Chapter Nine
Eleanora’s breath caught. And then was silenced. Sanzio’s mouth descended on hers again, and now there was no mere swansdown of his lips.
But desire—strong, searing, urgent.
Disbelief gasped in her throat. How could this be happening? She didn’t know, didn’t understand. But how could she, when all…all that existed was him kissing her.
Hungry for her.
She felt that hunger, felt it as he opened his mouth to hers, his hands now lifting to either side of her face to hold her as he made his feast. Faintness drummed through her, the hectic rush of blood. He drew back, still holding her face uplifted to his, gazing into her eyes beneath the stars.
‘You do not know,’ he said, and his voice was raw, ‘how hard it was for me to walk away from you that night. And then again, last night. Agony on agony! When all I wanted was to pull you to me. So beautiful, Eleanora! So very beautiful. My beautiful, beautiful Eleanora!’
His words were music, the sweetest, most wondrous music to her ears. She gazed up at him, helpless and in thrall to him.
‘Do you really mean that? Do you—can you?’ Her voice was breathless and yearning, all but drowned out by the drumming of her heart, the rushing in her veins, the weakness in her lungs.
Another rasp broke from him. As if in disbelief at her disbelief.
She saw his long lashes sweep down over his dark, dark eyes.
‘So beautiful,’ he said again.
And kissed her again.
So softly, arousingly sensuous that she thought she must die of it. Her own eyes closed, helpless to do anything other than yield to the sensations provoked by his mouth on her lips. She felt his hands slide from her face, down to her waist. Draw her against him, cradle her hips with his.
She gave a low, shocked gasp deep in her throat and felt his mouth smile against hers.
‘You see,’ he said, ‘how beautiful you are to me? How much I desire you?’
She felt a thrill go through her, primitive, and raw.
Against the pressing evidence of his arousal, how could she deny any longer what she so longed to accept?
And suddenly, her body was answering his.
She felt her breasts flower against the tightening wall of his strong chest, his hands on her spine crushing her to him as he continued the sweet, unbearable wooing of her mouth with his.
She felt desire, arousal, excitement thrill through her, her breath quickening.
Without realising it, her hands had gone to his back, fingers splayed, kneading at the muscled contours beneath her touch.
Again without realising it, her stance widened, so that she could feel the full force of his desire for her.
Moved her hips against his in an age-old instinctive motion, glorying in the effect on him. On her.
He gave a low, smothered sound in his throat.
‘God, Eleanora—no—’
He drew away from her and she sought, with that same raw, primitive impulse that was quickening within her, to draw him back again, but his strength was too great for her.
His hands slipped from her waist, back to cup her face in his strong fingers, mouth lifted from hers, eyes still gazing into hers.
Her own eyes were dilated, helpless and wide, clinging to his. She said his name—filled with all she yearned for…
Yet still he held back. His expression changed, eyes searching.
‘This must be what you want—only you,’ he said.
She did not answer. Not in words. Instead, slowly, deliberately, she lifted her hands to draw his away. Then lifted her mouth to his again…
* * *
He kissed her, deeply and sensually, giving himself now to what was burning between them, what he would—could no longer draw back from.
Then, in a single motion, he swept her up, carrying her indoors, laying her down upon the waiting bed.
Swiftly, roughly, he pulled his clothes from him, tossing them aside. Then turning to her.
‘Show me your beauty, my so beautiful, beautiful Eleanora. Show me all your beauty.’
She was resting back against the pillows and in the dim light he saw her cross her arms to lift off the tee shirt she was wearing, then slide the gathered skirt from her. She was looking at him—looking at him looking at her—and he could not have looked away had an earthquake shaken the room.
Her hands went around to her back, leaning forward slightly, to unhook her bra, slip it from her, drop it on the floor. Her breasts were engorged, and at the sight of them his arousal strengthened. Her hands dropped to the waist of her panties. He stepped forward, coming down on the bed beside her.
‘That is for me to do—’ The growl in his voice was primitive.
She lifted her hands away. Her eyes were held by his, her breathing shallow, but she did not say a word.
Deliberately, slowly—achingly slowly—he let his hand go to where hers had been.
Easing his fingers between the cotton material and her silken skin, letting them glide along the contours, slide further down, into the vee of her body.
He heard a low groan in her throat, and smiled.
Let his fingers glide further still, into the secret feminine folds that were moistening to his touch even before he started his caresses…
‘So beautiful,’ he said again, his voice husky.
He could see her eyes start to glaze, her weight sinking back into the pillows, see her bared nipples straining.
He lowered his mouth to her breast, letting his lips, his tongue, play with her, resting his elbow to take his own weight beside her as his body half covered hers.
Her hand was gripping the bedclothes and that low, helpless moan came again as slowly, inexorably, he caressed her intimately.
Readying her for his possession. His mouth moved to her other breast, laving it with his arousing ministrations that aroused him even as they did her. Hunger rose in him.
He felt her thighs slackening more, made to move his own body over hers. But first—
With a rapid movement he discarded the last remnant of what concealed her from him, lifting his hand away from her now, sliding it under her waist and dropping it on the floor. Lifting her hips to his, his mouth from her breast.
For one last, long moment his eyes gazed into hers.
His blood was drumming in him, blinding him, hunger for her consuming him.
Her arms had come around him, her hands splaying on his back, restless now.
He heard her say his name again. Heard the hunger in it which answered his own.
Her hips were straining upwards, thighs parted, grazing against him, exquisite and unbearable.
He framed her beneath him, rearing over her. Her back arched, head thrown back, hips straining upwards to catch him, take him. Possess him.
She was ready for him, absolutely ready for him. And he…oh, he could wait no longer.
He thrust into her, dimly conscious, belatedly, that he should be gentle with her. But it was beyond him; he was beyond anything but the devouring urgency coursing through him, to meld their bodies, fuse them into one.
She gave a cry, and for one stricken moment, in what was left of his consciousness, he thought it was one of distress.
Then, like a tsunami, he felt her pulse explosively around him, drawing him deeper in, fusing him to her like molten metal, searing them both. He heard her cry out again, and then he, too, was surging unstoppably within her, his release absolute…
And hers, oh, hers did not cease. He felt her pulsing around him still, her head thrown right back, her hands clutching at his shoulders now, thighs straining. It went on, and on.
And then her body was no longer pulsing, but shaking, trembling, and her voice was not crying out, but sobbing.
He caught her to him, clasping her, embracing her, her body still trembling in his arms. His body, slackened now, pressed down upon her, too heavy, he realised, so he shifted to his side, taking her with him, folding her against him, his hand going to her hair, tousled and tumbled, smoothing it, hushing her, soothing her, calming her…
Slowly, slowly, her trembling eased, the sobs in her throat fading, but still he held her, limbs entwined, cradled against her.
Fatigue was sweeping over him, but he would not, could not, let her go, even as she quieted against him.
Her hands were twined tight around his body, clinging to him, and he could feel her heart beating against his.
But both were quieting now, easing now. With a last effort of will, he drew the bedclothes over them both, and then, with her no longer trembling, no longer sobbing, he cradled her still, and smoothed her hair, and softly, so very softly, kissed her tear-wet mouth and gave himself to sleep.
* * *
Eleanora lay there, cocooned in his embrace, pressed close against him. She could feel her heart still racing, her whole body still softly throbbing, a sense of bemused, incredulous wonder filling her. Had this really happened?
But how could she possibly deny it? Sanzio’s arms were fast around her, his sleeping breath warm on her throat, her body still possessing him…
As he had possessed her.
Taking her to a plane of existence she had not known could exist. So exquisitely, incandescently wondrous.
It echoed in her still—slow, low pulses within her, dying away, yet leaving her whole body with a glow that was like the warm embers of a fire that had consumed itself. That sense of wonder came again, her arms tightening around his strong, muscled body.
He had wanted her, desired her—the man she had thought indifferent to her. But she had been wrong—so completely, completely wrong.
And now—oh, now, happiness seared through her—he had made her his…
A smile played about her mouth, even as her eyelids drooped.
Exhaustion was lapping at her, her heartbeat slowing, the tiny whorls of remnant pleasure dying away, slackening her limbs so intimately tangled with his.
Her body eased, her breathing slowing, and in his arms, his cradled embrace, she let sleep claim her.
* * *
In the pre-dawn hours of the night, he reached for her again.
Half asleep but wholly aroused, his body strengthened, rousing her, arousing her.
This time was wordless, soundless, only the pulsation of her body telling him that she, like him, had sated herself with him, and he with her.
As their heart rates slowed, their fused bodies eased, he slept again, and so did she.
In slumbrous peace in each other’s arms.
* * *
Eleanora awoke, wondering why she felt cold.
Bereft. Then realised it was because her body was no longer curled against Sanzio’s.
For a moment panic struck her. Had she only dreamt what had happened?
Had it been nothing more than a cruel dream conjured by her hopeless longing for a man who did not want her?
Who had only ever wanted her sister?
Then, cutting through her fears, she heard the sound of water running, and Sanzio in the shower.
He emerged a few moments later, with nothing but a towel snaked around his hips to cover him.
She could not take her eyes from him. His own glinted as he came up to her, bent down to fist his hands either side of her pillow as he dropped a kiss on her mouth then straightened.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ he told her, the glint in his dark eyes intensifying, ‘or I might just be unable to resist you again! However much,’ he said, reaching for the clothes he’d uncaringly chucked aside the night before, ‘I want to slake another appetite right now. Breakfast!’
It was curious, Eleanora thought—or maybe not so curious?
—as they made their way some five minutes later to the farmhouse, that despite all that had happened last night, which she could not still quite believe was anything more than a fantasy of longing conjured by herself, despite all that, she and Sanzio could be as easy with each other now as they had come to be in their marriage.
But she wasn’t going to question it. Only revel in it. There was a glow about her, she could see it in her own reflection, that filled her inside as well. A happiness that shimmered in her, a wonder and a wondering. A radiance.
Because that was what it was, she knew, and went on knowing it.
Knowing it all through the two more days they stayed at the agriturismo—their first full day filled, as Sanzio had suggested, with taking the bikes out and exploring the rural byways, fuelled by a picnic lunch packed for them by their host, then relaxing by the pool in the warmth of the westering sun.
She thought wryly as she slipped into the water in her skimpy bikini, how she’d been nervous of Sanzio seeing her so nearly naked.
And now—now she gloried in it. Gloried in letting her eyes feast openly on his bronzed torso.
Gloried in letting him catch her in the pool, devour her with kisses until she slipped from him, diving away under the water, to surface and find he’d raced ahead of her, ready to catch and kiss her again.
The second day, they took his car out, making a day of visiting a famous Renaissance villa, discussing, as they toured it and the ornate gardens, what might apply to their own palazzo, a familiar, companionable subject of discourse.
They returned to the agriturismo at the end of the afternoon, catching a late swim before repairing to the dining room for a last dinner there.
As they made their leisurely meal, Eleanora’s eyes rested on Sanzio, the glow in them still there, as it had been that first morning.
It had seemed so unbelievable, what had happened, and yet it had.
Sanzio had swept her into his arms and made her his.
Reaffirming it with every glint in his eyes resting on her, every rasp in his voice, every casually possessive touch of his hand on her arm, the intimate, knowing smiles bestowed on her.
The sense of union—belonging. Togetherness…
That went so, so far beyond the marriage they had made, or the reasons for it.
Because now we are lovers.
The word hung like a jewel between them.