“Really?” His eyes looked strange, pupils still darkened with hunger but blown wide with surprise.
Della didn’t think it was such a shock. She’d been banished to the countryside alone since before her debut. There’d been little opportunity to entertain a gentleman. Besides, there’d never been anyone she wanted. No one except Andrew.
“Yes,” she nodded. Her thumb moved over his cupid’s bow. “There’s never been anyone for me but you.”
His hands slipped away, but his mouth found hers. For someone who was so consistently a mess, he was remarkably coordinated. He bit the inside of her bottom lip and tugged. His tongue met hers as sheheard him working open the fall of his trousers.
Della broke away and Andrew groaned in protest. She’d just wanted to see him. Her hands felt the expanse of his chest, warm and solid and covered in a thin layer of crisp, wiry hair. Her eyes lowered to the hardness straining toward her, and she wrapped her fingers around him. His hips jerked against her, and his eyes closed.
“God, Della,” he moaned. She hadn’t known what power was until that moment. Until she made him make that half-broken sound.
She slid her hips against his, finally feeling the burn of his skin against hers. Her hands touched him and herself, stroking the length of him and the tight center of her own pleasure. His hand pressed into her hip more firmly, and she thrust herself against him with renewed vigor.
He hovered above her, his forehead dropping to rest against hers as he guided himself toward her. He pressed into her body slowly, gently, and Della took in a heaving, gasping breath. There was an initial burst of pain, unfamiliar and fleeting. He wasn’t moving, and she didn’t know how to convince him to. Words might have been helpful, but she couldn’t manage them.
Her body felt tight and unforgiving, but she moved anyway. Her legs pulled him closer, her inner muscles pulled him deeper. She found a rhythm that had pleasure building at the base of her spine in minutes, but still, he barely moved.
“Andrew,” she said finally, “look at me, love.”
His eyes opened, and she saw the tension there. She saw how much he was holding back.
“Don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured through gritted teeth.
Della’s head fell back against the cushions. She saw him from a new angle. She’d never noticed just how sharp his jawline was.
“You will not hurt me,” she told him. “You cannot hurt someone who wants you so much. Not like this.”
She punctuated her statement with another thrust of her hips, thisone completely relentless.
“I love you,” she murmured, “so much.” It was as if her words triggered something feral in him. He rested his head against her shoulder, his free hand wrapping around the back of her neck. He ground his body into hers and filled her up in one smooth, quick motion. Della gasped at the sensation, at the pressure of him both on top of and inside her body.
Wordlessly, they established an agonizing rhythm of quick thrusts and long, slow glides. He bit at the side of her neck. He sucked on her ear lobe. His fingers left imprints on the skin of her hip.
“So much,” she said, again and again. It was mindless repetition, those barely there, gasped words.
“Della,” he breathed against the crown of her head. She knew what he meant, sensed it in the complete loss of his control. Their rhythm became staccato, completely wild and unpredictable.
She kissed him again. She sucked his lip into her mouth and bit. She swept her tongue against his teeth. This time, pleasure didn’t build into a crescendo. It cracked through her in an instant, like a bolt of lightning. There was no thunder, no warning. Della simply came apart, whimpering and holding on to every piece of him she could reach.
He moaned her name again—this time it was more of a growl. His hands tightened, and she felt his heartbeat inside her. She was filled with liquid heat, and then he was gone. He slipped from her body and collapsed into a heap next to her, as much as the furniture would allow.
Della was cold. So suddenly cold. She fought off a whine and she turned her head to face him.
His hand came to rest against her cheek. So tame, so gentle compared to what they’d just done, but it was just what she needed. She raised her hand over his, pressing his skin into hers and holding him there. Her eyes drifted closed. She’d felt the lightning and the absenceof thunder, and this sense of overwhelming, drenching peace was the rain. Her storm was over.
“Love you,” she heard him mumble again, like he couldn’t stop saying it. Like it was a reflex.
The storm had washed away all her thoughts. As she fell asleep, there were only two words left in her mind.
So much.
Chapter Forty-Three
Andrew awoke slowly,and he almost thought himself delirious with fever. That was, until he realized all the warmth he felt across his chest was Della. He was delirious with satisfaction, then.
She lay on her stomach, tucked underneath his arm. Her own arm was draped over him, and their legs were tangled beneath the blanket he’d tossed over them at some point in the night. His free hand had found her waist, and Andrew closed his eyes because he just had to take a moment to commit this exact scene to memory.
He’d woken up alone the last time they’d been together like this, and he’d thought that was his lowest point. Now that he knew the bliss of waking up holding her, he’d only ever feel his truly lowest point if he never got to experience this breathtaking contentment again.
