So…is he really trapped?
As I consider it, I think about extricating myself. I can’t read too much into this. We collapsed and fell asleep, and that’s it. This kind of intimacy was never part of the deal. He won’t even let me kiss him, so I doubt he’d be pleased to wake up like this.
Even so, I can’t bring myself to move. Because when I leave him, these stolen moments are all I’ll have. So I close my eyes and let the lullaby of his beating heart drag me back to sleep.
“Cara.”
The sound of Angelo’s voice pulls me from sleep, and when I open my eyes, it takes me a moment to orient myself.
He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, having extricated his body from mine. There’s no evidence in his expression that it ever happened, so I guess that’s how we’re going to handle this.
“Brunch will be served soon,” he tells me.
I try to sit up, but I just end up groaning.
“Are you sore?” A shadow of concern passes over him, and I know he’s probably questioning if he was too rough with me.
He fucked me for hours, tossing me around and testing every limit. At one point, he bent me in half like a pretzel and took me so deep I swear I felt my soul leave my body. He did, in fact, give all his cum to me like he promised. I’m quite certain there couldn’t possibly be anything left.
Flashes of memories resurface—his rough, commanding voice, teeth grazing my throat, growls of pleasure in the dark—and lots of orgasms. Orgasms that made me scream and cry and beg. There’s not a chance everyone on this plane didn’t hear at least some of it.
The thought of facing them today floods me with embarrassment. Well, everyone except for Genevieve. I hope she heard every second of it.
I force myself upright, undeniably wrecked from our marathon session. There’s an ache between my legs, and everymuscle in my body is sore. It must be obvious because Angelo takes pity on me.
“Come here.” He gathers me up in his arms and carries me to the bathroom. “A warm shower will help.”
“Is that what you do for the other women?”
I don’t know why I say it, and I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. But Angelo just looks at me like I’m a puzzle he can’t figure out. After all, what right do I have to be jealous when I’m the one who let him go?
Whatever his thoughts might be, he doesn’t share. Instead, he opens the shower door and sets me on the bench seat inside.
He turns on the water and adjusts the temperature, and as the spray rains down on us, he begins to wash me. It’s an intimate, vulnerable position, and the survivor in me learned long ago never to accept help. But it feels like I don’t need that part of me when I’m with him.
I want to let him take care of me.
He washes my hair, then works his way down to my body, massaging the tension from my muscles as he cleans me.
When he reaches the most tender part of me, I shiver, torn between desire and agony. I know I can’t possibly take him again, but when my eyes trace the line of his rigid cock, I want to.
“Does my wife need more?” he strokes me between my thighs, coaxing a choked sound from my throat.
I nod, arching into his touch. I’m so sensitive, it won’t take long.
“I’m beginning to think I’m spoiling you.” Dark amusement laces his voice.
“No.” I shake my head, moaning when he increases the pressure.
“No?” He palms my breast and circles the nipple with his thumb. “You’d prefer it if I fucked you all day, every day?”
“I’m not opposed,” I pant. “But I thought you hated me.”
“Who says I don’t?”
I ignore that remark and reach for the bottle of soap, squirting some in my palm. When I slather it all over his cock and start to stroke him, a rough sound spills from his lips. I try to match his pace between my legs, but when he starts thrusting his hips into my fist, the sight alone sets me off.
I come hard and fast, the resulting spasms worth every second of soreness. Angelo takes over, palming his cock while his gaze drifts over my body. Nothing has ever been hotter than watching him pleasure himself while he looks at me. Then again, I think there’s very little he could do that wouldn’t be hot.
