Page 66 of Last Comes Fate

He cocked his head to the left as he cautiously scooted again so that his leg pressed fully against mine. Warm, solid muscle that I could feel through his pants and my thin sleep shorts.

“I’m a lot of things, Ces,” he said in a carefully low voice that hummed with anticipation. “But never thought devious was one of them. Do you really think I’d use something like this to fool you back together?”

It was true. Subtlety was never his strong suit. Xavier was more like a bull than a serpent. He strode into whatever room he entered, took on the task at hand without any doubt, and charged at it full-throttle.

“No,” I admitted. “That’s not really your style. But—”

“Doesn’t seem fair,” he remarked as his dark gaze passed over me sympathetically. “You have to do all the work. No release. Why not let me help how I actually can?” Tentatively, he reached out a hand, which hovered just over my mouth. “Look at you. Even your lips are begging to be kissed. You look like you’re ready to burst, babe.”

And I felt it. My breathing had intensified. My nipples were tingling, and that sensitive place between my legs was practically throbbing just sitting next to him.

There was no use denying it. I was basically dying for him to touch me.

“I just—I don’t want you to get the wrong idea,” I whispered, even as he stroked a broad thumb over my cheekbone.

His fingertips tickled the nape of my neck, causing goose bumps to fly up everywhere. I shuddered, vision already hazy with want.

“It’s all right.” Ever so gently, he took my shoulders, then rotated me in my seat until my back was toward him. “I know it can’t—I know it doesn’t mean anything.”

He drew me back and settled me on his chest, nestled between his long legs. While I could feel his considerable length against my lower back, there was nothing lecherous about the movements. Instead, a feeling of safety and warmth overwhelmed me. Something akin to freedom, but in a place where I was taken care of completely.

“Just let me help,” he said as his hands slid around my waist, flattening them over my belly. “Anything you need.”

I exhaled, then found myself sinking into his broad chest. God, he felt good, even just holding me like this, surrounding me with his clean, salty scent. So much better than a couch or a pillow. So warm and solid, but thrumming with untapped energy.

Some things really couldn’t be substituted. Things like heated muscle, arms like steel, and soft lips that feathered over the top of my ear.

“What do you want?” he asked as he stroked through my thin cotton shirt. I watched as he pulled the fabric up so that his fingertips brushed my skin. “I’m at your service, babe.”

“Mmmm,” I hummed as his fingers started moving up my rib cage. “Oh, I…”

“Tell me,” he purred, slipping his hands under the cotton even more to tickle the undersides of my breasts.

His touch was tentative, but knowing. Because he knew I liked it when he teased me with a feather-light touch, right at the beginning. Just like he knew I loved it when he kneaded them a few times right when he entered me, then pinched and pulled right when I came. The secret to good sex, I had discovered, was getting to know your partner’s body at different times—not just one reaction, but all of them.

And Xavier had learned every one of mine. Maybe even better than I had.

“Ahhhh,” I murmured. “Oh, do…do that.”

“This?” He cupped my breasts, distinctly heavier now, in each hand, then drifted his thumbs across my nipples.

They were so sensitive, I almost came right there. When I jerked, his tongue slid around the curve of my ear before he sucked the lobe between his teeth and tugged lightly.

“What else?” His deep voice rumbled, breath warm over my dampened skin. “What else do you want?”

“Talk to me,” I sighed, half lost in a dreamlike daze from the hypnotic rhythm of his fingers at my breasts. “Tell me something, Xavi. Give me something to imagine.”

There was a low chuckle behind my ear. “What else would Francesca Zola want to hear but a good bedtime story?” He tugged lightly on my nipples, then slipped one hand back down my belly to linger at the waistband of my pajama shorts. “Shall I?”

I could have stopped him then. And maybe I should have. He was crossing nearly every boundary I’d set up between us.

But every cell in me was crying for his touch. At that moment, I honestly needed him more than I needed arbitrary rules designed to keep us apart. I needed him like water. Like I needed the air to breathe.

“Yes,” I said. “But keep…talking.”

It would help me stay out of my head and enjoy the moment now that I was apparently giving in to it.

I closed my eyes and focused on the twin sensations of the hand that continued to switch off between my breasts, tugging and playing with their sensitized tips, and the other that quietly slipped under the waistband of my shorts and the elastic of my underwear, sinking into the soft curls that beckoned him always, my entire body shuddered in his embrace.

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