“You’re going to make me come,” I whisper, my voice uneven.
“Good,” he answers, inserting another finger and curving them against me, against the very spot I’m aching for him to touch. I quiver as my orgasm starts to build slowly. When I look at him, he’s working his hand into me, his eyes greedy and hooded. His lips are pulled away from his teeth, and when I clench around him, he starts to moan—as if this is bringing him pleasure, not me. “Come for me, Evelyn.”
I don’t break eye contact as my orgasm rips through me. I cry out, my mouth open and my legs weak. Wave after wave moves through me, so intense that I don’t know what to do with it. I groan and thrust, baring my teeth as the last of it leaves me quaking. When he removes his hand, it’s soaked—with me. He stands as I try to catch my breath, and then he licks his fingers one by one, and then his hand.
He consumes every last drop of me.
Taking a step back, he unbuckles his jeans and kicks off his shoes. I can’t help but watch as he lays himself bare before me. Though I just came, my clit throbs at the sight of him undone like this. His hands fumble with his belt, and he finally rips it free, tugging his pants and underwear down in one swift motion. I am not prepared to see his length in all of its glory—long, thick, veiny. He pumps it a couple of times with his hand, watching me watch him.
“Evelyn,” he says, his voice desperate.
It hits me then, again. This is all new for me. These feelings have only cropped up in the last month or so. I’ve known him for years, and maybe I never wanted to acknowledge what it was between us, too afraid of admitting that I could be with a man like that again. But for him, this is years in the making. I swallow thickly, thinking about all of the times I was vulnerable with him, and so many come to mind. But he honored my request at the tower, stopped when I asked him to. Booked us two hotel rooms. Treaded the waters gently, worked with my trauma, opened me up again when I thought I’d be closed forever.
I march over to the bed and get on all fours, my ass facing him. It’s a position I wouldn’t think to start with, but for him, I want him to know that he can have all of me, anything he wants. I am, quite literally, baring everything to him.
I hear him growl as he stalks over, climbing over me. Hesitating, I yelp when he flips me over. I land on my back with wide eyes.
“Later. Right now, I want to see your face when you come.”
I nod. He looks at me then, his hand running across his lips as he shakes his head and looks away.
“What?” I ask, smiling.
When he looks at me, I swear I see a hint of wetness on his lashes.
Instead of answering me, he lowers himself so that he’s on top of me. Instead of entering me, he bends his face down and kisses me—gentle, slow, methodical. His tongue dips into my mouth, slow and soft, causing me to let out a low moan that reverberates in my throat. When he pulls away, he’s breathing heavily. A piece of hair falls in front of his face, and I brush it out of the way. He closes his eyes at the contact.
“It was always you, wasn’t it?” I ask quietly. His head dips slightly, and I keep going, my eyes welling up with tears. “Even when I had no idea what I wanted—when I wanted to destroy everything good in my life. I didn’t know it yet, but I hoped that one day I’d find this… find you.” He looks up then, his eyes wet. He bends down and kisses me. I let out a sob, pulling him closer. “But I knew. The instant I say you in that theater, at that meeting. I knew.”
“Evelyn,” he whispers, gritting his teeth. “I love you.” He teases at my entrance, and I gasp as he enters me. We both cry out as he sits there, half in. “Is this okay?”
“Yes,” I whisper, my voice breaking. I drag my nails across the slope of his back.
“When I look at you…” he growls, pumping into me further, filling me to the hilt. I throw my head back. “If you could see what I see,” he adds, pumping into me, “you might understand why it could never be anyone else for me.”
His words cause a tear to slip down my cheek. I squeeze my eyes shut.This man is intent on healing me.Broken. Defiled. Tainted.Spoiled.And yet… I’m loved.
“Evelyn,” he commands, his voice low. “Look at me.”
I open my eyes to find his eyes wet too, so I reach up and wipe the tears away. Four years—four years of dancing around each other. Of healing. Of learning. All for this moment. Objectively, it feels significant—no one has touched me like this since I was Eve Winters. But right now, the only thing that matters is Benedict, and the fact that it all led to this moment. I’m not willing to give him up now that I have him.
Now that I have this.
He moves faster, groaning as he fills me with his length, and I move my hips to meet him with every thrust. The smell of sweat fills the air, of damp cotton, of freshly laundered sheets. Benedict’s breathing turns ragged as he quickens his pace, our bodies slick with sweat. He kisses me, the sweet taste of him embedded in my soul. When he pulls away, he roars, and the sight of Benedict Martin unraveling on top of me causes a crescendo of ecstasy to drive through me. His cock hardens and pulses. I cry out, contracting around him. I don’t look away as we come together—don’t dare to close my eyes and miss this. We move together, experience it together, everything—all at once.
We fall—together.
Crying out, he pounds into me as I fist the sheets. My toes curl, wave after wave pulsing through me. I swear my soul leaves my body—and Benedict’s too, if the bewildered look on his face is any indication.
He doesn’t pull out. He only pushes up on his arms, his face inches from mine, sweat dripping off his brow. His heartbeat is erratic against my own, our bodies still fused.
I gave him everything tonight—every last remnant of myself. There was nothing left to give. He looks at me like no one else has ever looked at me. With shaking hands, I move them to the sides of his face. I want to remember this forever.
After we clean up, I tell him everything—every monstrous, wicked detail of my past. Everything I can remember—every last detail. I tell him about growing up with my neglectful mother, my Catholic upbringing, my friendship with Lily and the move to Paris. I don’t skim over anything—I explain exactly what Auguste did to me, what his men did to me. I tell him there’s a chance I may come undone in the future—the thorns will be too hard for anyone to cling to. I warn him—I confide in him. I lay it all out.
But he continues to look at me that same way.
Listening.
