Page 59 of Heart of The Night

How could I bare my heart to Cara, knowing she was in the dark? If she reciprocated my confession, it would be founded on incomplete truths. To encourage her declaration without revealing Francesca’s pregnancy felt underhanded. It would be like presenting her with a contract to sign, while knowingly hiding some of its most consequential terms. If she committed her heart to me under this incomplete narrative – especially if I was the father – it would be akin to a deception, luring her into an arrangement she hadn’t fully consented to, much like a baited trap.

She deserved the whole story. Her declaration, if it came, was something I desperately wanted to hear, but only once the entire truth had been laid bare. If she still chose to voice her love to me then, regardless the outcome of my paternity, my gratitude would know no bounds.

‘You okay?’ she asked, giving me a puzzled look. I smiled, letting my gaze wander across her face, relishing each enchanting feature.

‘Just admiring the view.’

She rolled her eyes, and my smile widened. Leaning down, I captured her lips. Their soft warmth merged with mine, a sensation that hadn’t lost even a trace of its thrill, though I longed for the day when it would feel as familiar as coming home. As our kiss deepened, my hands explored the contours of her silky skin, squeezing and caressing. She placed her hands on my chest and gently pushed away, panting lightly. I studied her exposed form, desire tightening my jaw. The urge to claim her was vicious. I wanted to claw down her skin and watch the red lanes surface, as marks of my presence.

Yielding, I grazed my nails over her abdomen, observing the red streaks with satisfaction. They were proof of my privileged place in her world. For now, I was the sole man who could claim this intimacy.

If only the marks would remain. Should she decide that she wanted nothing to do with me, I wanted my successor to see the evidence of the indelible part I once played in her life. I wanted the marks to glare at him, to kill his desire for her.

Such possessiveness could be deemed sinister, a testament to an insidious jealousy and an overwhelming need to claim her. There was a grain of truth in that; if I couldn’t have her, I didn’t want anyone else to have her either. My love for this woman was raw and unyielding, and I yearned to be the only one for her. The mere notion of another taking my place was unbearable. If she were to choose another, my world would shatter. Not because she found happiness elsewhere, but because my own would be irreparably lost.

Yet, I would never force her to stay. My belief was merely this: I couldn’t possibly find joy without her, even if she found it without me. Her happiness in another’s embrace wouldn’t radiate onto me. Our emotions were separate. Without her, a void would persist. It was as unambiguous as that.

After a brief moment absorbed in the marks, I lifted my gaze to her face. Her eyes were closed, yet her expression spoke volumes. The lustful nibbling of her lower lip reinforced my belief that she felt the depth of my passion just as intensely.

Smiling, I let my gaze drift over to the rest of her body. The view was breathtaking. Her nipples were erect, beckoning to me. Lowering my head, I trailed my nose across the hardened peaks. Another smile surfaced on my mouth when she locked her legs around my waist. I took it as an encouragement, prompting me to grasp her left breast. Giving it a gentle squeeze, I silently appreciated how soft yet firm it felt within my palm. I brushed my thumb across the nipple, then pinched and tugged it.

Cara groaned softly, making me grin. This was something I relished about making love to her – she was abnormally sensitive.

Directing my attention to her other breast, I engulfed the nipple with my mouth, sucking hard. I heard Cara’s sharp inhalation, her back arching as she pressed her breast deeper into my mouth. Her fingers threaded through my hair, pulling gently, while I took my sweet time with her. I was in no rush. Being with her in this intimate way was the epitome of pleasure for me. Observing her surrender to waves of passion, shuddering and twisting, was an experience I would cherish endlessly.

But what I loved most was how united we felt. This deeper connection was what drove my insatiable desire to bring her pleasure. In these intimate moments, her affection for me became palpable, tangible. That was also why I refused to let the moments be brief; I wanted to prolong those feelings of unity as much as my body would allow. Ultimately, to feel her love was my deepest longing. And when she was lost in the heights of ecstasy, I took pride in knowing I was the catalyst. In her radiant expression of pure bliss, it was clear: no other man, just me, was the source of her pleasure.

Smoothing my hand down the curve of her waist, I felt my cock straining against its confines. The shape of her was testing my patience. Already, I wanted to delve into her. But I wouldn’t, not yet. Not until she was writhing beneath me, craving me desperately.

As I trailed my hand between her thighs, up toward that inviting wetness, she started tugging on my tie, unravelling it completely then casting it aside. Her hands moved to my shirt buttons, swiftly undoing one after the other, but they stilled the moment my fingers brushed over her soaked slit.

She gasped, her eyes widening just a fraction. Smiling, I claimed her lips and gently rubbed her clit – slightly more to my right, where she had told me she was most sensitive. Friction, friction, I reminded myself, but not too much. Just enough to tantalise.

Women were deeply sensual. So much of arousal was in their heads. Unlike most men, who could be stirred simply by sight, women tended to need a more layered approach: to be teased, caressed, and worshipped. I took immense pleasure in this, for there were few things I enjoyed more than exploring the complexities of the female form. It was such an intricate design, like a complicated maze I could never seem to map out entirely. Each time I fondled it, I discovered something new – a hidden pathway leading to her heightened arousal.

‘Mm, Will,’ Cara murmured into our kiss, shoving my shirt off my shoulders. Then she gripped them, digging her nails into my skin and scraping them down my chest and abdomen. It made me chuckle against her mouth. I supposed she was returning the gesture, and I loved the idea of her marking me as hers, too.

Shifting up to kneel, I undid my cuff buttons and shed the shirt, discarding it on the floor. Cara’s gaze was fervent when it met mine. She pushed herself up, pressing a soft kiss to each of my pecs as her arms encircled me. Her fingers traced down my back, slipping beneath the waistband of my trousers. Moving deftly to the front, she unfastened the button and slowly drew down the zip.

Sensing what she intended to do, I put my hand in the valley of her breasts and shoved her back down. I didn’t want her mouth wrapped around me – not now. It was a skill she had perfected, making me reach my limit sooner than I liked. I wanted to last longer this time, to savour this moment between us.

She gave a sigh that revealed some annoyance.

‘Another time,’ I said, holding her gaze.

She rolled her eyes. ‘You say that every time.’

I chuckled. ‘Blame yourself. If you were bad at it, things would be different.’

She raised a brow. ‘I’m not sure if I should be grateful for the compliment or upset because of what it entails.’

Another laugh broke free from my lips. ‘Two things can be true at once.’

I dragged my forefinger down to her navel, feeling her muscles flex beneath my touch. After circling it once, I trailed my finger further down, stopping once I reached her clit. Her lips parted ever so slightly, her eyelids lowering just a hint. Smirking, I applied pressure, watching as her eyebrows furrowed.

Bull’s eye.

‘You like that?’ I teased, reducing the pressure again.

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