Page 87 of Possession Under the Southern Stars

I shiver. “I haven’t got any makeup or clothes or…” I moan as he cups my breasts and squeezes the nipples.

“You can get up early and go back to your apartment,” he murmurs. “Just stay the night with me. Please.”

He tugs my nipples again, and I shudder and say, “Okay.”

With a triumphant, somewhat smug smile, he slides a hand to the back of my head and pulls it down to kiss me.

I want to protest and ask him why he’s torturing me like this when we know we have no future. But I know men hate having The Talk, and they don’t like to discuss Where This Is Going. And anyway, my body is turning to caramel again, as every kiss melts me just that little bit more. I can’t blame him. I came here hoping he’d want to take me to bed, and I was thrilled when he opened the door and it was immediately obvious he was interested. I can’t really criticize him now for wanting me again.

And it’s so nice to be wanted. To be desired. And to be encouraged to show my feelings in return. How can I push him away and demand he explain himself when earlier I was lying at home dreaming about this very scene?

So I let him make love to me oh-so-slowly, and it’s different from before, when we were so desperate for one another that neither of us could wait for him to be inside me.

This time, we kiss for ages on the sofa before he finally pushes me up. We rise, and he leads me to the bedroom, and we remove the little clothing we’re wearing before sliding beneath the cool duvet.

He kisses me again, and it’s like floating in the shallows of the ocean that have been heated by the sun. My body is still humming and a little sensitive from our previous lovemaking, and he seems aware of this, because his touch is tender and gentle. He kisses me all over, from my hands, down my arms to my breasts, over my body, and along my legs before finally moving between them. Once there, he kisses me gently, teasing with his tongue, until I can’t bear it any longer. And only then does he rise and slide inside me, making both of us groan with the exquisite sensation.

But despite both of us being incredibly turned on, we take our time to make love—because that’s what we’re doing, I have no doubt about it. Fraser is making love to me; it’s evident inthe affection in his eyes, the reverent way he touches me, and his murmured endearments.

We change position, and he enters me from behind. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his breath hot on my neck. “You feel so good, Hallie.”

“Mmm…” I reach up a hand to touch his face. “I love the feel of you inside me.”

“You’re like warm v-velvet… it’s fucking amazing…”

I shiver. “Do you know what you do to me?”

“If it has half the power of what you do to me, then it m-must feel pretty good.”

We continue like that, telling each other how we feel, whispering words of love, because how can they be called anything else? I’m in love with him, and I know he’s in love with me.

He withdraws and turns me over and pulls me on top of him, and I ride him like that for a while, gradually realizing that although his hands continue to trail across my skin, he’s not trying to push me to the finish line. It’s the journey he’s interested in, and he’s willing to let the end come when it wants to, to let it arrive naturally.

So I move slowly, rocking my hips and enjoying the slide of him inside me, feeling both shy and beautiful under his watchful gaze. And when I can’t stand it any longer, when my muscles begin to tighten despite my desire to wait, and I frown and bite my lip, he just says, “All right, sweetheart, it’s okay, you can let go. Just relax.”

I do, letting it arrive at its own pace, and when the orgasm does claim me, it’s as slow and sweet as the peaches we had for dessert, rich and sublime, and I cry out with every pulse, tipping back my head and knowing he can see the pleasure written across my face.

When I’m done, I capture his hands in mine and pin them above his head. “Mmm,” I murmur. “Now I’m going to ride you till you come.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His eyes glitter with starlight, and he looks up at me as I carry out my threat and rock on top of him. I set a faster pace now, and his fingers flare and then tighten in mine, his eyes closing as his climax nears. And it’s my turn to watch with satisfaction as I see the ecstasy claim him. I watch each pulse as it takes him, and feel him swell and jerk inside me as he spills.

When he’s done, I lower down and hug him for a long while.

Eventually, I move off him and lie beside him. I’m tired, the wine, the emotion, and the long day having taken their toll. Briefly I wonder if he’s going to want to talk now about our future. But he rolls me over and snuggles up behind me, and soon his deep breathing suggests he’s asleep.

I lie awake for longer, though. Clouds move across the sky, blocking out the stars, and the room grows dark. Still, sleep won’t come, and it’s well past midnight before my brain finally lets me close my eyes.

*

The next morning, I rouse as the bed shifts beneath Fraser’s weight. He rises and goes into the bathroom, and I yawn and stretch. The room is filled with lemon-colored light. It’s later than I’d hoped. I check my phone—yes, it’s 7:35 a.m. So much for rising early.

Despite having slept well when I eventually dozed off, my eyes feel gritty, and I have a heavy stone in my stomach. It was great to sleep with him, but I shouldn’t have stayed the night. We should have had a conversation yesterday. All we’ve done is put it off by a few hours.

I get up and pull on my underwear and his T-shirt, and pad down to the main bathroom. By the time I come out, he’s in the kitchen, making coffee.

“Morning,” he says with a smile, holding out an arm as I round the breakfast bar.

“Good morning.” I slide my arms around him, and we exchange a long kiss and hug.

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