saw what she’d be willing to do for me and for Erik. Marrying her in my hometown only sealed the deal, and all the emotions that raced through me that night in Copenhagen, the ones that seemed strange and foreign then, are crystal clear now.
The falling is complete. It’s here. It’s happened, and now I’m in love with the woman in my arms.
But this woman needs me to be the kind of man who doesn’t fall so easily. And I need her to save my brother’s hopes and dreams.
I segue to something else entirely as I press a soft kiss to her neck. “Mmm. You smell good. You should write about other smells you like. If you don’t write about perfume, write about other scents.”
“Maybe I will,” she says, snuggling closer to me.
With her soft and malleable in my arms, it doesn’t feel like there are any boundaries.
But there are. There most definitely are.
26ELISE
Today . . .
