Page 81 of Bastard
I used to crave his touch, in the same way I’m addicted to mole poblano. We’ve hada lotof physical contact within a twenty-four-hour period. My body hums with awareness of him. Of his take-charge nature. Of his tenderness. It’s a familiar feeling, this wanting him so recklessly. Without care for my self-preservation.
He runs the washcloth lightly across my neck, back and forth, back and forth. Reminding me how sensitive I am there, and reminding me he knows what he’s doing.
The washcloth dips down between my breasts.
I gasp.
“Sh,” he murmurs in my ear.
He does it again, circling the material over my left breast, my nipple puckering beneath the sudden attention.
I hear him inhale sharply.
He’s getting off on touching me.
I turn my head, needing to see his face, except he won’t allow it.
“Luciana,” he rumbles my name. I’ve always liked the way he says it, like I’m his biggest fantasy combined with his worst nightmare. Yet there’s something else in his tone ... a rawness.
“When you danced for me on our wedding night, I’d never seen anything so beautiful. Then, you seduced me, and I made you mine, and I knew I’d been wrong. You waking up in my arms was so fucking beautiful, it hurt. Now, four years later, after you’ve grown into the woman you were meant to be, sexier and smarter and a force within yourself, I’m finally coming to terms with the truth.”
“What truth?” I croak.
“Every time I look at you, Luciana, you’re always going to be more beautiful.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
Could it be?
Santo cielo.Has he loved me all along?
“God help you now,” he grinds out. It’s all the warning I get before he’s swooping me up into his arms and capturing my lips with his own.
It’s a brutal kiss. Holding nothing back and taking all. My head falls back into the crook of his arm while his mouth plunders mine. His kiss says more than words ever could. “I want you.” He told me once that he loved me—before sending me away.
Does he love me?
I’m carried inside and set on my feet. He chuckles as I scowl at him for breaking the kiss.
I study him as he wraps me in a towel, dries me off, and then dresses me in the midnight blue nightgown. His muscles flex beneath his T-shirt as he takes care of me.
“Slide into bed. You’ll sleep closest to the wall.”
“What if I don’t intend on sleeping?”Por Dios. I want him. Now.Inmediatamente.
He removes his boots, socks, and T-shirt. The sweatpants he’s put on follow. I so tired and can barely keep my eyes open, except I refuse to miss a glimpse of him in his tight, black boxer briefs. Ignoring me, he gathers up his possessions and neatly stacks them inside his bag, then sets his boots next to it.
Always prepared for the worst.
He stalks to the bed, tosses back the covers, lifts me up and lies down on the mattress with me, our combined weight causing the bedframe to creak in protest.
I’m nervous, though it’s a far different kind of nervousness than when we slept together in Cape Town.
This. Is. Different.
This. Is. Real.
This. Is.Us.
