Modern Romance August 2019 Books 5-8. Trish Morey
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was so hard it hurt. Hard and aching. And not just in his body. In his chest, where he felt tight.
He took his hands off her wrists and put them either side of her head. ‘I need you, Lara. Right here, right now, and I can’t promise to be gentle. So if you want to go, go now.’
I need this. I need you.
He didn’t say the words but they beat so heavily in his brain he wondered if he had said them out loud.
Lara reached up and wound her arms around his neck, bringing her body into close contact with his. ‘Take me,’ she said, ‘I’m yours.’
And in that moment, Lara knew she was done for. She felt Ciro’s need as clearly as if it was hers. And all she wanted to do was assuage his pain. She loved him. She still loved him. Had always loved him. Would always love him.
Ciro waited a beat, as if making sure that Lara knew what she was doing, and then with studied deliberation he put his hand to her silky nightgown and ripped it from top to bottom. It fell apart, baring her to his gaze, and Lara found herself revelling in it. She felt the ferocity Ciro felt—it thrummed through her in waves of need, building and building.
Ciro’s dark gaze devoured her body and his hands moulded her every curve. His tongue laved her and with big hands he spread her legs so he could taste her there, making her cry out loud when he found and sucked on that little ball of nerves at the centre of her body.
She lifted her head, hardly able to see straight. She was sheened with sweat now too. ‘Ciro, I can’t wait...please.’
He reached for something and she saw him roll protection onto his length. For the first time Lara wished there could be nothing between them—but this marriage wasn’t about that. Procreation. It was just about...this... She hissed out as Ciro joined their bodies with one cataclysmic thrust.
He was remorseless, using every skill he had to prolong and delay the pinnacle. At one point he withdrew from Lara, and she let out a pitiful-sounding mewl, but he rolled onto his back and urged her to sit astride him, saying roughly, ‘I want to see you.’
Lara put her thighs either side of his hips and came up on her knees. She felt Ciro take himself in his hand, and then he guided her down onto his stiff length. She came down slowly, experimentally, savouring the exquisite sensation of Ciro feeding his length into her, and then he put his hands on her hips. ‘Take me, cara mia...all of me.’
Lara soon found her rhythm, her slick body moving up and down on his, excitement building at her core, making her move faster. The pinnacle was still elusive, though, and she was almost crying with frustration as Ciro clamped his hands on her hips and held her still so that he could pump up into her body.
He pulled her down, finding her breast and sucking her nipple into his mouth as the first wave of the crescendo broke Lara into a million pieces. It went on and on, like waves endlessly crashing against the shore, until she was limp and spent and hollowed out.
In the seconds afterwards it was as if an explosion had just occurred. Her ears were ringing and she wasn’t sure if she was still in one piece.
Her body and Ciro’s were still intimately joined. She lay on him, exhausted but satisfied, her mouth resting on the hectic pulse-point at the bottom of his neck, and that was all she remembered before she fell into a blissful dark oblivion.
* * *
When Lara woke she realised she was still in Ciro’s bed. Dawn was breaking outside. He lay beside her on his back, one arm flung over his head, the other on his chest. Her gaze drifted down over hard pecs to the dark curls where his masculinity was still gloriously impressive, even in sleep.
She knew she should leave because he would soon return her to her room. She wondered with a pang if he’d ever let a woman spend the whole night in his bed.
She was sitting up when Ciro’s hand caught her arm. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’
Lara’s heart thumped. ‘Back to my own bed.’
‘Don’t. Stay here.’
Lara looked at Ciro. His eyes were still closed. Maybe he wasn’t even awake, so wasn’t aware of what he was saying. She lay down carefully and he rolled towards her, trapping her with a leg over hers. She felt him stir against her. He opened his eyes.
A bubble of emotion rose up in her as she took in Ciro’s stubbled face and messy hair. Without thinking she reached out and touched his scar gently, running her finger down the ridged length.
‘Does it hurt?’
‘Only sometimes... It doesn’t hurt... It feels tight.’
‘You were never tempted to get it removed? Like the people you help with your charity?’
His mouth firmed. ‘No. I think it’s important for people to see it—to know that if they want to live with their scars, it’s okay. And it’s a reminder.’
Lara was touched by his sentiment. Then she frowned. ‘A reminder of the kidnapping...? Why would you want that?’
‘Not that, specifically, but it’s a reminder that I’m not as infallible as I once believed. And it’s a reminder not to trust anyone.’
Including me, Lara thought.
Facing him like this in the half-light, with no sounds coming from outside, made her feel otherworldly. As if they were in some sort of cocoon.
‘The dream you were having last night...’
Ciro rolled onto his back again. ‘It was a nightmare.’
Hesitantly Lara asked, ‘About the kidnapping?’
He nodded, clearly uncomfortable. He probably saw it as a sign of weakness.
‘I had them too,’ Lara said.
Ciro looked at her.
‘For months afterwards. The same one, over and over again... The hoods being put over our heads, then taken off. Realising we were in that van with those men. Being ripped out of your arms...left at the side of the road—’ She stopped, shivering at the memory.
Ciro reached for her and hauled her into his arms. He said, ‘I would never let that happen again—do you hear me?’
Lara looked at him, saw the determination on his face. She nodded. ‘I believe you.’
There was something incredibly fragile about the moment. And then Ciro hauled her even closer and kissed her. Their bodies moved together in the dawn as they reached for each other and their breath quickened. This was nothing like the ferocity of last night—it was slow and sensuous, and so tender that Lara had to keep her eyes closed for fear that Ciro would see how close to tears she was.
* * *
‘Working from home again?’
Ciro looked at Lara and raised a brow, but there was no edginess to his expression. ‘Do I need to ask permission?’ he said.
Lara shook her head and helped herself to some of the salad which had been laid out on the terrace at the back of the house by the housekeeper. Ciro had been joining her for lunch the past few days. It had been a week since that tumultuous night, and since then Ciro hadn’t taken her back to her own bedroom once. They woke up together, and usually made love again in the morning.
But Lara knew it was dangerous territory to believe anything was changing.
Ciro sat down and helped himself to some salad and bread. The housekeeper came out and poured them some wine.
There was a mewling cry from down below and Lara looked down to see Hero, looking up at her with huge liquid brown eyes. It turned out that she was been a cross between a whippet and something else. Cleaned up, and getting fatter by the day, she wasn’t a pretty dog by any means—but she was adorable, mainly white with brown patches. The vet had said that he figured she was crossed with a Jack Russell.