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She wanted to weep with it.
God in heaven, but she did.
He pushed her back against one of the bookshelves, and her hand went up, knocking against two of the books and sending them down to the floor. Collateral damage. What could be done? He pressed his palm against hers, lacing his fingers through her fingers, holding her hand fast against the spines of the books still in the shelves, kissing her hard and deep.
It was incredible. Wonderful.
Her heart was pounding so hard, and for a moment she knew just a little bit of fear. Because what if she was hurt even worse after this? What if the feelings that were chiming through her now only got more intense? She didn’t want to love him.
She really didn’t.
And yet her heart was about to burst, and her stomach was tight with need.
So much need.
His firm, rough hands began to strip her clothing away from her body. It was so different from the time they had been together in the plane. When they’d had to keep their bodies covered by sleeping bags. When he had been stuck lying on his back. He wasn’t stuck now.
His movements were dominant, rough. And she exulted in them. She had spent years handling everything in her life. Trying to control everything. And she had surrendered some of that control the moment that she met him, she had agreed to marry him, and he had swept her off to this place, and none of it had been what she was used to. But this felt like the ultimate expression of it. The ultimate in practicing that surrender. If lying on the chaise all day and reading books had felt like a vacation, this felt like a new life.
A new self.
One where she wasn’t carrying everything. One where he was carrying her.
She was wearing pajamas; they weren’t even sexy. He didn’t seem to care. He stripped her top off, her pants, her bra and her underwear. She was naked, pressed against the bookshelves, and he was fully clothed.
“I want to see you,” she panted.
He met her gaze, those blue cold eyes, and yet they weren’t cold. They were aflame.
He put his hand between her legs, testing her slickness. And she was slick. Slick and ready. He pressed a finger inside of her, his gaze never leaving hers. “You want to see me? I want to see you come. Come for me, Stevie.” He smoothed his thumb over that sensitized bundle of nerves there at the center of her thighs, and she felt herself beginning to unravel. Felt herself surrender. He pushed another finger inside of her, and she shattered. He kissed her hard, swallowing her cries of pleasure, and then, only then did he move away from her, divesting himself of his clothes, and revealing his spectacular body to her. She had gotten a glimpse of it when they had been together the first time, but only a glimpse. His bare chest was magnificent, covered in just the right amount of hair. His chest was sculpted and defined, his abs glorious and chiseled. Then he moved his hands to his belt, took his pants off, and she could see the full extent of his glorious masculinity. He was hard for her, and she had a hard time believing anything that big had ever fit as neatly inside of her as he had done then. But it had to work. It had then. It had hurt at first, but then it had been glorious. And she trusted that it would be now too.
He moved to her, one hand palming her ass, as he moved his hand down to lift her thigh, opening her to him as he thrust deep within her.
She gasped. The bookshelf dug into her back, but he filled her incredibly well. And she found herself gripping his shoulders, her fingernails digging into his skin as she cried out his name.
He growled hers.
The mutual need drove them both. It was a glory unlike anything she had ever experienced. And she didn’t know if she could handle experiencing it again. And again and again, and yet, she knew that she would. That she must. Because they were getting married. But it wasn’t just physical. She felt it. Felt herself begin to fracture inside. Felt herself begin to crumble. All that resolved. All that she had told herself about not falling in love. Because she was supposedly too smart. Armed with the knowledge of what it could cost to love somebody that you might lose. But this was even worse. It was uncharted territory. Because she had never thought she might love someone who simply didn’t love her. Who was there, but didn’t feel the feelings. And yet. And yet.
He surged inside of her one last time, and she shattered again, clinging to him, shuttering as he captured her cries of need on her lips.
“Adonis,” she whispered.
And then he went over. Pulsing inside of her, his body drawn tight like a bow as he spilled his seed within her.
And when the storm ended, he looked at her with the expression of a haunted man.
And then he gathered his clothes, and walked away from her. He dressed in silence, and she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know how to react, or what to do. And when he left her there, it was worse than when they had been rescued in the snow. Worse than when she had found out he was supposed to marry somebody else.
It was worse than just about anything.
But this time, she decided she was going to follow him.
* * *
He cursed himself as a fool. Because he was not supposed to do that. He wasn’t supposed to touch her. After all, he had made a vow. He was not going to let himself be controlled by his desire for her. No. That was for another man. That was foolishness for someone who didn’t have control over themselves.
And he was not a fool.