He crawls up my body, caging me in with his arms and legs. He looks down at me, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Still with me, Olivia?" he asks.
I can only nod, my throat too tight to form words.
He kisses me, a slow, deep kiss that sends my head spinning.
He enters me again, a slow, smooth stroke that has me gasping. This isn't the frantic, desperate coupling of earlier. This is something else. Something deeper. More meaningful.
He moves inside me, a slow, steady rhythm that is both a torture and a pleasure. He's looking down at me, his eyes intense, focused on my face.
"I want to see you come," he says, his voice low and rough. "I want to watch you fall apart on my cock."
His words, coupled with the steady rhythm of his hips, are my undoing. I feel the pleasure building again, a slow, steady climb that is both exhilarating and terrifying.
I close my eyes, losing myself to the sensation.
"No," he says, his voice firm. "Look at me."
I open my eyes, my gaze locking with his.
"Stay with me," he says. "Don't look away."
I can't. I can't look away from the intense, possessive look in his eyes. It's like he's looking into my soul, seeing all my secrets, all my desires.
The pleasure builds, higher and higher, until I'm teetering on the edge again.
"That's it," he encourages. "Let go. Come for me."
I do. My body arches off the sofa, a silent scream on my lips as another orgasm, more powerful than the last, rips through me. My nails dig into his back as I try to bring him even closer.
He follows me over the edge, a hoarse cry tearing from his throat as he finds his own release.
We lie there, tangled together, our bodies slick with sweat. The room is quiet, the only sound our ragged breaths.
I don't know how long we lie there, lost in the afterglow. Minutes. Hours. It doesn't matter.
I drift in a haze of pleasure, my mind quiet for the first time in weeks. There's only the feeling of his weight on me, the steady beat of his heart against my chest, the warmth of his breath on my skin.
Roberto eventually rolls off me, pulling me into his arms. I rest my head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
He's stroking my hair, his touch gentle now. The predator has retreated, leaving only the man.
I should feel ashamed. I should feel used. I should feel regret.
I feel none of those things.
I feel safe. Protected. Cherished.
I feel as if I’m home.
And that is the most terrifying thing of all.
Because this can't be my home,hecan't be my home. He's a complication I don't need. A distraction I can't afford.
But lying here in his arms, I can't bring myself to care.
I can feel the exhaustion setting in, my body heavy and sated. My eyes drift shut.
