Page 72 of Exodus

“Too much for a lifetime. I’m not sure how far I want it all to go.”

“Meaning?”

“I’ve said too much.” He drops his head and rolls it back and forth on my stomach.

“You said you need a vacation. I really don’t think that’s equivalent to spilling trade secrets.”

“Let’s change the subject.”

“Let’s not. Let’s talk about Saint-Jean-de-Luz.”

“Leave it alone,” he warns, his tone going cold.

“Wow. Okay, that was a fast regression.” He lifts to hover above me, leans in to kiss me, and I turn my head.

“Don’t you dare think of denying me,” he growls, pulling my lip with his teeth.

“My, my, Frenchman, how demanding we are.”

He runs his erection along my thigh. “You called my name,” he murmurs, getting lost as he lines himself up with my entrance. “Fucking beautiful.”

“You’re just a gauntlet of emotions today.”

“I’m losing my fucking mind”—he narrows his eyes at me—“and you’re the reason.”

“Now I’m to blame?”

“Take it. Please take it,” he says softly. And I nod, just before I float away in his kiss.

Chapter Twenty-One

“

I

t’s vanilla.”

“It’s cinnamon,” I counter as he pulls the milk and eggs from the fridge.

“I hate cinnamon,” he grumbles.

“Hate is a strong word,” I argue as I start the coffee, grinding the beans for my new French press.

It’s become a morning ritual. He cooks for me, and I watch him while goading him for kicks. He stands in nothing but black boxers, his hair still damp from our shower. The bulge of his ridiculously thick thighs along with his impressive length and muscled ass strains the fabric where he stands only feet away. The sight of him tempting from any vantage point.

He woke me up this morning with my wrists secured in his hands, his head between my thighs. An apology for his day-late return from a “business trip.” I’d waited, restless, worried, especially with the image of his last injury fresh in my mind. He only spent two days away, but the wait felt like an eternity. And I endured it just for another stolen moment. With his wicked tongue, he apologized profusely until I’d verbally mouthed my forgiveness, and he only let me go when I shuddered beneath him.

Then he teased me mercilessly until I begged him to take me. And when he did, all playing ceased, our eyes locked, and he tore through me equally as starved. He kissed me with so much fervor, that I forgot myself, forgot that we were wrong.

In those minutes of his tender and apologetic lovemaking, as he hovered above me, gripping the top of my mattress and thrusting into me like it was his birthright, I just knew no other man in my life would ever know me so intimately, or could ever reach inside me the way Tobias has.

When we’re together, he makes it easy to forget the dangerous game we’re playing. To forget that we’ve been stealing selfish moments for the last three weeks. Three weeks that we’ve spent playing house in Roman’s mansion.

It’s been just the opposite: it’s unparalleled bliss. I haven’t regretted a minute. Foolishly I’d tucked my heart away for safekeeping only to turn around and gamble the whole of it on a man I still can’t fully bring myself to trust, despite all his confessions. My heart is weary, and I will not fault it for being cautious.

But it’s not as if I have a choice. With Tobias, it was never a decision. He’s obliterated all my barriers save one, and in giving in, I’ve been thrust into a living dream.

My sensibilities have been warring lately as I toy with the idea of trying to trust him, because my heart can’t stop the free fall it started since the night he confessed the one thing he wanted is me, is us, and more selfish moments. And like him, I’m choosing daily to play ignorant to what that means.

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