Ayden Stone is a man who has everything, except the one thing he needs most: the only woman he has ever loved. Fearing for her life, he has to send her away; knowing he has the fight of his life on his hands to save himself and, more importantly, his family.
He must do things he knows will jeopardise his marriage and bring him close to breaking point, but with his back against the wall, he has no choice … he must do whatever it takes.
The French connection deepens, opening old wounds, creating emotional scars which Ayden must endure alone. New enemies from their past close in, threatening their relationship and their very existence.
With everything to fight for, they must make a stand to safeguard their lives and their love … or risk losing it all.
The rasp of warm breath in my ear stimulates my body into spontaneous arousal. I allow his heat to envelop me, to wrap itself around me like wings, taking me far away from here, taking me home.
A whimper leaves my lips, and I call out into the darkness, “Don’t leave me.”
“I’m here. Hush, now,” he whispers, softly.
He soothes my fear with words of comfort. The sounds of my distress disperse until all I hear is the hoarseness of my breathing and the ebb and flow of a serene sea.
“That’s it. Good, girl.”
Stirred by his words, I fall back onto the sheets restless and in need of his attention. He explores my body with unhurried movements, hands and lips and tongue becoming a charismatic cocktail to stimulate and seduce. With masculine hands he kneads my breasts, rolling my nipples between forefinger and thumb until they are hard pebbles. With an outstretched palm he circles my stomach; fingertips skimming my pubic bone, teasing, tantalizing with the promise of immeasurable pleasure.
He roams my body with covetous eyes that speak of possession. I’m his—my body, my heart and my soul belongs to him. He knows what I need.
I need him to make me forget, to make me believe he is mine, and mine alone.
With the lightest of touches, he traces the line of my thigh, making his way to his desired destination, inching my legs apart, leaving me vulnerable and at his mercy. Imagining his warm fingers stroking and circling my swollen clitoris causes my breath to quicken. As my body temperature rises, so the heat building in my groin becomes a throbbing pulse only he can ease and bring to an orgasmic heaven.
My body is alive.
I hear his voice, husky, pleading, “Come back to me, baby.”
I want to, I have to. My breathing turns to moans as his movements quicken. I pull at my hair with my free hand, picturing a mass of dark curls positioned between my legs, bobbing to the beat of a rhythmic chorus. My orgasm builds until it’s a rippling tide rolling me over and over, scattering my thoughts. Like an unstoppable wave, it seeks out the darkest corners of my soul where fear lives, engulfing my loneliness.
A searing glow radiates through my body, until I am scorched by it, unable to speak or move. So profound is the intensity of my husband’s gifted lovemaking.
When I open my eyes, my fantasy disappears likes morning mist, leaving only shadows and memories that seem to have gathered around me like unexpected bedfellows. Turning onto my side, I wrap my arms around myself, feeling the warmth fade.
The darkness returns.
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