“No way. You started this,” he repeated. “I’m going to finish it.”
She snorted and lifted her gaze, peering through the cascade of her hair to watch the people behind them. A family of five turned around as they passed and she waved at them. Only the little boy waved back.
At the corner, Cyrus stood and turned this way and that, searching the area for a taxi. He didn’t act as if he held a grown woman over his shoulder. He stood upright and wasn’t even winded, like he only carried a sack filled with feathers.
He finally flagged down a taxi and they piled in. He pulled her on top of him and they made out heavily—his hand between her thighs, their mouths devouring each other. Petting and kissing like randy teenagers who had limited time to take advantage of their time alone. Or maybe it was more like horny adults on a second honeymoon.
By the time they arrived back at their temporary home, Daniella was certain she would spontaneously combust. Up on her tiptoes, she nibbled on his ear.
Cyrus pulled out a fifty euro bill and handed it to the driver. Rather than wait for the change, he pulled her toward the front door by the waist to an enthusiastic shout of “Muchas gracias” from the taxi.
At their door, Cyrus jammed the thin plastic into the lock slot and let them into the house, Daniella still clinging to him like a vine.
He pushed her against the wall and kissed her neck. His warm breath fanned her heated skin when he muttered, “You’re in so much damn trouble.”
They reached for each other at the same time, she to undo his pants and he under her dress to mold her bare bottom in his hands.
She looked up at him, and his face softened into a devilish smile that melted her heart.
I love him.
She’d run from this feeling all her life, avoided it, dodged it, because of fear of losing herself and losing her independence. Yet here she was, completely unfazed by the emotion. She laughed, oddly happy at the prospect, not even knowing or caring if he felt the same way. Right then, her heart felt so full she was certain she had enough love for the two of them.
He caught her face in his hands, studied her, and then she saw the transformation—happiness in his eyes.
“I’m glad we came back to Spain,” he said.
“Me, too,” she whispered back. They needed this. The trip would be a clean slate for them, a do-over. Maybe the entire reconciliation was a do-over, giving them the chance to reconnect and get to know one another again.
His mouth swooped down onto hers. She strained closer, and the ridge of his erection prodded her stomach as he sucked gently on her bottom lip. His fingers stroked her bare hip, across her belly, and then down to the slippery warmth between her thighs. Her clit swelled and ached with the need for him. She moaned against his warm mouth, widening her stance and tightening her arms around his neck.
When his pants and boxers fell around his ankles, he stepped out of them and lifted her against the wall. They came together with urgency, and her internal muscles clamped around him. Still, it felt as if they couldn’t get close enough.
“Legs around my waist,” Cyrus rasped, hoisting her higher.
She obeyed, and a wild, pulsing dance of their bodies began. Grinding and thrusting, their kisses landed with ravenous intensity.
He thrust deep, hot and hard, and she cried out, burying her face in his neck as pleasure filtered through her veins.
I love you, she thought. The pressure of forthcoming tears burned the back of her eyes, and she squeezed her eyes tight to hold them at bay.
She pressed affectionate kisses to his ear, his neck, and his hard jaw. They mingled with breathless pants against his skin.
He groaned, his big hands on her bottom tightening as he maintained the manic pace. Then, as her body splintered around his, she heard him whisper, “Dani,” right before he shook from the force of his own climax.