“No, I don’t think you do,” he said, his cock surging.“You destroy me, Beatrice.”
He thrust into her again and she gave an incoherent moan.
“You ruin me for anything and anyone else,” he said, unable, it seemed, to stop speaking.
He sank deep into her and found his spend building.He knew he could not hold off for much longer.But, in some primal place in himself, he needed her to understand how he felt for her.
“I need you,” he said.“I need you so much.”
“Oh God,” she said, and he realized that she was coming again, so quickly after her last spend.
That sent him over the edge.He came on a cry, filling—he knew—the French letter to the brink.
When he was spent, he withdrew from her, and she pulled him close to her.
He removed the letter and—to the horror of his past self—merely deposited it on the floor.But he couldn’t tolerate being away from her.Not now.
He gathered her up in his arms and she settled there.Her eyes were already closed.
He kissed her hair, fighting off the mortifying urge to tell her about his feelings for her.He wanted, very badly, to tell her that he loved her.
But he didn’t.
He couldn’t.
Because that would be very stupid indeed.
Just because he had lost control of his emotions didn’t mean thatshehad.In fact, just earlier today, she had been reassuring him that she hadn’t meant anything by that little endearment thathecould now not stop using.
She had made clear that her emotions had not been overset by their relationship.
No, he thought, if he must love her—and love her, he was aware, he did—then he would do so in secret.
She, of all people, never had to know.
And it would be enough to just have her like this.For however long she would have him.
Maybe she would agree to a longer arrangement.
He could pay for it, he thought.
Even if it was financially imprudent.
He would drain his coffers to the last if it meant more time with her.
He began to drift off with that strangely comforting thought in his head.
“Leith,” Beatrice said, into his chest, and he startled awake.He had thought she was sleeping.
“Yes, Beatrice?”he said.
Yes, my love, he ached to say.Outside of intercourse, however, he found it too vulnerable to mutter such a thing.
“May I ask you a question?”
He stiffened.Such lines of inquiry made him nervous.But he wanted to be honest with her.
“Anything.”
