Closer (26 page)

More, more, more
… she moaned as he peeled her knit tights down to her ankles, whispering his nose across her exposed black panties, following her scent.  He made it all feel so urgent, so necessary, his need to exhale his warm breath between her legs.  As if he could bear it no more, he rose from his knees and pulled her down to the end of the bed, stripping her bare and admiring her nakedness against the midnight sheen of his satin sheets.  She gazed up at him as he delicately traced the contours of her body, absorbing the details he couldn’t see through the sensuality of his touch.

“I want to be inside you,” he finally whispered.

She nodded in consent, helping him unbutton his white shirt and shrug it off his broad shoulders.  Backlit by moonlight, his smooth, sculpted chest loomed over her while he removed everything else, revealing the raw, primal strength of his own desire.  She had seen him before, naked and fully aroused; but never this way, never with the intensity of his desire searing the silence between them.  He parted her knees with his hand, spreading her apart like the wings of a fragile butterfly.  What previously had been nothing more than casual temptation had escalated into something beyond their control.  Tonight wasn’t just about their sexual fulfillment.  It was an exploration of their own vulnerabilities and liberation.

The crackling of the foil wrapper confirmed he intended to protect her from repeating her past. 
He didn’t realize she was already protected
.  He slipped the latex condom over the full length of his erection and squared his pelvis against her own.  While seeking out her eyes and caressing her cheek, he made direct contact against her wetness. 
Yes
, she heaved into him, savoring the sensation of his full cock—taut and sleek—pushing past the initial resistance and gliding through her. 
God, how he filled her completely
.  He pulled back, shifting higher before entering her again, striking her like a match and setting her aflame.  Digging her nails into his forearms and clinging to the strength of his protective embrace, she opened her mouth without a sound as his steady, natural rhythm sparked the second and third tremors—low trembling quakes that radiated down, down, down between her legs before spiraling back up her spine. 

Drawing her hands over her head, he smothered her breasts with lustful kisses. “You’re so wet and open,” he exhaled in her ear, encouraging her to wrap her legs around his waist to allow him to drive deeper.  She groaned and combed her fingers through his thick hair, leaning into the teasing way he thumbed her clit, glazing it with her slickness, priming her for even more.

“I want to be the one who makes you come.”

His words hushed her soul.  In the past, she had experienced false fits and starts of a climax, quivering up from deep inside her without ever progressing into something more.  While lapping her tits with his tongue, he strummed her swollen clit and heightened her arousal with every deliberate thrust.  She wrapped her hands around his neck and bit into his shoulder before crying out for relief.   He silenced her with his mouth, a consuming kiss that matched his yearning to please her. 

“I want to be the one,” he whispered again, earnest in his desire to complete her.

She shuddered, inexplicably fighting the humming vibrations that always teased her towards orgasm without ever bringing her over the brink.  Sensing her restraint, he enveloped her body and accelerated his pace, driving towards her release.  She arched her back and gasped,
ohgod, ohgod, ohgod
, as the pressure mounted inside her core.  But not even his masterful fingers or the powerful strength of his cock was enough to build her climax to match his own.

“I can’t,” she confessed, pushing against him, as if it was a dirty secret she was not only admitting to him, but also to herself. 
I can’t
. 

She had uttered those two words more times than she dared to count, filling her with shame more times than she cared to remember.  With slow panted breaths, he released her from the burden of satisfying his expectations and quelled his own climax.  Cradling her head, he gazed into her eyes. 

She felt him withdraw and sighed with regret, half-ashamed and half-overwhelmed by the honesty of their connection.  She had never come with anyone—not even Enzo—because she had never fully entrusted her vulnerability into anyone’s care. 
It was never just about the sex for her
—
it was about trust
. 

He caressed her cheeks and brushed away her tears of release.  She tried to evade his eyes, but he coaxed her back with tender kisses. 

As if he sensed the depth of her inhibitions, he sought out her reassurance.  “Do you want this?” 

She nodded, surrendering to him in silence.

He stared at her, refusing to look away while delivering an unspoken alternative—
bringing her to climax without her permission
. 

Taking full control over her body, he rolled her onto her belly and smothered her back with his firm chest, settling his hard cock against her tailbone and snaking it down between her cheeks.  She clenched the sheets and released a sigh of submission as the force of his possessive hands locked her wrists against the mattress. 

Pinning his sharp chin into the sensitive curve of her shoulder, he exhaled his desires into her ear.  “I want you to stain my sheets.” His order was low and authoritative. 
She wanted to please him.  She wanted to gush for him
.

The smell of his sweat and the unforgiving edge in his voice excited her.  He was the same man, but different— masterful, powerful, and domineering.  She gasped when his fingers slipped beneath her and cupped her pubic bone, teasing her with burning anticipation.  He had given her a command; now, he intended to ensure that she followed through on it.

Yielding to her urge to obey him, she raised herself from the mattress, granting him access to the full length of her slit.  With disciplined restraint, he fondled her with measured strokes, glazing his fingers with her arousal without ever fully entering her.  She moaned, quivering from his slightest contact, before he drew her hand down to her sex, initiating her own masturbatory touch. 

“Deeper,” he insisted, spreading her stance wider with his own knees and guiding her fingers with a depth and intensity that made her shudder. 

Yes, yes, yes
…the chanting of her breaths mirrored the pulsing pleasure he produced with his own simultaneous strokes.  When he was certain she would not stop, he withdrew his fingers and he kneaded her backside, loosening all her defenses and priming her for his forbidden touch.

A simple word flashed through her subconscious
—trust
. 

The moment he circled her rosebud with her own wetness, she lowered her head and suppressed her groan with the sheets.  She bowed deeper, her knees weakening, overwhelmed by the mastery of his seduction and her insatiable urge to be dominated by him. 

“Beg me not to stop.”

“Don’t…stop.” she barely exhaled, backing into his cautious caresses as she continued her own rhythmic pace.  “Please…don’t…” her voice dissolved away, melting into an untempered sigh of satisfaction.

“Never.”  He said it with a deep hush, signaling that he knew what she needed from him. “Not even if you scream.”

Within the darkness, she only heard the anticipation of her own shallow exhale.  Slowly, deliberately, he slipped his hard cock behind her, gripping her shoulder and bracing her in place like his sacred possession. 
Could she trust him to fulfill her without breaking her?
  She withheld her breath as he spread her knees wider, sending a naughty thrill of exhilaration up the full length of her slit.  She ached and tingled for his domination.  She knew what was coming, but she never could have anticipated how easily the hot tip of his hard cock would penetrate her in one stark thrust, deeper than she ever thought possible, as if he had unlocked a secret compartment of her sexuality for which only he owned the key. 

She extended her fingers across the mattress and opened her mouth to scream, fighting the intensifying tremors that seized her sex and made her entire body tremble with pleasure.

Don’t stop
.

He drove into her again, fiercely, savagely, sparking an intoxicating sensation of heat and fire between her legs. 
Faster, harder, deeper
… his masculinity dominated her like a tidal wave, sweeping her beneath the rushing acceleration of his conquest.  She cried out with an intolerable need for a release. 

“There you are,” he whispered, strengthening his thrusts.  “Now you are mine.  And I’m not going to stop until you come.”

He challenged her final resistance before shifting higher and breaching past it.  A spontaneous sensation of gratification rolled through her pelvis, relinquishing every inhibition within her like a flashing burst of light. 
A primal scream
.  She heard it before she recognized it—the sound of her own seizing climax, surging in unison with his final ascent, followed by low, harmonious vibrations of ecstasy. 
He had not given up on her—not before he united them
.

They simultaneously shuddered, trading kisses and breaths between each receding sigh. Whatever she had felt in the past, whatever seduction or arousal she thought she had experienced with other men, was nothing compared to the liberation Sven had granted her tonight.

Light-headed and drained, she fell forward.  He guided her down into the bed, spooning her from behind with tenderness.  She drew up her knees and settled into his protective embrace as the heavy darkness muted her afterglow, fading like a pulsating ember.  They were no longer two strangers separated by the tension of their mutual attraction; they were two entwined lovers, who had exchanged the most intimate parts of themselves before retreating into the serenity of slumber.

Yes, she could trust him in every way
.

Chapter Twenty-Five

He suddenly opened his eyes.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh…

Perhaps it was the draft from the ceiling fan above him that first awoke him.  Or perhaps it was the crisp night air that gusted in through the patio door, partially left ajar.  Whatever it was, it most certainly was the absence of her warmth next to him that drew him up from the bed, but it was not her absence that startled him the most—it was the clarity of his sight within the darkness and his ability to confirm that she was gone.

He scanned his bedroom.  Even within the shadows, he could make out the fine details of the furniture—his leather recliner, his end table, his dresser, even the number of rotations of the ceiling fan above him. 
One, two, three, four
…he counted, certain he could spot the beginning and end of each whirling blade. Then, his gaze settled on something familiar, but different—something he thought he knew so well, and yet, he barely was able to recognize at all—the portrait of Inez, resting atop his dresser. 
How many time had he stared at that photograph
?   More times than seemed appropriate.  Each time, he had squinted at it with curiosity, taking in the blurry expression of her face, letting his imagination fill in what his vision could not.  Now, there was nothing left to his imagination.  He covered his damaged eye with his palm; still, he could see it perfectly with his good eye, taking in the exceptional beauty of a woman he barely knew by sight.  Her full lips, dark eyelashes, long black hair, exotic complexion.  But it was her expression of arousal that surprised him the most.  It was the same woman he had made love to last night, but he had never realized how much the sound of her sigh, the scent of her skin, the taste of her breasts, and the quivers of her body compensated for his inability to clearly see that exact expression on her face. 

There had been so much more than that expression
, he thought, savoring the sweet taste of her flavoring his tongue, and the memory of the intimacy shared between them—an intimacy that had eluded him so many times with his previous partners. 
She completed him
.  And now, her absence pained him and his soul ached with emptiness.  Slipping out through the patio door, his intuition drew him towards the balcony suite.  It wasn’t the return of his eyesight that filled his veins with adrenaline and guided him like a hunter in the darkness; it was his instinctive need to reclaim her.  He yearned to be close to her—closer in every way possible. 

He gazed up at the moon, its milky beams reflecting off the panes of the sliding glass door. 
Luna
, he considered, realizing the reason for her absence while peering into the balcony suite. Even from the distance, he could clearly see her.  Eyes closed and nursing her baby, she swayed back and forth in the rocking chair that he had bought for her yesterday. 
It had cost him a thousand dollars.  He would have spent a million
.  The moonlight streamed in through the front bay windows, illuminating her with a glow. 
Like an angel
. 

Then, he frowned, reflecting on their last few nights together.  It shamed him to realize how selfish and shallow he had been in his pursuit of her.  She had struggled to maintain her commitment to Luna—even in the face of his lustful attempts to seduce her in which he unknowingly had pitted money and vice against her duty to her child.  
Never again
, he vowed in silence, retreating to the master bedroom. 
He was no longer that same man. 
And like a sacred oath to her—and himself—he promised he would never allow her to struggle again.

Invigorated by the clarity of his sight, he strolled through his penthouse like a traveler finally returning home from a foreign land.  Everything was clear to him, even within the darkness.  He strode down the corridor towards his living room, seamlessly navigating through the expansive space without counting steps or reaching out for strategically-positioned furniture and sculptures.  Edges and contours, once blurry and indistinct, were sharp and familiar. 
He was home
. 

Stopping in front of a closed door near the fireplace, he touched the handle, realizing that if it was locked, he wasn’t certain he would know where he had left the key. 
Not since the accident
, he thought and paused, considering the implications of clicking the door ajar and passing through it.  His gaze followed the moonlight, streaming in through the skylight and cutting across the black marble floor.  It ascended the sleek white wall, illuminating the glossy silver finish of the oversized black and white photograph of Chicago’s skyline. 
Taken during the construction of The Spire
, he remembered, admiring its exposed steel foundation, rising higher than any building around it.  He had hung it like a prize—a symbol of his contribution to history, a reminder of how he had personally changed the cityscape for eternity. 

Finally, after a long moment of deliberately avoiding it, he glanced down onto his drafting table.  There, untouched and awaiting completion like it was only yesterday, rested his final designs for the Li Long Towers.  He sank down into his swivel chair and stared at his drawings, studying the brilliance of their strength and simplicity, as if it had been designed by a complete stranger.  He had forgotten how much he had loved it—his mastery of engineering and architecture, and specifically the challenge of designing the most ambitious building in the world and succeeding through sheer, stubborn defiance. 
He had loved his work
. 

“Your own personal studio?”

He turned to the familiar sound of her voice in the doorway, only this time, he spotted a woman who he hardly recognized.  She was wearing his white silk dress shirt, buttoned up just below her breast bone, its lapels crossing at her thighs and its sleeves flipped back at the cuffs.  She played with a lock of her tussled black hair and watched him—watching her—with her unwavering brown eyes.

“I didn’t realize,” she added slyly, “that the secret sauce of being a genius was sitting in front of your work in the middle of the night—completely naked.”

He smirked, savoring her sarcastic smile and the wicked glint in her eye. She was right.  He hadn’t bothered to put on his clothes and her unexpected presence aroused him. 
She was more beautiful than he had ever imagined
.  He extended his hand, beckoning her.  She pushed herself off the door frame to enter the studio and accepted his hand.  He pulled her between his legs and nipped at her skin beneath the unbuttoned collar. She ran her sharp fingernails through his hair and down the back of his neck. 
Her nails—the only artificial thing about her
.  He sighed, savoring her tenderness, and relaxed his forehead between her breasts. 

He whispered his breath along her breastbone and slipped his hands beneath the tail of his dress shirt to feel the curves of her backside. 
Bare
.

“Sitting in front of my work completely naked in the middle of the night is just the bait.  Catching beautiful wisps of inspiration is the genius part.”

He coaxed her into his lap.  She straddled him as he swiveled them around in an indulgent moment of simple happiness.

“How’s Luna?”

“Well-fed, warm, and sleeping like a princess in a fairy tale.”

“As she should be,” he said, nodding his assurance.  He stopped the chair and spun them in the opposite direction. “How’s her mother?” he asked with playful grin, running his hands up the back of her thighs and stopping at the edge of his shirt.

“Better now.” She smiled, allowing him to feather kisses down her throat.  “When I came back to bed and saw that you were gone, I thought maybe…” She hesitated.

He pulled away and peered into her eyes. “Maybe what?”

“That maybe you had changed your mind about last night.”

“Never,” he vowed, staring at her.

She met his gaze.  Rarely did he allow anyone to see him without his eyepatch, fearful his ruined eye revealed a weaker man than he wanted to show the world.  But she made him feel that he wanted to share every part of himself with her. 

“Can you see me?” she slowly asked, as if she noted the difference.

“Yes.” He nodded.

“How well?”

“Perfectly.”

She fell silent, absorbing the significance of his answer. “But how?”

“I don’t have any idea, really.  I guess I just changed my mind last night, and decided I wanted to stop being a bitter blind asshole and start becoming someone who deserves to see how very lovely you really are.”

She touched his cheek.  “Not average?”

“Far, far from it.”

“Yeah, you were an asshole.”

“Yes, you’ll have to let me seek forgiveness.”  He unfastened the top button of his dress shirt and brushed back the seam with his lips.  He sought out her breasts, drifting his mouth over their sensuous curves.

She shivered with delight and allowed him to taste her tits.  He wrapped his fingers around her backside and shifted her higher into his lap, tilting her soft nest of hair against his erection.  She unexpectedly opened her eyes, studying the drawings on his drafting table.

“Those are your designs?”

He nodded.  “I hadn’t remembered how far I had gotten on designing the Li Long Towers.”

He lowered his mouth, attempting to kiss her breasts again, but she pressed her hand against his chest, stopping him. “They’re stunning, Sven.”

“Yes, they probably could be one of the most influential modern architectural projects in this decade.”

“Probably?”

“Well, almost certainly,” he whispered, completely uninterested in anything except the sensation of her warm pelvis melding against his own.  “I haven’t decided if I’m willing to leave to go build them.”

“With those designs?  You
have
to go build them.”

“Not unless you come with me.”

She looked at him in heavy silence.  “And bring Luna?” 

“Of course, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She didn’t look convinced.  “But someone has to care for my grandmother as well.  I can’t leave her alone.”

“Then we’ll bring her along.”

Inez scoffed, like he had truly gone mad.  “My grandmother only leaves her house twice a week—once to go to Mass and the second time to play bingo in the church’s basement.  There’s no way I could possibly uproot her to Shanghai.  No. Way.”

“Then I will hire a team of the best caretakers in Chicago to look after her while we’re away.  It would only be for a few months and we could fly back at least once to visit her.  And…” he paused, choosing his next words carefully.  “You know she wouldn’t want you to stay because of her.”

“No, she wouldn’t,” she replied with a defensive edge in her voice.  “But maybe I would want to stay because of her.”

He tightened his arms around her waist and held her gaze.  “If I go…do you want to stay?”

She lowered her eyes and bowed her head, her thick black lashes quivering like he was inflicting pain on her.  Finally, after a heartbreaking moment of silence, she stroked his cheek and lanced his heart with her answer. “Do they have opera in Shanghai?”

He exhaled, certain they had just sealed something precious between them.  “I’ll make sure you have anything you want.”

“French Martinis?”

“With imported Chambord, direct from France.”

“Will you tow Luna and me around in a rickshaw?” she teased, tracing his earlobe with her finger.

“Anything,” he promised, leaning into her caress.  “Anything to have you by my side.”

He guided her lips to meet his own, entangling his tongue with hers and transferring his allegiance through the heat of each stroke.  He kissed her with every fiber of his being, communicating his commitment without words. 
He wanted her in his life
.  With his vision restored, he had to go to Shanghai to pursue his life’s passion because it fueled the very core of his soul.  But he also knew she was the one who had sparked the nascent ember inside him—the ember of a new man—and without her, he risked losing her guiding light. 

She pitched herself higher in his lap, pressing against his erection.  God, how he loved the way she responded to every teasing nudge of his cock.  Slipping his hands around her bare ass, he exhaled his desire against her midriff.  She edged herself upwards and guided his head lower between her legs. 
God, how he loved her warm wetness and how easily she gushed for him
. 

Fueled by her low, guttural moan, he lifted her into his arms and laid her against the stainless steel drafting table.  She cried out with a gasp as its cool surface chilled her skin while he skated his breath down her belly, stopping at the seam of his dress shirt.  He unfastened the final buttons and peeled back the folds, exposing her completely.  His gaze settled on every detail of her nakedness—the maternal curves of her cleavage, the dark maroon areolas of breasts, the supple softness of her belly, the imperfect dimpling along her thighs, the nest of thick black hair between her legs.  He christened every spot with an indulgent kiss before parting open her thighs and admiring her sex in the reflective sheen of the metallic table.