Another few steps. Another pause in the shadowed alcove near the staircase. She kisses me hungrily now. Tongue sweeping mine. Hands roaming my back. I cup her breast, thumb circling the nipple until it tightens further. She arches, breath hitching.
We reach the bedroom. I ease the door open with my shoulder. Moonlight spills across the threshold from tall windows, bathing the bed in soft silver. I carry her inside. Set her gently on the mattress.
She pulls me down with her. I cover her body with mine. Slide back inside in one long, smooth glide. She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me closer.
We move together, her eyes never leaving mine. Her hands brace on my shoulders, then slide into my hair, gripping gently when pleasure spikes. I thread my fingers through her hair in return. Tug just enough to tilt her head back. Kiss the exposed line of her throat. Soft. Reverent.
“You feel so good around me,” I whisper against her skin.
She gasps and arches beneath me. “Don’t stop.”
I don’t. I keep the long, rolling strokes, sinking deep each time while her walls flutter and grip around me. Her breath comes in short, ragged pants as she clings tighter.
“Luca…” Her voice is breathy. Almost surprised. “I’m close, I’m so close…”
I keep the rhythm steady. Deep. Let her chase it. Her thighs tremble around me. Her eyes stay locked on mine. Wide. Glassy. Beautiful.
She comes first. Slow-building waves that roll through her entire body. She trembles beneath me. Clenches around me in pulsingrhythm. A soft cry escapes her. My name again. Her fingers tighten in my hair. Holding on as the pleasure washes over her.
The sight of her like this. Open. Trusting. Letting go with me. It undoes me.
I bury myself deep. Groan low against her neck. Pulse inside her. Hot. Endless. My arms wrap around her. Holding her close. Not letting go.
We stay like that. Connected. Breathing hard. Hearts slamming against each other. I don’t pull out, and she doesn’t push me away. Her legs stay wrapped around me, hands sliding down my back, tracing lazy patterns over sweat-slick skin.
Afterward, she rests her head on my shoulder. Her fingers trace absent patterns on my chest. I can feel her heartbeat against mine. Still racing.
“What are we doing?” she asks again. Quieter this time.
“I already answered that.”
“No, you gave me a non-answer. ‘Figuring it out’ isn’t an answer.”
“It’s all I have.”
She lifts her head to look at me. “We hate each other.”
“Do we?”
“I should hate you. You forced this marriage. Threatened my children. Had my friend terrorized.”
“And yet you’re here.”
“Because I’m exhausted and I needed…” She trails off.
“Needed what?”
“I don’t know. Connection. Escape. Something that isn’t fighting or crying, children or hostile stepsons.”
“So you came to me.”
“I came to thank you for defending me. This just…” She gestures vaguely between us. “Happened.”
“This keeps happening.”
“I know.”
“Eventually we’ll have to acknowledge what that means.”
