As I thrust into her with punishing pace, I feel her shudder, the tightness of her body revealing just how close she is to the edge. I want her there. No, Ineedher there.
Each thrust is calculated, hitting her exactly where she needs. My grip tightens on her throat, while my other hand explores her, circling and pressing in all the ways that push her past her limits.
Her body arches, straining the thin line between pain and pleasure. Her thighs tremble, spine curving as she gasps incoherent words.
“Let go for me again,” I whisper into her ear.
As I take her mouth on mine... Cecilia shatters.
Every muscle in her body contracts as she moans loudly, her heat clamping around me so tightly it’s almost unbearable. I can’t hold back. I press her forward, guiding her down while staying buried to the hilt, slamming my hips into her with brutal thrusts that shake the daybed beneath us.
My vision narrows as she pulls me under. My own orgasm crashes over me. White-hot and consuming. I throw my head back, teeth gritted, sweat stinging my eyes as I lose myself in the raw intensity of what we’ve created.
Disoriented, I collapse forward, keeping us connected, her back pressed flush against my chest. My body instinctively wraps around hers, shielding her, both of us exhausted and shaking.
Every remaining shudder that ripples through her sends a jolt of satisfaction through me.
I pull out of her, and she shivers. Once I’ve gotten rid of the condom, I shift us onto our sides, tightening my hold as I keep her tucked close to me.
My hand finds the throw blanket, pulling it up to cocoon us from the cool breeze. My fingers roam along her ribs, lightly caressing the faint red marks I’ve etched into her skin, tracing delicate circles until her tremors finally fade.
“I don’t think I can move,” she whispers.
I press a kiss to her temple, inhaling her scent. “Good,” I murmur. “Because I have no intention of letting you go.”
The thought of separating from her feels impossible. I press one last kiss to her hair, making a vow to the night sky.
Chapter 22
Desert Rose
Alexander
I wake up and reach for Cecilia, but the other side of the bed is empty.
We arrived in Pisa late last night and came straight home, both too exhausted for anything beyond a hot shower and the comfort of each other’s arms. She barely managed a whispered goodnight before falling asleep, her body tucked into my side.
I lie there for a moment, listening. No shower or footsteps.
Getting up, I head to the bathroom to get cleaned up, then wander downstairs barefoot, wearing nothing but my gray sweatpants. Halfway down the steps, the smell of citrus hits me.
Did Nonna come over?
But when I reach the kitchen, it’s Cecilia. She’s standing there alone, barefoot in a light blue nightgown, dusting powdered sugar over a freshly baked Caprese al Limone.
“Who told you?” I ask, my voice rougher than I intend.
She jumps, the sieve wobbling in her hand. “Alexander!” She presses a hand to her chest, eyes wide.
Stepping closer, I kiss her bare shoulder. “I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I watch as she finishes decorating it, delicate lemon slices arranged with care, two thin candles placed side by side.
She turns to me then, her eyes soft... almost cautious. “I overheard your cousins before we left for Rome,” she says. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I’ve never cared much for birthdays. For being the center of attention. This year in particular might have passed unnoticed, because she alone holds all my focus.
“I’ve never been one for celebrations,” I say, meeting her eyes.
