"Before," I whisper, my voice trailing off. "You said something. Fica... something..."
I am already half-asleep, my mind floating in a fog of blissful exhaustion.
I don't hear his answer.
The last thing I am aware of before I drift off completely is the sound of his laughter.
And the feeling of his arms tightening around me, holding me close.
Chapter Twelve
Mario
The last thing I expected was this.
Not just the sex, though that was... more than I anticipated. The sheer abandon in her, the way she met me, challenge for challenge, was a revelation.
And the way she submitted in exactly the right way was a dangerous, heady drug I am not sure I can resist.
But this.
The quiet stillness of the room in the aftermath. The weight of her sleeping on my chest. The scent of our combined arousal, of her sweat and mine, a primal musk that clings to the air.
It’s… intimate.
Somehow more intimate than the sex.
The sex was a battle. A glorious, sweat-slicked, breathless war of wills. A negotiation of power that we both won.
This is the truce.
The quiet aftermath where the spoils are counted.
And I find I am a wealthy man.
She is asleep.
Truly, deeply asleep.
Her head is nestled in the crook of my shoulder, her soft, even breaths warm against my skin. Her body is limp, heavy with the kind of sated exhaustion only total fatigue and a truly great fuck can bring.
A smug satisfaction settles over me.
I did that.
I made this strong, intelligent, controlled woman fall apart.
I made her lose sleep, from dreams alone.
I made her beg.
I made her scream with abandon.
I made her mine.
The thought is a snarl in my chest. Mine.
It is the most potent form of satisfaction I have ever known.
