“Yes,” she whispered feverishly.

“Then rub it. Make yourself feel good, because you’re so tight and hot, this is going to be heaven for me.”

Panting softly, she did what he said, rubbing her burning clit. He squeezed another finger into her, and she pressed and circled more rigorously. He moved his hand back and forth, finger-fucking her, pleasuring her, preparing her. She’d never been this aroused in her life. She craved that dark possession. It seemed as if it was the only thing that would satisfy her, she burned so badly.

“Slow down,” he ordered sharply. She blinked, realizing her fingers were moving faster and more forcefully between her thighs. He withdrew his fingers from her ass. Then he was parting her buttocks and presenting the fleshy, tapered crown of his cock to her asshole. She gasped. He’d obviously spread the lubricant on his cock, but he felt enormous in comparison to his fingers. “You can only come when I’m all the way inside you.”

“Will it work?” she asked in a choked voice.

“It’ll work,” he replied, and from the sound of his voice, she thought he was clenching his teeth. “Just flex into it. It might hurt for a second, but—”

He grunted when she pushed her ass back onto his cock. The thick head penetrated her. She cried out as a sharp pain went through her.

“Stay still,” he ordered, recognizing her cry for what it was, but in an agony of arousal with just the head of his cock clamped like a vise in her warm ass. “Is it better?” he asked after a tense moment.

“Yes,” she said in a small, muffled voice. He cursed silently. He really was an animal to be subjecting her to this when she hadn’t been feeling well. Yet he’d recognized her feverish arousal for what it was. He’d been right. Her unusually sensitive body was even more primed tonight than usual.

Or maybe you’re just telling yourself that to make yourself feel better? a nasty voice in his head taunted.

Her muscles tightened around him, and he grimaced as he tightly bound down the promise of white-hot bliss. “Touch yourself again,” he hissed. “Is the pain really gone?” he asked when she resumed rubbing her clit.

“It doesn’t hurt,” she said.

“Good.” He leaned down and kissed her shoulder. “I’m going to go deeper.”

“Yes.” She faced away from him, but just the sound of her whisper feathered across his hypersensitive skin. His entire body felt prickly with life, his cock like a live, exposed wire. She felt decadently good. It wasn’t going to take much before he was exploding in her, which was a blessing for her. He didn’t want to make her more uncomfortable than she had been before they started making love.

“Then push back again,” he instructed grimly, firming his hold on her hip. He was in her now. There was no going back. No way in hell.

They moaned in unison when he gained another inch. He waited for her flesh to become accustomed to him. “Okay?”

“I’m fine,” she squeaked. For a second, he thought she was lying, until he noticed how rapidly her hand moved between her thighs.

“Hold still then,” he instructed. He began to fuck her with just the tip of his cock. She moaned loudly, and this time, he knew for certain it was in arousal, not pain. Jolts of pure, electrical pleasure went through him. Yes, this is what he’d needed ever since he noticed her slight withdrawal earlier. He hadn’t thought twice of it when she’d said she was on her period, but maybe on some level, he’d been disappointed. He’d needed to fuse with her in some way, feel her there with him on some deep, elemental level.

There was nothing more primal and poignant than this.

He fell down behind her, his head on the pillow above hers. He held her against him, absorbing the heat of her skin and her subtle shudders and the sweet, sharp whimpers that fell from her lips as he slowly burrowed deeper into her with each pass. A lavender dusk had fallen, the sound of the waves hitting the beach far below the cliffs sounding hushed and expectant. He stared out at the sublime night, holding her tightly, a feeling swelling high inside him. He wanted to let it out, to speak it, but he’d never felt it before—not to this degree. The incendiary quality of it made him wonder if it wasn’t dangerous, something to be held in, just like he strained to bind his mounting desire.

His resources failed him, though. His entire body tightened, his need ripping and tearing at his restraints when his pelvis bumped against her bottom. He took a moment to catch his breath.

“Can you come for me, Emma?” he asked on a ragged exhale.

“Yes,” she said in a high-pitched, quivering voice.

“Then do it. Let me feel you shake around me,” he grated out, hovering on the crumbling ledge of his restraint, bliss bubbling and boiling just beneath the surface, tempting him to fall. He waited, unable to breathe, his lungs burning in anticipation. When she cried out and shook, a rough groan scored his throat. He flexed his hips, fucking her in short, firm strokes, his pelvis slapping against her ass. He was a pure savage in those electrical moments, but Emma took him eagerly, absorbing his furious need . . . mounting it until he couldn’t contain it anymore.

Climax hit him, brutal and slashing.

It was like being ripped open by a slicing flood of feeling. For a crazed moment as pleasure buffeted him, he seemed to look down at himself from outside of his body. Laid open as he was, he saw there was more inside Vanni Montand than he’d realized.

But was it enough?

Week

EIGHT

Chapter 37

The following week with Vanni consisted of one halcyon day after another, golden and peaceful, achingly sensual and sweet. He took her to the picturesque village of Saint-Jeannet one late afternoon, where they strolled to the Place St. Barbe and dined while staring out at the stunning view of the sea and surrounding rocky cliffs. In Cannes, they walked through the open markets and chose food and flowers for their evening dinner at La Mer. In Cassis, they took a boat out and toured the calanques, massive limestone walls that enclosed inlets and bays resulting in the most jaw-dropping scenery Emma had ever imagined.

Mostly, however, they opted to stay at La Mer and indulged in each other’s company in the beautiful, peaceful surroundings. Vanni hired two men to come to the villa and erect a blue-and-white-striped pavilion on the private beach by the sea. They also brought a cushioned double lounger that was divided at the top only, so that two people could either sit up or lie down side by side, and tables and two chairs.

“You’ll burn easier than you think if we spend hours on the beach every day,” Vanni had explained.

He’d been right, of course. With the pavilion in place, they spent entire mornings or even days on the beach swimming and napping and making love. Mrs. Denis never came down to the beach, but upon some sort of prearrangement with Vanni, she brought them lunch at one o’clock. Vanni would jog up the hundreds of steps to claim it and bring it down to Emma.

Emma had brought a historical women’s fiction book with her on the trip and took it to the beach the first day when the pavilion had been set up. The vision of Vanni returning from a swim took her attention off the pages as he arose from the azure waters like a bronzed Greek god and came to collapse on the lounger next to her. She swatted him playfully with the book when he intentionally dripped cold water all over her. Grinning, he grabbed it from her. Water drops clung to his long eyelashes as he narrowed them and read the back cover.