Текст книги "The Affair"

Автор книги: Beth Kery

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 34 страниц)

Chapter 16

He couldn’t get over how responsive her body was. Everywhere. She was like a taut, vibrating cord. It was such a pleasure to play her. It was like she’d been given twice the number of nerves as most people.

He drew her panties off her feet and stood, gnashing his teeth as lust stabbed at his cock, making it swell and jerk. He’d never seen her naked from the back until now. It was a cruel sight for a man intent on patience. He thought her perfect, some strange combination of graceful feminine beauty and lush sexuality. Her elegant back, narrow waist, curving hips, and plump ass made him want to bend her over and take her then and there in a savage fury. But he also couldn’t wait to see all her anxiety disappear as she sacrificed it to surrender.

He saw her craning around to see him, her delicate features drawn tight, her eyes wide.

“I’m right here,” he assured, stepping forward and touching her shoulders. He lowered his hands down the beautiful sweep of her back, relishing satiny skin. He kissed her neck. “I was just admiring you. You’re exquisite,” he said, molding her hips to his palms.

She laughed raggedly. “Hardly exquisite. But thank you.”

“I’m not flattering. I’m stating the truth,” he said in an unflinching tone. She clearly had been lulled by the rest of the mediocrity-satisfied world into believing she, too, was middling-pretty when in fact, she was a gem of the highest quality. “I’ll buy you some dresses to show off this beautiful back and gorgeous ass.” She gasped and moaned softly when he took both firm ass cheeks into his palms and squeezed. His hands skimmed up her belly and along her ribs, thrilling to the subtle vibration of her trembling. He took her breasts into his hands. “A dress that molds these perfect, pert breasts,” he said near her ear.

“Small breasts,” she said, a whisper of embarrassment and apology in her voice.

“You need to learn about the difference between quality and quantity,” he said, pinching lightly at her nipples as he molded her flesh to his. Jesus, that’s all she thought of her breasts? That they were “small”? They belonged to a goddess. They were the type of breasts that drove a man mad with a need to touch . . . to devour.

He regrettably let go of them now. Playing with them, feeling how tight and hard the little buds grew beneath his fingers, was making the ache of his cock take over his brain.

“I’m going to put a finger inside you now,” he told her. She was clamping her thighs closed to alleviate her arousal, which pleased him. But he wanted access to her. Full access. “Spread your thighs, Emma. I will usually want you to keep your thighs open for me. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she replied, opening her legs.

“That’s right,” he murmured, sweeping his hand between her firm thighs from behind. He immediately slipped his fingertip into her sheath. He grunted at finding her warm and very wet. She moaned shakily as he thrust his finger high into her. He gritted his teeth. One thing was for certain, he hadn’t been kidding himself by remembering how tight and sweet she was. Heat rushed around his finger.

“I think you like being restrained and touched,” he said, thrusting his finger in and out of her.

“By you, I do,” she muttered through a constricted throat.

He said nothing to that, because an image popped into his head of Emma being restrained like this while some faceless, unlikeable male dipped his finger into her snug, soft pussy. He may be the first man to initiate her into the pleasures of submission, but perhaps he wouldn’t be the last.

A snarl shaped his mouth at the intrusive, unpleasant thought.

“Bend over a little,” he said, pushing gently on her shoulders. “Lean into the restraint. It will hold you.”

She did as he’d instructed. The strap went taut as she bent slightly at the waist, giving him better access. He plunged into her more forcefully, his middle finger seeking her outer sex. Her pubic hair was soft and growing damp with her arousal. He slid a finger against her clit. She bit off a shaky moan. He felt her lithe body tense. She began to bob her hips against his hand as her fever rose. He knew she liked it—a lot—but aside from some sexy, soughing gasps, she didn’t cry out. He longed to hear her lose control.

“I want to feel you come this first time,” he said. He felt her stiffen even more, and then her vagina tightened around him. God, he couldn’t wait to feel that sensation clamping his cock. “Emma?” he prodded when she didn’t respond as he continued to finger-fuck her and stroke her clit. “Do you want to come?”

“Yes, so much,” she said, her voice quaking. He’d primed her out there on the couch. His stimulation now was added fuel on a steady, high burn.

“Then come against my hand,” he demanded.

Her slender body jerked slightly and she made a choking, sobbing sound. He drew closer, kissing her warm nape and inhaling her scent. He felt the muscular walls convulsing around his plunging fingers and the rush of heat.

“That’s right. Give in to it,” he ordered thickly. “That’s so good,” he praised as she came, her soft, muted whimpers killing him a little.

When her shuddering had ceased, he withdrew his finger, anxious to continue, his brain and body fevered, to get inside her. His finger was glossy with her abundant, warm juices. Glancing up to make sure she wasn’t looking, he slid it into his mouth and sucked it clean.

Maybe on some level, he knew it was dangerous to reveal how greedy he was for her.

He couldn’t help making a sound of intense satisfaction as her taste spread on his tongue. He withdrew his finger when she started to look over her shoulder, then he stepped toward the bed.

“Do you use one of these?” he asked her as he forced himself to attend to the mundane task of removing the vibrator from the packaging.

“A vibrator? No,” she said between soft pants.

He made the mistake of looking up. He was caught by the beguiling image she made, naked with her hands restrained above her head; her flawless pale skin; the slope of her spine; the lush curve of her ass; firm, high breasts thrusting forth from her rib cage as she panted, recovering from her orgasm. He could see the light golden brown, downy hair between her slender thighs and experienced an intense urge to have her spread on the bed before him, bound and ready for ravishment.

He shut his eyes, trying to erase the potent image. Another time, he would have her that way. For now, he had to stick to his plan or risk losing her trust.

She watched him with those big, haunting eyes as he held up the sex toy. It was shaped like an arch, with a vibrator at each end.

“We’ll get you used to it, quick enough. It’s not complicated. It’s meant for your pleasure, nothing more. Certainly nothing less,” he said, stepping behind her. “I’m just going to put it inside you. You’re plenty wet enough,” he rasped, reaching between her thighs. He found her slit and slid one end of the arch inside her pussy. “That’s it,” he soothed when she gasped. He lodged the other end of the vibrator next to her clit. “Is it comfortable?”

“I think so,” she mumbled, and he could tell by the tone of her voice it felt unusual to her.

He picked up the small remote-control device. “I’m going to turn it on a low setting.”

He saw her muscles jerk slightly as the mechanism began to vibrate her channel and clit at once. “Feel good?” he asked quietly, enjoying watching her as pleasure and friction tightened her muscles yet again.

“Oh God. Yes,” she said, stunned.

It felt so good having the vibrator buzz her sensitive flesh, both from the inside and out; it left her rigid with arousal and amazement for a moment as the new sensation unfurled in her consciousness.

“It has a heating mechanism,” Vanni said, stepping next to her. “It will start to warm inside you.” She looked at him, her mouth hanging open.

“It feels very good,” she said, repressing a little gasp.

He studied her closely, and then raised a hand to brush back her hair. He stroked her cheek with his long thumb. Her heart fluttered in her chest at the expression in his eyes when he did it.

“You do like it, don’t you? Not all vibrators are suited to everyone. I got lucky the first time around,” he said, fluttering the tip of his thumb across her earlobe. “I’ll use this one on you the first time I punish you. Not now. Another time.”

She stiffened at that. “You mean . . . whip me?”

“Whip you? Of course not.” Understanding hit him. “Oh, you mean what you saw,” he said quietly. “That was a flogging, not a whipping. And the case was entirely different, like I told you before. Astrid has far more experience than you. And she tends to like it . . .”

“Rough?” Emma asked shakily, licking away some sweat gathering on her upper lip. The vibrator was warming. Between the heating mechanism and the vibrations, it was charging her pussy with more incendiary energy than she’d ever experienced. How was it that she’d never treated herself before to this experience? Probably because she hadn’t realized it could ever feel this good. Besides, Vanni’s heated stare and stroking hand was perhaps the most active ingredient to her pleasure.

He frowned. “She believes she does. She doesn’t realize that I’m actually careful to give her a sense of what she wants while never harming her.”

Her mouth trembled. His brow quirked. She looked at him helplessly. She’d forgotten what they were talking about while under the influence of the buzzing vibrator. He seemed to guess her dilemma.

“It’s okay,” he muttered. “None of that will happen now. Only what I told you. Now straighten up,” he said, stepping closer and putting his hand on her bottom, urging her to stand upright again. He reached up toward her bound hands. “Here is the controller. You control the amount of power you want like this.” He put his fingers on top of hers and manipulated them to push the buttons. “That’s down, and that’s up.”

She gasped at the increased stimulation. “Oh my God,” she exclaimed, her head falling forward. His hands dropped away.

“You have the control. For now you do,” he reminded her, a dark edge to his tone. He encircled her waist with his arms, his big hands stroking her sides. She shuddered uncontrollably, her clit going from a simmer to a burn in a matter of seconds. She punched blindly with the buttons and the direct, focused stimulation eased to a delicious buzz, sending tingling sensations up her spine.

“Better?” he murmured, kissing her neck.

“Yes,” she whispered. She turned her head, suddenly wild to feel him. He accepted the invitation of her proffered lips, capturing her mouth with his and pulling her closer into his embrace. It all was so new to her. So heady and powerful. She felt herself swimming in a sea of desire. His hands moved over her hip, waist, belly, and thighs, his focused, eager caresses leading her to believe he was as hungry as she was. He pressed to the side of her, the fly of his pants against the curve of her hip. The round, firm shaft of his erection pressing against her skin, the sensation taunting her. She’d never held him naked in her hand. She’d never held him naked in her arms. The realization was suddenly unbearable. The vibrator only amplified her burning, boiling want.

How was it that he made her desire for him so acute? Was it because she couldn’t touch him while he touched her wherever and however he chose? He’d made her the focused object of his desire, but in the process, he made her want him with a slashing, single-minded sexual intent she’d never known.

He broke their kiss. “What is it?” he asked, caressing her ass with one large hand.

Emma blinked. She realized she’d been moaning into his mouth as her fever rose. She gritted her teeth and clamped her vaginal muscles around the vibrator.

“I want to touch you,” she whispered.

“That’s good,” he said, nipping at her sensitive lips. His long fingers slid down the crack of her ass and continued. He pushed lightly against the end of the vibrator inserted into her vagina, pressing it like a button, in and out, in and out. She gasped, her entire body beginning to tremble, on the verge of explosion. Oh God, what was happening to her?

“It’s not good,” she said desperately. “Because you won’t let me touch you.”

“It’s good because your desire will make your pleasure sharper,” he explained, removing his hand and stepping behind her. She bowed her head, clamping her eyes shut, disappointed that she couldn’t even see his handsome face anymore, let alone touch him. She could only feel, and she’d never done it more in her life. He’d made everything sharper. More imperative. He bracketed her hips in his hold and he stepped forward, his fly brushing against the upper part of her buttocks. His hand dipped between their bodies and she felt him readjusting his cock. Her eyes popped open at the sensation of his long, heavy erection pressing against her ass and lower spine. He squeezed her buttocks and flexed subtly against her. She cried out in excitement.

“Anyone can come, Emma. I want you to burn. I want you to have the memory of your pleasure stamped in your consciousness forever.”

“I am burning,” she said, her pleasure and need a sweet agony. “I will remember.” She backed against him, circling her hips, craving the sensation of his hard body and cock. God, she was writhing against him like a cat in heat, but she didn’t care. For a moment, he firmed his hold and ground her ass against his erection. He groaned gutturally.

“What a sweet little ass,” he muttered thickly. “God, the things I want to do to you . . .”

Emma gyrated more forcefully against him, aroused instead of intimidated by the edge to this tone. It felt so good, so hot, so delicious. He popped the side of her buttock with his palm. She halted her mindless writhing, shocked at the sensation.

“Just a little reminder,” he said. His hands swept up her belly. He took her breasts into his palms and began to squeeze them, this time more lewdly than last.

“A little reminder of what?” she asked in a choked voice. His cock was still pressed to her backside, but he no longer was grinding against her. The sheer weight of his arousal next to her skin drove her mad, but he’d spanked her for crushing herself against him.

“That you hold the controls,” he rasped, massaging her breasts, his actions bold and lascivious. It felt good, naughty. Exciting. “Do you want to come?”

“Yes.”

“Then do it,” he bit out, pinching her nipples lightly between thumb and forefinger while he moved his hands up and down, bouncing her breasts. Emma squealed, punching the button several times. The pulsation escalated to a breathtaking pace. Her body ignited. He stepped forward abruptly, encircling her in his arms, capturing her first shudder of climax.

“Oh yeah. That’s good,” he said thickly in her ear as she came almost violently. It took her a moment to decode what his hot mutterings meant, bliss shook her so hard. “That’s right. Keep it coming,” he demanded, and another wave of pleasure hit her, and another.

At some point, he reached up and turned off the vibrator. He must have realized her body was too busy short-circuiting to stop it. She heaved a sigh and sagged against him, panting . . . undone. He stroked her arms and shoulders. He throbbed against her backside, heavy with need, but still lingering over his task of pressing his lips against the skin of her nape. He tasted her sweat with the tip of his tongue and she felt his hunger.

Never had she imagined feeling so exquisitely desired.

“Do you think you might begin to understand the advantages of being restrained?” he asked before he kissed the opening of her ear. She shivered against him and turned her chin. He leaned over and she saw the hint of humor and the hard gleam of desire in his aquamarine eyes.

She smiled and shook her head, still panting. “I understand.”

“A little, maybe. There’s more. Much more,” he said, breaking contact with her. She missed his warm, solid length. He reached for her cuffs and unbound her. She lowered her arms with a sigh of relief. “But right now, you’ll have to deal with me.”

“Deal with you?” she asked, pausing in the action of rubbing her wrists.

“That’s right,” he said in a hard tone, taking her hand and leading her toward the great bed. He drew her around and she sat at the edge. He whipped off his T-shirt, muscles flexing beneath smooth, golden-brown skin. She saw the hard tilt to his mouth, and recognized the full extent of his arousal. “You were more than I was expecting,” he said.

He fleetly began to unfasten the button fly of his jeans, holding her stare the whole time. “Now you’ll have to accept the consequences.”

Week

FOUR

Chapter 17

Vanni jerked down his jeans and a snowy pair of boxer briefs at once. His cock sprung free. The shaft was straight and long, the cap succulent and fat. It hung suspended from his body, heavy, flagrantly virile . . . ripe, forbidden fruit.

“Oh God,” she whispered, staring up at his face, wide-eyed, awe and wariness tingeing her tone. Had she really taken that inside her in the darkness on the beach that night? Or was he perhaps especially swollen and needy tonight with suspended gratification? She stilled when he smiled, her core clenching tight.

He kicked off shoes and removed his socks hastily, his jeans and underwear disappearing down long, tanned legs dusted with dark brown hair. Sensing his arousal, she wasn’t entirely surprised when he placed his hands around her waist and heaved her back on the bed, ready for business.

“Lie back,” he ordered tersely. She scurried back on the soft duvet, eager to have all that naked, gilded, rigid muscle and sheer maleness pressed against her at last. Her head fell against an assortment of pillows. Tearing his gaze from her, he opened the top drawer of the bedside table and withdrew a condom. He ripped open the package. She watched, spellbound, air stuck in her lungs when he rolled it on his swollen, ruddy cock with expert haste.

He came onto the bed on his hands and knees. Emma’s heart began to pound frantically in her ears as he prowled toward her.

“Open your thighs like I told you,” he said, his voice a low growl. “I want you to keep them spread unless I tell you otherwise.” He positioned himself over her. She couldn’t breathe. Hadn’t he joked that they’d have sex in the missionary position, making it sound like it’d be a walk in the park after the challenge of being restrained? She anxiously eyed his heavy cock hanging between his legs. Missionary sex with Vanni suddenly seemed as erotic and challenging as the most advanced positions in the Kama Sutra.

“Don’t look at me like that, Emma,” he chided as he placed his hands on her inner thighs and matter-of-factly spread her even wider. He stared at her exposed pussy for a moment, gritting his teeth. “You wouldn’t deny me this moment of pleasure after you’ve had yours, would you?” he asked, pressing back her thighs so that her hips rolled back on the bed.

“No, of course not,” she managed as she watched, wide-eyed as he used his hand to place the fat, fleshy crown of his cock at her entrance. It wasn’t a lie. The idea of having him inside her again excited her so much, it was like an achy knot at her core. It’s just that he overwhelmed her as well.

She moaned at the pressure of the hard, swollen head of his sex pressing into her. She was extremely aroused, and very wet, but her channel resisted his girth at first.

He thrust, holding her hips steady. She gasped loudly. Her tissues stretched around him, finally submitting to the relentless pressure.

“No. You’re much too sweet to deny me this, aren’t you?” he grated out, coming down over her and seizing her mouth in a furious, possessive kiss. He flexed his hips. She screamed as he filled her, his mouth muffling her surge of excitement and crashing, ruthless sensation.

Sinking into Emma was like piercing heaven . . . or a particularly salacious part of hell.

He should have been satisfied with the feeling of her squeezing his cock into the sweet lock of her body, but he wanted more.

Always more.

Falling down over her, he braced himself on his forearms. His tongue plunged between her lips.

He sunk deeper into her pussy and she screamed into his mouth. He lifted his head reluctantly, nipping at her lush lips. His cock throbbed furiously in her clasp, demanding more. He resisted with a Herculean effort.

“Shh,” he soothed roughly. He waited until he felt her kissing him back excitedly, her soft whimpers driving him crazy. Her hands moved anxiously on his back, her fingertips sinking into muscle. He groaned and penetrated her to the hilt. He grimaced, his eyes clamped shut.

“Fuck, you’re a trial,” he said.

He blinked his eyes open, realizing belatedly he’d spoken the blistering thought out loud. He focused on her lovely face, her delicate features pulled tight with arousal. Glancing down, he saw her small, firm breasts rising and falling rapidly. His cock lurched in her clasping channel.

“I’m sorry,” he said, regretting her slight wince.

“Don’t be,” she whispered. “You feel so good.”

His nostrils flared as he stared down at her. “If you had any idea of what I want to do to you right now, you might not say that.”

Her lips fell open, the vision of the wet, red depths of her mouth like a lancing spear to his restraint.

“Just the missionary position, remember?” she gasped softly.

He stilled, his skin roughening. “Are you teasing me?” he asked disbelievingly.

“No. Tempting you.”

“You fresh little witch,” he bit out before he drew his cock out of her and plunged it back in to the hilt. Air popped out of her throat at the hard thrust. Her legs jolted slightly. “Spread your legs again,” he ordered tensely. She widened her thighs, raising her bent knees higher. “That’s right,” he muttered before he began to fuck her.

He stared at her face as he took her, enraptured by the wild, helpless expression on her face. He thrust harder, smacking into her taut body. God, he was hungry, and she was a feast unlike any other.

She gripped at his shoulders, her expression growing frantic. Her nails sunk into muscle. His cock swelled and pounded.

“Put your hands above your head,” he grated out, never ceasing in his thrusts. “Do it, Emma,” he said sharply when she just stared at him with dazed, doelike eyes. He drove into her, their skin slapping together.

Her eyes would be the death of him.

She finally seemed to understand him. Her hands fell over her head, her elbows bent, the pale, tender underside of her arms exposed. Her hands were open on the pillows, the palms upward, her fingers curling slightly inward. It was a striking image of beauty. Of submission. She’d done it so naturally, never realizing the effect it had on him.

He cursed, arousal biting at him, goading him onward. He fucked her harder. Her pink-tipped breasts strained upward, bouncing slightly every time he plunged into her. She bit her lip as his cock drove faster. Her pussy was warm and liquid, her nipples erect. Her expression was rigid, her eyes glazed with desire.

“Why don’t you scream for me?” he bit out, angry at the blatant evidence of her arousal and subsequent silence, for some reason. He despised porn-star theatrics in bed. He was disgustingly used to porn-star theatrics in bed, so it was a strange thing for him to demand Emma to scream her need.

She blinked. “Do you want me to?”

“Fuck yes,” he snarled. He sunk his cock and ground his pelvis against her outer sex. He circled his hips, stimulating her clit.

Her perspiration-glazed face rippled with tension. A cry popped out of her throat. She clamped her eyes shut and stifled a moan. He felt the walls of her pussy convulse. Her whimpers broke free. They fell on his ears like the sweetest of blessings.

“That’s right,” he muttered viciously. He pushed her knees back onto the mattress, opening her body to him further. He came up on his toes, his feet digging into the bed and finding traction. He fucked her climaxing pussy with wild abandon. The sound of the bed creaking at his forceful thrusts melded with that of her frantic cries and his own pounding heart.

God it was good.

He hadn’t meant to take her so ruthlessly, but something had snapped in him when she’d climaxed. He’d been scorched and snagged by the fiery whip of pure lust.

His roar as he came was triumphant. Savage. His sinews seized as pleasure crashed into him.

He fell over her a moment later, his lips instinctively finding the sweetness of her neck. He panted wildly for breath, swallowing the fragrance of her skin and her arousal, filling his lungs with it. His nerves buzzed and crackled in the electrical aftershock.

The stupid, yet compelling thought hit him that Emma had reanimated him, somehow.

Cristina had died more than a week ago while he stood looking on with Emma. He’d initiated Emma into the world of challenge and passion.

But Emma, that innocent, unlikely fey creature that stood at the gateway between life and death, had tempted him.

She’d done the unexpected, Vanni realized. She’d jerked him, raw and exposed, into the bright, blinding light of the living.

Emma stared up at the ceiling, trying desperately to calm her body and then her mind. She understood now, or at least she understood better, what she’d seen that night in the armoire. When she was restrained to that bedpost, and just now in this bed, she’d been the single, focused point of Vanni’s desire. She hadn’t comprehended him earlier entirely when he’d said that he deserved her judgment for making love to Astrid so callously, but she did now. If such methods were to be used, it should only be used in situations of caring and trust.

But this—what she’d glimpsed of herself beneath Vanni’s hands and cock and focused desire—had amazed her.

He had.

She lowered her hands and caressed his shoulders and back, wondrous anew at the sensation of thick, smooth skin gloving lean, rippling muscle. Warmth swept through her when she felt him nuzzle her neck and then press his lips to her still-leaping pulse.

“How do you get so hard?” she asked, amazement spicing her tone as she ran her hands along his sides.

“Exercise,” he said next to her skin. “It helps me to relax. Reduce tension.”

If he needed to exercise as much as his hard body suggested, he must carry a mountain-load of tension in him. There was exercise like she practiced it—four or five hours a week at the local gym—and then there was exercise like this, she realized as she touched a rock-hard, curving biceps. She looked down at what she stroked in her hand, focusing on the tattoo.

“What does it mean?’ she asked, her fingers brushing over the Asian characters.

“Twins,” he said hoarsely after a moment. “It’s Chinese for twins.”

Her fingers stilled and then resumed tracing the intricate markings.

“What was he like? Your brother?” she wondered cautiously. He had told her on the day of Cristina’s funeral that he didn’t want to talk more about Adrian, but that unknown little boy seemed so present at times. Or was that Emma’s overactive imagination?

He exhaled heavily. She waited, but she didn’t feel the tension leap back into his muscles that she’d half expected.

“He was dreamy. Sweet,” Vanni added after a pause, not lifting his head from her neck. “We looked alike, but Adrian was slighter. He was fragile. Physically. You’ve never seen two more different kids on the surface. I was fire and force. I didn’t walk anywhere, I ran. I could take apart an engine and put it back together by the time I was seven. Adrian wasn’t interested in cars or engines, but his brain was just as methodical once he focused on something. He’d get distracted by a hundred different things crossing the length of the yard. He’d stop and watch a bunch of ants or some other animal, and then draw them in amazing detail. If there were such a thing as fairies, Adrian would have seen them.” Emma felt his small smile against her skin. “He was strong, just in a different way than me. That was one thing my father never understood. He never realized how much I respected Adrian, or how much Adrian respected me. We were different, but we understood each other perfectly. We even had our own language,” he said with a dry laugh. “Nobody else could understand us.”

“Two sides of a whole,” Emma whispered, a sharp, cutting feeling rising in her chest, making drawing air difficult. What would it be like, to feel so connected to another human being, to even feel like part of oneself resided in another, only to have that elemental part cut away? Her hands caressed his biceps carefully. She sensed that those things that characterized Adrian were inside Vanni, too. They always had been. Adrian had just been the embodiment of them, that part of Vanni made flesh. Vanni had been Adrian’s strength and fiery focus.

Now Vanni remained, believing himself to be only a part of what he was, existing in a severed state.

No child should have been left to feel so much. No man forced to feel so little.

Cristina’s remembered voice rose into her consciousness. The ache in her chest swelled. Cristina had been talking about Vanni—about his life since Adrian died.

He rose suddenly and flipped onto his back, effortlessly scooping her into his arms. Her head rolled onto his chest, her cheek pressing to a wall of dense muscle and springy hair. She pressed her lips to his warm flesh, trying to calm the upsweep of emotion she’d experienced. His open hand swept up her spine, making her shiver. He cradled her head in his hand, his fingertips rubbing her scalp.

“Vanni,” she said, her lips brushing his skin. “How much exactly did you hear Cristina say on the day she died?”

“Enough,” he said.

“But there was something she said—”

“I don’t want to discuss it. I told you. I heard enough,” he said, and she could tell by the cool, clipped finality of his tone that it wasn’t a topic they’d be broaching anytime soon.

He felt her tense slightly in his arms and frowned. He hadn’t meant to sound so sharp. She had no inkling of how raw he felt. How exposed. He needed distance.

He required it.

Yet he couldn’t bear to part from her at that moment.