The Evermore Series II: Books 4, 5 and 6

by Connelly, Clare

  Something pricked in the air between them. “You’re saying, what? You had an affair with him? A married man?”

  “No,” she shook her head vehemently. “Of course not. I would never do that! I could never get involved with someone’s husband.”

  He stared at her for several seconds, a muscle jerking in his jaw, emotions she didn’t comprehend crossing his face. “Go on.” The words were different now, tinged with iron, except Cleopatra barely heard it.

  “He fell in love with me.” The words were strangled from her. “He confessed as much to his wife, who spent approximately thirty seven seconds choosing what to do with this information.”

  “And did you love him?” Benedetto prompted.

  “Love?” She blinked, as though it had never occurred to her. “I was seventeen years old, he was thirty seven. I liked his company very much, but no, Benedetto. As I said, he was married. I would never have let myself fall in love with him.”

  “You think it is so simple?”

  “Not simple, necessarily, but important. I have enough experience of broken homes, broken families, to know never to become an instrument of causing one.” Sadness welled inside of her. “And yet, I did.”

  “They divorced?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m sure a crack formed because of me that they won’t have found it easy to recover from.”

  “You do not know this.” There was darkness in his voice. “It is possible you were a catalyst for a healing between them. She had not been well, perhaps he used this situation to address that with her, to help her to get help.”

  Her eyes widened, and for the first time in seven years, she felt a reprieve from the unrelenting guilt she’d carried around inside of her. “Do you think so?”

  “It is possible,” he dipped his head forward.

  “I liked his company,” she said again, softly. “I had no idea he felt anything for me beyond that. I had no experience. No clue. Looking back, I can see how naïve I was.”

  “And since him?” Benedetto prompted. Overhead a shooting star twinkled across the inky dark sky and Cleopatra’s eyes followed it.

  “No one.”

  “You haven’t dated?”

  “No.”

  “Perche non?”

  “The role at the Ambassador’s was pretty full on. I didn’t speak Italian and even though it was an English-speaking house, I still needed to learn to be able to properly communicate with the staff. And I was shell-shocked. For the first time in my life, in New York, I had started to feel like I belonged. I’d been happy. And that was all pulled out from under me so suddenly, I was thrown into a foreign country, and I just…couldn’t fathom the idea of trusting anyone again.” She swallowed. “I didn’t want to give anyone the wrong impression so I became more cautious and guarded. It wasn’t hard – the language barrier made aloofness easy and then it became a habit.”

  “You are the last person on earth I should describe as aloof,” he murmured.

  “It’s different with you.” Her eyes lifted to his and she swallowed, finding the idea of lying utterly impossible.

  “Is it?”

  Her hand lifted and pressed to his chest. She felt the beating of his heart and steadied her breathing with effort. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t you?” His eyes ran over her face hungrily, as though he was committing every single detail to memory.

  “You’re hard to ignore,” she pointed out.

  “Do you want to ignore me?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Do you want to ignore this?”

  He lifted a hand, holding her face steady. She was losing herself in the depths of his eyes, losing all of herself to his nearness and her body’s needs.

  “I want…”

  “Do you want me to kiss you, cara?”

  Her eyes flared wide as his question forced her to admit to him how she felt, even when she knew it wasn’t wise, even when she knew it was the opposite of what she should want. Danger skirted them; neither paid it any heed.

  “Yes.” A simple answer, with a complicated ramification.

  “Do you want me to kiss you even knowing where it will lead?”

  A small sound escaped her, a strangled sob, a noise of utter, desperate longing. “Yes, Benedetto. I do.”

  Chapter 7

  HER SKIN WAS LIKE silk beneath his fingertips. Soft and smooth, he ran his hands over her body, his every cell attuned to her responses, his need for her almost robbing him of breath. He forced himself to ignore it, to explore her slowly, to tease her gently, finding her pleasure points and exploiting them until she was quite wild with longing, until his name was tumbling from her lips again and again, a wish and a hope in every single syllable.

  He hadn’t intended for this to happen, but he wasn’t going to stop it. Not again. He’d learned his lesson. He wanted her. He wanted this.

  His hands cupped her breasts, beautiful and rounded, they fit in his palms perfectly. He ran his fingertips over her nipples until she was moaning, writhing against his bed in sheer need – and he understood. He understood – probably – better than she did. Her lack of experience was astounding.

  He wanted to give her everything in that moment – every bit of pleasure, every sensation of desire. He wanted her to feel everything she was capable of and to know it was because of him.

  He brought his mouth to her décolletage, running his tongue lightly over her collarbone, nipping her flesh before dragging his mouth lower, to the valley between her breasts. Lightly, so his stubbled jaw tormented her soft flesh, he drew his head lower, encircling her naval with his tongue while his fingers continued to pluck at her nipples. When his mouth connected with her feminine core, she bucked against him, crying his name out, and he laughed, a deep, husky sound, relinquishing his grip on her breasts only so he could spread her legs wider apart and keep them clamped there.

  “Benedetto,” she cried, as his tongue lashed her sensitive cluster of nerves. “I can’t…”

  “Lo so, lo so.” Except, he didn’t relent. He moved more urgently, his tongue pushing against her seam, his mouth driving her to the heights of pleasure, so she was tumbling off the edge of the earth. She arched her back, digging her hands over her head, burying them into the pillows.

  She was so wet, so completely ready for him, it took all his willpower not to take her then and there, to make her his in a way no man ever would – she was a virgin; he’d be her first. No matter what happened after this night, they’d always have this memory.

  He didn’t want to think about ‘next’, nor all the practical reasons for stopping what they were doing. He didn’t want to think about the fact she was an incredible carer for Alfredo and he needed that. He didn’t want to think about the fact that this could ruin the businesslike terms of their marriage.

  In that moment, he didn’t want to think at all, he needed, simply, to exist and enjoy, to surrender to this completely.

  He felt her explode and kept his mouth against her, enjoying her total surrender and tasting it too, and without giving her a moment to ride that wave, he moved his mouth and pushed his fingers inside of her, so he could feel the spasming of her muscles, tight around him, desperate with the strength of her desire.

  Christo, she was perfection. So responsive, so sensual, her virginity was a delightful travesty. One he intended to see to.

  But not yet.

  He moved his fingers, getting her used to the feeling of this, to the feeling of being possessed by someone, and he pulled his body higher, so he could take one of her perfect nipples into his mouth and roll it between his teeth, his mouth moving, sucking, teasing until she was whimpering. He could feel the muscles of her womanhood clenching fiercely around him, and he smiled against her breast before transferring to the other, subjecting it to the same torture.

  She was begging him, begging him to take her. He brought his mouth to hers, kissing her, swallowing her pleas
until they filled his being, and then he reached to the bedside table and pulled out a condom, breaking his contact with her for one brief moment, just long enough to unfurl the rubber over his length. Her eyes followed the gesture, widening when she saw the size of his arousal.

  Then, there was a hint of panic, as she realised where he was going to bury himself. “Relax,” he assured her, bringing his body over hers, his knee nudging her hip apart.

  But her breathing was rushed, tension and anxiety clearly visible in her beautiful face.

  “Trust me.”

  She nodded, but it was a jerk of her head, her anxiety palpable.

  “I am not going to hurt you,” he promised, and he meant it. He was going to do everything he could to make sure he didn’t.

  “But you’re so big,” she murmured with wonderment. And despite the sound of fear in her voice, he smiled.

  “This is generally considered a good thing, no?”

  “Yes, I mean, it’s just…”

  “Trust me,” he repeated, assuring her again.

  This time, she nodded. “I do.”

  His cock flexed at that admission, and he brought his tip to her womanhood. She hitched her breath deep in her throat, biting down on her lower lip. “Relax.”

  She didn’t.

  He could sense her tension, and when he pushed a little inside of her, her face took on a look that was even more afraid.

  He kissed her then, slowly, gently, relaxing her with his mouth, his hands returning to her breasts, plucking at her nipples until she seemed to forget where his arousal was poised, and she lost herself to wave after wave of pleasure.

  He rolled his tongue down her body and over her nipples, having discovered how wild those drove her, and he pushed his hand between her legs, his fingers stoking the fires there. And when she was crying his name, so close to exploding with another orgasm, he drove his cock into her, wrapping an arm under her back to hold her tight as the first, unavoidable wave of pain exploded inside of her. She bucked against him and he whispered into her ear, Italian words designed to calm and placate, to soften the moment.

  And then, deeper he went, until all of himself was buried in her tight opening. She squeezed him to the point of pain. She felt amazing.

  He moved slowly, pulling out just a little then pushing deeper, until she began to moan once more, this time with sheer pleasure, and he relaxed – he hadn’t even realised he’d been tense until then.

  Pleasure was everywhere; there was no need to treat her with kid gloves. Her virginity had been dispensed with, now he wanted to show her true pleasure. He moved faster, a little harder, and she met him with every thrust, pulling her own hips lower, as if she needed more of him than he could give, as if the size she’d first feared almost wasn’t enough.

  Her nails dragged down his back in a way that he knew would leave marks and he loved that; he adored the idea of being marked by her, just as he adored the idea of leaving his own visible proofs of possession. As if the idea had just occurred to him, he brought his mouth to her nipple and sucked at it, so hard he knew there’d be a dark purple shape right in the centre of her breasts the next day.

  He moved his mouth to the soft flesh a little higher and performed the same act, as his cock made her completely his.

  He felt her orgasm, she broke around him, her body quivering with the force of it, her cries so full of passion and surrender.

  “Okay?” He pushed up on his elbows to look at her; her face was flushed with pleasure, her lower lip full from where she’d dragged it between her teeth again and again, her eyes huge, her pupils even larger.

  “Oh, God, yes,” she smiled, and his chest tightened at the perfection of that moment – he knew enough of life to know moments like this were rare.

  “Good.” It was a sound of utter approval. It was an understatement. He began to move once more, harder, faster, nothing held back now. He moved his body, and she moved with him, and this time, when Cleopatra lost herself, he came with her, exploding inside of her with a guttural roar that filled the room.

  He collapsed on top of her, their harsh breathing the only sound that filled the room, and he lay there for a long time, listening to the mixture of her breaths and his, feeling her frantic, racing heart beneath his own, his body still inside of her already growing hard, wanting her again, needing her some more.

  This, he had not expected.

  Not only had that been the best sex of his life, it shouldn’t have happened and yet he didn’t really regret it. He couldn’t.

  Not when it had been so incredible.

  “Wow.” Her whispered word came many minutes later, rousing him from the direction of his thoughts.

  He pushed up on his elbows to look down at her once more.

  “So that’s sex?” She lifted a single brow and he laughed.

  “Yes. Do you approve?”

  She laughed. “What do you think?”

  “I think you are an incredible lover.” He pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose.

  “Right back at you.” She lifted a hand and cupped his face. “Though I think that must be down to you seeing as I just lay here.”

  He shook his head. “Believe me, you did a lot more than that. You are so responsive.”

  Heat spread over her cheeks. “I am?”

  “Oh, yes, bella. Incredibly. And it is a huge turn on.”

  “I couldn’t control myself.”

  “I don’t want you to.” He dropped his mouth to her lips, kissing her, rolling his hips to show her that he was growing hard inside of her.

  Her eyes grew wider and she made a soft moaning sound.

  “I want to …I mean, can I …”

  Embarrassment seemed to silence her. “What is it?”

  “I just…”

  He laughed. “Spit it out.”

  “I want to be on top.” She blinked her eyes a little, obscuring herself from his view, as though she was ashamed.

  “Don’t hide yourself from me,” he said, but completely seriously, because her curiosity was something he was hugely attracted to.

  “I didn’t mean to.”

  She lifted her hands to his chest, drawing invisible circles over his abdomen.

  “Please?”

  In response, he gripped her hips, hard, so that when he rolled to his back, she came with him. They separated though, so she had to straddle him and take him back inside of her, and she winced a little, as though only just remembering that her feminine core hadn’t even been used this way before.

  She lowered herself to his hips though, taking him so deep – deeper than before, so they both made a low groaning sound.

  “You have to tell me what you like,” she implored, but she was already doing it, moving up and down his length, pleasuring herself in a way he wanted to just lay back and watch. But pleasure was already over taking him.

  She moved, her beautiful body beckoning his attention, her breasts shifting, marked by his mouth, patches of dark purple contrasted with pale pink from his stubble and the creaminess of her flesh. Frustrated at having to lie back, but wanting to respect her desire to stay on top, he pushed up to a seating position so he could grip her around the back and hold her down while he lifted his hips, driving into her, their naked bodies pressed tight together, his mouth seeking hers so his tongue could torment her as his cock throbbed inside of her.

  When she came, her muscles squeezed around him and he went with her, pulling her hands behind her back, holding them there so she was a prisoner to this passion, a prisoner to him. He kissed her harder, he kissed her as though his life depended on it, and she cried his name into the room in a way he knew he’d could never grow sick of.

  * * *

  It was late and Cleopatra knew she should go back to her room. She should, and she would. Soon. She lay beside Benedetto, her body heavy with the pleasures he’d unleashed, the way he’d made her feel unlike anything she’d ever known, unlike anything she could possibly have expected.

 
She bit back a smile as she remembered every detail of his lovemaking, every single touch, feather light, masterful, controlling, dominant.

  A sigh escaped and he pushed up to look at her. Don’t hide from me. She curtailed her natural instinct to do exactly that, meeting his eyes head on.

  “You are okay?”

  She blinked. “Okay?”

  “You just sighed.”

  “Oh. Yes. It was a good sigh.”

  His lips twisted in a way that made her heart squish. “Is there such a thing?”

  “Yes. You just heard it.”

  “Ah. I stand corrected.”

  “No, you lay, naked, and I should go.”

  He snaked a hand out, curving his fingers around her wrist so he could lift her fingers to his mouth. “Go? But why, bella?”

  “Because it’s late, and I’m tired, and because I definitely won’t hear Freddie from this side of your home.”

  A frown shifted across his features. “Our home,” he corrected automatically. “Is he waking you often?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Not really. A couple of times a night.”

  Benedetto was scandalised. “That is outrageous. What for?”

  She pulled a face. “Because he’s only three and nights are scary and he’s all alone? Because he has bad dreams? Because he’s still finding his way back from grief,” she added, gently, “and needs a lot of reassurance?”

  It softened Benedetto’s expression, but only slightly. “He will destroy you.”

  “I’m used to it. A bit of broken sleep isn’t the end of the world.”

  “Ah.” Benedetto nodded thoughtfully. “But if you add me into the mix?”

  She turned to face him properly, her heart leaping wildly through her body. “What do you mean?”

  “What if I start keeping you up at night?” He prompted, his hand dropping to her breast, where he flicked one of her nipples with insouciant possession.

  She sucked in a breath, her eyes like plates. “Is that what you want?”