One hand drove lower, to the waistband of her robe, undoing the cinch and staring at her, waiting for her to say something.
Her robe opened and her body lifted in goosebumps, not from a drop in temperature but because she felt so exposed to him now. Even though the singlet top was the kind of thing most women wore out in public, it was skimpier than anything Lauren ever wore, and Rafaelo was looking at her as though he could see through the flimsy cotton. Heat stole through her.
“I can’t…” his hands stilled. He waited.
“Should I stop?”
Say it. Say something. But her body, her treacherous, needy body, swayed forward, and the only words that emerged from her mouth were a grumbled, husky plea. “No. Don’t stop.” She hated herself in that moment and she probably even hated him a bit too, but the die was cast.
He made a guttural noise that heralded relief and he swept forward, closing the miniscule distance between them and dragging her against his body all at once, lifting her feet from the floor and carrying her as his lips found hers, kissing her hard, his tongue thrusting into her mouth and parrying with hers, his mouth moving in time with his urgency, stoking fires deep in her belly. She lifted her hands and wrapped them around his neck, in case he had any ideas of stopping, and her legs moved of their own accord, trying to get higher, to bring him closer. He made a small noise of amusement crossed with impatience as he sat her on the keys of the piano so that a strange burst of sound filled the room, a dozen keys compressed at once. He lifted her singlet top to reveal her naked breasts and groaned as he dropped the flimsy cotton to the ground. A second later and his head had dropped to claim one of her pert nipples in his mouth, circling it with his tongue first before sucking on it, hard enough to leave a mark.
She trembled, the pain of that so welcome, so perfect – a physical manifestation of the torment of this desire. It felt so right but she knew she would regret this, even as she welcomed every single thing they were doing. Pleasure and pain held hands tightly. She tilted her head back, waiting, needing, wanting, and finally he transferred his attention to the other breast. She lifted her own fingers to the nipple he’d mastered, needing to relieve some of the pressure there, to release the pain, but touching herself only intensified her desire. His mouth moved over her other breast and as she pulled at her own skin his hand came between her legs, sliding beneath her waistband, his fingertips brushing the soft warmth of her sex, teasing the gentle curls there before parting her seam and pressing inside.
She cried out, shock at the touch – so intimate – sending searing flames bursting through her, making her whole body ignite.
What was she doing?
Who cared? This was happening and she refused to fight it.
His mouth tormented her breast as his fingers ravaged her. Lauren felt as though she were flying, untouchable, immortal.
“Rafaello,” she groaned, scratching her nails across his back, wishing he wore fewer clothes. Perhaps he understood because he broke away for the briefest moment – just long enough to strip down to his boxers – and his eyes held hers the whole time as though daring her to change her mind. And yet she knew she could have – she knew that at any point she could have put a stop to this and he would have listened. There was a sense of safety that came from that, a sense of knowing she was in charge. It was, undoubtedly, an illusion – neither of them had the power to control this physical impulse - but it helped.
“You wanted to touch me,” he prompted, his eyes daring her, cajoling her, so she lifted her hands to his chest and pressed her palms there lightly, taking in every detail of the ridged abdomen, the muscles, the tattoo beneath his left pectoral muscle, the thin trail of hair that ran down his middle and into his boxer shorts. He was warm and muscled to the touch, so vital and alive, so full of latent strength and palpable energy.
She pushed those thoughts from her mind, thoughts were a harsh betrayal of Thom, that made her aware of how unwell he’d been on the few occasions they’d been intimate. God, she couldn’t think of him right now. Pain clutched her heart. She felt panic, and then she felt hope and determination, because Raf was real and right in front of her, and just this once, she was going to take hold of something real – to hell with the consequences.
She pushed her hands lower, finding the elastic of his boxer shorts and sliding her hands inside them, and in the back of her mind she was shocked by her daring, unable to believe that she was moving trembling fingertips towards his arousal. When she brushed his length with the lightest of touches he shuddered, his whole body wracked with awareness and she pulled her fingers out as though burned, unsure suddenly of what she should do.
“That felt good,” he groaned, as though knowing she needed reassurance. His laugh was husky as he dropped his head to hers and captured her lips once more. And all uncertainty was swept away with the power of that kiss; her body lifted off the keyboard, cleaving to his. She kissed him with everything she was, refusing to listen to the warning bells, the cacophony of sense that was shouting for her to pull back and walk away. Her body, for once, was taking charge.
His hands pushed at his shorts as he kissed her and a second later disposed of the last of her clothes so she was naked on the piano, her body close to his. He put her on the shining top so her feet pressed the keys, making a thunking musical noise that she barely heard over the rushing of her heart. A moment later and his body was over hers, kissing her and pressing her to the top of the piano, his arousal at her entrance, his mouth seeking hers, his hands pleasuring her body as his knee nudged her legs apart.
She groaned because she knew what was coming and despite how quickly this was all happening she felt desperately impatient, unable to believe there were even seconds to wait.
“Please,” she whimpered, writhing beneath him, her hands scratching his back, digging into his butt, her body flooded with an ancient, primal need. For years this part of her had been dormant and now she was alive all over again, and more than ever. It was as though a wildfire was rushing through her, and the ashes it left were bringing forth a phoenix. She was out of her own control, her body wasn’t acting in consort with her mind; she was simply instinct.
He slid his hand behind her head, his fingers weaving through her long blonde hair, his mouth on hers as he drove his arousal into her, thrusting deep and hard so she had no time to prepare for the sweet, perfect invasion. She cried out as he filled her completely, his name spilling from her lips like liquid, her body bursting, her skin tingling. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he moved, pleasure fast-spreading, an orgasm tipping her over the edge only seconds later, the fever-pitch of desire rising until it burst, and she gripped him tight, her breathing tormented as she held on for dear life while the intense feeling began to fade. But it didn’t really fade, only ebbed for a moment before his movements stirred her to life once more.
This time, he went slower, each movement calculated to tease her. He pushed up to observe her, watching as her face contorted and then his head dropped to her breasts, taking one nipple into his mouth before transferring to the other, so she felt an orgasm overtaking her, her whole body throbbing with the inescapable pleasure of what he was making her feel. She whimpered – it was all she was capable of – and dug her nails into his shoulders and then, another explosion was upon her. It built and it began to release and this time, he came with her, his own body wracked with the harsh exhalation of breath as he exploded in unison. He pulsed inside of her and she lifted up off the piano, pressing her body to his and kissing him hard, needing him to understand something she couldn’t even make sense of. It was too much and it was just enough.
The room was large and dark, only the fine blade of the moon’s light casting any relief from the shadows, and Lauren was glad for that. There was anonymity in darkness. Privacy even now, in the midst of the intimacy they’d just shared.
Slowly, her breathing returned to normal and with it came the dawning of sanity, and Lauren knew regrets would follow swif
tly. But for now, she focussed on breathing in and out and on accepting the strange inevitability of what had just happened.
“Fuck.”
She blinked, the harsh invective the last thing she’d expected. She pulled back a little so she could see Raf’s face. He was staring at her as though he’d seen a ghost. And even then, in the midst of the turmoil she was experiencing, she couldn’t help but smile. Wasn’t she the one who was supposed to be filled with regrets?
“What?”
He moved away from her and turned, grabbing his boxer shorts off the ground and pulling them on, keeping his back to her. The desertion was strangely chilling. She felt an ache low down in the pit of her stomach. “What?” She repeated, crossing her arms over her chest, the regret she knew she’d experience coming hard and fast now.
He turned back to her, his face a study in angles and shadows in the darkness of the room. “I completely forgot to use protection.”
Stricken, Lauren pressed a hand to her lips. “Me too.”
“It’s my responsibility.”
Again, she felt a smile tickle her lips despite the fact the situation definitely wasn’t funny. “I think it takes two to tango, actually.”
He moved closer, and at this range she could see his face was earnest. “I’m sorry, Lauren. That’s…never happened to me before.”
He lifted a hand to her cheek, softly, apologetically. Her stomach squeezed and despite what they’d just done she pulled away from his touch. In the build up to having sex, it had felt normal for him to touch her, but now the dam had burst and things were returning to normal, so that she didn’t welcome their intimacy.
“It’s fine, honestly, don’t worry about it,” she murmured, the words comforting for their cool formality. She side-stepped him, moving down from the piano and grabbing her robe. She pulled it on as she spoke. “I’ve been on the pill for years. And if you’re usually as fastidious as you claim then I can’t see there’s any risk to either of us.”
“I’ve never not used a condom,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “I presume you take similar precautions?”
Her breath sucked inwards in that awful, aching way she was used to now. When Thom had first died, she’d wake up some mornings and forget – just for a second – and then the memories would come whooshing back, bringing renewed grief with it. But it was worse, somehow, than losing him the first time. That had been gradual. Remembering anew was a sharp form of torture, a dose of sadness and reality rather than the slow-drip-torture that had been his actual death.
“I’m safe,” the words emerged strained. She swallowed quickly, emotions barrelling towards her now. She’d expected to feel regret but now the overwhelming sense was one of guilt, and sadness. She lifted a hand to her chest, pressing it there before turning away, needing Rafaello not to see this.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.” There’d only been Thom, and that was so many years ago. She reached for her clothes without looking at him; she couldn’t.
“I’m glad. And I am sorry. I wasn’t prepared for that. I didn’t expect you’d come here.”
“No,” she agreed swiftly, shrugging as though it didn’t matter. “Nor did I.” Her smile was brittle. “Anyway, that was…nice. Thank you.”
His laugh was a short, sharp burst. “Nice?” He stared at her, his eyes boring into hers. “Thank you?”
She had to get out of there. It was all too much. “Yes.” She nodded and took a step backwards. “Good night.”
He stared after her for several long seconds, his brain struggling to catch up in its post-coital euphoria. That had been amazing. Not ‘nice’. It had rocked his world, right to its foundations. He felt like a freaking God, and she was calling it ‘nice’?
And where the hell was she running off to now?
He’d had enough of watching her walk away.
He began to move, having to stride quickly to catch her. Just before she reached the door he pushed his hand out, catching her wrist, spinning her around. “Wait.”
She stared up at him and though it was impossible to make out her face in the dim light of the room he felt emotions emanating from her.
Cristo.
Had he hurt her?
“Lauren?”
She angled her face away, looking towards the door, but at least she was standing her ground rather than physically running from him.
“Where are you going?”
“To my room.”
“Why?”
Her throat shifted as she swallowed. “Why not?”
Great question. What had he expected? “Why don’t you stay for a while? Keep me company.”
She angled her face to his and even in this light it was impossible to miss the defiant glimmer in her eyes. “No, Rafaello. No.”
He waited, his breath locked inside of him, worry spreading like a vine. Had he hurt her? Was she angry?
“That was great but it was just sex. Remember? I’m not interested in keeping you company or hearing your deepest secrets or swapping life stories. I’m not interested in you. What just happened was a physical release, that’s it.”
He wondered at the emotions she was invoking – anger, disappointment, disbelief, disgust. He stared at her and then shook his head with frustration. He wasn’t after a pledge of love or anything, but her swift rejection coiled through him like a snake.
“Yeah, it was just sex. You’re preaching to the choir, Lauren. But it was great sex and I don’t see why you need to run away from that.”
She stared at him, shocked.
“Stay. Talk a while. Make love with me again. What’s the harm in that?”
Her eyes widened and she pulled her hand away, shaking her head. “No, Raf. That was – a one off. It wasn’t the start of anything; it was nothing. Absolutely nothing. It should never have happened. Please accept that.” She took another step. “Good night.”
Chapter Five
“RAF’S NOT JOINING US?” Alessia happened to ask right as Lauren wheeled Yaya into the salon two days later. Her eyes were drawn traitorously to the piano before she could control the impulse.
“Nah, he’s with Giselle,” Luca said with a grin.
“Giselle?”
“You know, that French model he was seeing last summer?”
Lauren’s fingers stumbled a little as she pressed the brakes on the chair. She needed a second to compose herself. Between the piano and the discovery that Raf was dating some French supermodel she felt like her insides were being pummelled. As she’d felt every moment since they’d had sex.
She refused to think of what they’d done in any other, more flowery terms. It hadn’t been ‘making love’ or ‘coming together’. It had been sex. Wild, animalistic, passionate, fantastic sex. It had meant nothing – it had been the opposite to what she and Thom had shared.
True, Thom had never driven her wild in the same way Raf had managed to do, so easily sending her over the edge, making reality warp and bend into fantasy. But with Thom it had been love-making, as it should have been. It had meant something. It had meant everything.
So what if Rafaello was dating someone else? Did she care? Not one bit, she told herself as she steeled herself to appear completely unfazed by this discovery. She came to stand at Yaya’s side, helping her from the chair.
The family would be leaving the next day – and normality would return. While Lauren was, generally, an advocate for family togetherness at times like this, she was secretly glad for Yaya’s sake that the pace of life would slow down. It was too much for her to have lunches every day. Lauren could see how tired Yaya was becoming and was looking forward to implementing a much quieter pace for the next week or so.
She settled Yaya at the table and as had become her habit, made a quick escape. The day after she’d slept with Raf it had been a form of torture. He’d watched her with smouldering eyes and an intensity that had made it almost impossible to put one foot in front of the other. She found she couldn’t stay
in the same room as him. Her stomach had been in knots. Regret. Desire. Attraction. Guilt. The weight of her feelings had been impossible to manage. She’d avoided him neatly for the rest of the day and into the evening, though she’d braced to see him again today.
His not being here was a reprieve, and she was glad for it, she told herself, even as the day stretched towards the evening and she knew he still hadn’t returned. She told herself the ache inside her stomach had everything to do with guilt at having obliterated the last hold of Thom from her body, and nothing to do with wanting Rafaello again. She’d broken a silent pledge she’d made herself and something about that had renewed a kernel of grief in her belly.
In the evening, when Yaya was taking tea with Maddie and Nico, Lauren slipped out into the citrus grove and sat on the warm, thick grass, breathing in the fragrance of the trees in all their heady glory before reaching for her phone and dialling Ashley’s number. She generally spoke to Thom’s mother a few times a month, and it had been a several weeks between calls now.
“Hello?”
More emotions flared inside Lauren as Ashley’s familiar voice crossed from England and into Europe and landed square in Lauren’s heart.
“Hey,” she cleared her throat, tears inexplicably moistening her eyes. “How are you?”
“Oh, dearest, how wonderful to hear from you. I’ve been thinking you must be busy, not to have called.”
“Yes,” Lauren nodded, as a tear slid down her cheek. She dashed it away, her eyes narrowing at what looked to be a drone in the distance.
“Your mother said you’re in Italy?”
“Mmm,” she agreed, plucking a blade of grass between her fingertip and thumb.
“Somewhere lovely?”
As it drew closer, Lauren saw that it wasn’t a drone, but a helicopter, dark black in colour. Her eyes followed it lazily, an easy target against the twilight sky.
Nothing Lasts Forever (The Montebellos Book 4) Page 5