He carried our drinks and placed them on a coffee table before pulling me beside him on the sofa. “You said something that resurrected some Annabelle shit. Little things I thought I’d dealt with, but there you go. One random phrase and I found a new trigger.”

“Tell me what it was,” I said, taking the heavy crystal tumbler in which he’d poured a generous two fingers of scotch. I wasn’t a big spirits drinker and that amount would probably put me into a coma.

“Ah…let’s see.” He raked his hand through his hair, and fuck, it made it look even better than ever. “You mentioned something about the clothes, about feeling unworthy. That was a phrase Annabelle used to trot out. I think she thought it made her sound sincere. I’m sure you wouldn’t bullshit me about something like that, Darcy.”

My heart thumped hard, accelerating at the thought of Oliver still being fragile about Annabelle. “I do feel unworthy, Oliver. That’s genuine. Sometimes I feel as though we’re tearing along at breakneck speed, especially when you do things like spend so much money on clothing for me.”

“It gives me pleasure.”

“As long as you know I don’t expect it. I don’t want anything from you.”

He watched me with those licorice eyes as if searching for the one thing that would allow him to cement his belief in me. I wanted to give that to him, wanted him to know that I would be honest and truthful to him from this moment forward, but in order for that to happen, we had to leave my past alone.

I turned it back onto him. “If you ever want to tell me about Annabelle, I’m happy to listen.”

His fingers grazed my neck and across my shoulder, and my need for him consumed me. I didn’t want to know about Annabelle tonight, about the woman he’d loved deeply enough that he’d asked her to marry him, but I knew that for us to move forward we had to have that conversation some day. And with that would logically come questions about Rob. It was only fair.

Perhaps we’d be better off both holding our secrets.

“She’s not important.”

His eyes were aflame with hunger, the air between us charged and dry. When he took my glass of barely touched scotch from me and placed it back on the table, I was surprised there wasn’t an arc connecting our hands. He seized my hand and stood, drawing me from my seat, leading me out of the sitting room, along the vast hallway and into the master bedroom. Instead of words he used a trail of kisses along my jaw, down my neck and across my shoulder, slipping the thin strap of my dress so that it hung loose down to my elbow.

“You stun me in this dress, and you blow me away naked. Turn around.”

His voice still affected me the same way it had the first day we met. I did as asked, swivelling in the heels I wore to face the bed.

The kisses continued, down my exposed spine sending a ray of heat along my nerves. His mouth followed the slow glide of the zipper and everything about me tightened, trying to hold the sensation and the moment in place. I’d never been treated this way, my body worshiped, and I had this need to contain it lest I fall and smash into a million fine shards.

The delicate fabric of my dress collapsed with a languid shiver at my feet.

“All night I thought about looking at you in this underwear, and now,” he nipped with his teeth at the top of the soft lace of my panties, “the only thing I want to do is get it off you as quickly as I can.”

I reached for the waistband to rid myself of them but a firm grip on my wrist stopped me.

“Keep your hands at your side, I’ll do this.”

He knelt behind me. In the mirror I could see him completely focused on my half-naked body. He still wore his suit pants, his shirt loosened at the neck. His jacket lay abandoned in the sitting room.

He had me step out of my panties that he’d rushed to my ankles. “Shoes stay on,” he muttered releasing my bra with a quick flick. “Walk toward the bed.”

I stepped forward until he ordered me to stop.

“Bend over and rest your upper body on the bed.”

I was still some distance away and to obey him put me in an erotic pose, ass high, legs stretched.

“Fuck me, Darcy, you’re stunning.” His hand ran quickly up the back of my thigh, squeezing my buttock, holding my flesh tight until I gasped. He toe-tapped my legs further apart, never relinquishing his hold on me. I ached for something more than a motionless, clamped hand. It pulled arousal from my depths so that between my legs felt swollen, achy, wet.

A finger traced the back of my other thigh down to the back of my knee, hard, pressing in a way that drew all that desire from my pussy down the back of my legs.

“Please, Oliver.”

“Begging already?”

“Yeah, begging.”

He moved his finger, up, up, and all I wanted was it stabbing inside me.

“Tell me what you want.”

“You. All of you.”

His response was a huffed breath and a motionless finger.

“Let me tell you what I want. I want this.” His hand fluttered between my legs, stopping when it struck the slick wetness at my entrance. “And here, right here.” He moved onward across the ripple of my ribs to tap at my chest, my heart. “And right up here, this clever mind.” He cradled the top of my head now, turning it slightly as he stepped in behind me. The fabric of his pants brushed against one thigh sending a shock of sensation even though the brush of cloth was light.

“Here you go.” Responding to my tremor, Oliver pushed his hard thigh between mine. I was shameless as I backed onto it, gripping tight.

“Wanton hussy. Perfect,” he said, layering himself, one shirt button after another over the notches of my spine. My head remained twisted, right cheek flat against the bed, held there by his splayed hand. Then his lips met my ear. “You’re making my pants wet. They’ll need to go to the cleaners. I’ve scarcely touched you and you’re ready for me.”

All I could do was nod. Our breathing was already intermingled and rough so that I found it unnecessary to respond with words.

He released my head and I listened to the scrape of his zipper, felt the insistent, needy press of his hard cock.

“I’m going to fuck you hard, Darcy, because you’ve teased me all night long.”

Then he was gone, his presence missed like air. I heard the slide of a drawer and the unmistakable sound of the tearing of a foil package. I turned, wanting to see him but he was behind me in seconds, obscured from sight, although his presence filled the room. Then, the exquisite pressure at my entrance. As he sank into me I flattened against the bed cover.

He barely gave me time to adjust to his size, the way he filled me, before he withdrew and plunged into me again. I whimpered. It was a sound to coat my pleasure.

Oliver slipped his hand beneath my throat, lifting me from the bed, holding me, my back arched to him as he continued to fuck as hard as he promised.

“I never knew two people could fit together so perfectly, Darcy.”

His thrusts were relentless. His hand around my throat became an odd sort of comfort, making me feel so vulnerable, yet cared for because he chose not to choke me. I must be crazy, but the way he fucked me took me to a primitive place in my mind that allowed me simply to be part of this mass of energy we created.

I’d never felt anything like it. Close to shattering, I’d be nothing more than glittery matter, dust motes fluttering in a shaft of light, if I allowed an orgasm to rise up and take me. It lingered, poised, waiting for the touch of a finger to my clit, the match to my fuse, a signal to detonate.

I said his name, over and over, pleading that this was too much.

“It’s not, it’s perfect. I want you to come with me, Darcy, fuck, tell me when you’re ready.”

“You’ll break me,” I said.

“And I’ll put you back together. Ready?”

His other hand slipped to the front of me, fingers splayed.

“Ready?” He asked again, his voice deep and harsh.

“I can’t,” I moaned, overcome, talking nonsense.

The hand on my throat slipped up to cover my mouth at the same time his fingers slid further down my front to my clit. I threw my hands behind me, grabbing his sides.

“You’re okay,” he soothed. “Come with me, on the count of three, come with me, princess.”

He thrust three more times, counting down, rubbing my sensitive nub, and when he called out my name as he buried himself deep inside me, my orgasm shattered me. I’d never seen stars before, but everything went bright as Oliver forced me to ride the waves of pleasure that swamped me.

Finally he eased me down. Down onto the bed, down from the wild ride we’d just taken. I heaved breaths through his fingers and he eased up his hold, stroking my cheek, holding my pussy in a firm grip, rocking me gently as we lay now, spooning on the bed.

I was a tree felled by a ferocious storm.

“I’ll never move again,” I muttered.

Oliver’s lips worked gently on the back of my neck, his breath over my skin soothing me. My hair was plastered to my face, my neck damp, and our perspiration mingled as he continued to tend to me.

“You amaze me, Darcy. You’re fucking stunning.”

“Thank you. This might sound trite, but it’s never been like this for me before.”

“Are you broken?” he said with a light chuckle.

“Repaired,” I told him.