Page 57 of Taming Achilles

“Tell me what you need,” I told her, stroking her hair. “Tell me what you need from me, Pippa.”

I could imagine the crash she was having. The intensity of our lovemaking - and it had been lovemaking, not fucking - had made me weak in the knees. So she must feel the same, if not more. I didn’t have time to pamper her. To hold her together. I could feel the passing of time like a metronome, steady but fast at the same time.

“I don’t know.” Her limbs started to shake. Another tear. Another taste of it on my lips. “I don’t know, I’ve never felt like this.” Her eyes shut. “Did you really have to tell me that … that you were with others … other…”

“Other women?” I asked, tracing my nose against her cheek. “Maybe not. But this will only work if we’re honest with each other.” I kissed her high cheekbone. “Let me gift this last truth to you, Pippa.”

“I can’t take anymore, please,” her voice cracked with pain. “I don’t want to hear anymore. Please. It hurts.”

I ignored her protest.

“I couldn’t perform when you left me,” I whispered. “I needed to learn how to. I needed to go to extremes to do it.”

She was shaking her head, her hands coming to cover her ears, but I grabbed her wrists to stop her.

“No more. No more, please.” She whimpered.

She shut her eyes as if she could block out what I was saying.

“And every time I closed my eyes,” I said, kissing her throat. “I saw only you.” I waited to see her reaction, but she held absolutely still. So I continued, “It was your voice in my ears.”

Her eyes opened, just a little, and I took it as a sign of encouragement.

“You are what I want.” I kissed her clavicle, right where it caved in at her throat. “I thought I could fuck you, and you’d be out of my system. That the memories were the fabrications of a nostalgic mind.” I lay my forehead against her chest, taking in the scent of her sweat, her musk, her perfume. “But it wasn’t. It isn’t. I need you like air. Like water. Like food. And no one else will be able to get a ride from me again. You’ve ruined me.”

She was looking right at me with those ever-changing, green eyes. Green, when she was sad. Blue when she was happy. Right now, she was both. Her eyes a deepening blue on the outside, but a light green near the pupil.

“You may be out of my sight, Pip,” I said, bitterly, my fingers digging into her ribs. “You may run to your little friends.” I spa that last part like it was a curse. “But you’re mine. Secrets, lies and all.”

I cupped her face in my large hands, turning her head so she had to look me in the eye.

“You’re mine.”

She shook her head, frantically, as far as my hands would let her. “I can’t be.”

“We have no choice.” I kissed her nose.

“We can’t be,” she whispered. “We can’t be. There is no alternative.”

“You’re wrong, Princess.”

“Please, don’t make this harder than it has to be. Let me go.”

“I’m not holding you down. You can go if you please.”

Her hands clenched into fists, but she still didn’t move. Still didn’t roll me off of her. My little lying spy. I knew she could do it. I knew she could push me off. What was it that MI6 trained on? Israeli Krav Maga?

Her body shook again, and I knew that her warring emotions were in direct contrast to my determined one. Sex deepened my resolve. But I knew from decades of experience it made her vulnerable and raw. She was a cuddler after sex. A small ball of affection and sweetness.

“What do you need from me Pip?” I asked her again.

Her eyes searched my face. Looking for what? I wasn’t sure.

“Kiss me goodbye,” she said. “Kiss me like it’s the last time.”

I shut my eyes. She was determined to pretend that we weren’t linked. That she wasn’t mine. I should be a decent man and let her keep those delusions.

“Kiss me the way I should have kissed you before I left Venice.” Her sad little whisper twisted my heart.

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