Page 77 of Modern Romance September 2025 1-4
One hand slides into my hair as he pulls my head back, his mouth moving down the column of my neck, his teeth against my skin pressing hot kisses and small bites all the way down. His other hand cups my breast, his thumb brushing over my painfully hard nipple, and I shudder as pleasure sizzles down every nerve.
I want to touch him, but it’s all I can do not to lose myself in what he’s doing to me with the slide of his hand, the pinch of his fingers around my nipple, his mouth at my throat making me gasp and tremble. He wants to do this hard and fast. I can already tell. But I don’t want that. I want to show him that he’s worthy of reverence just as much as I am; that he’s as unique and as rare as I am.
I twist out of his grip and he doesn’t reach to pull me back. He only stands there, his breathing fast, his eyes glowing like twin suns. The shirt I’m wearing—his shirt—is hanging open and I’m wearing nothing beneath it. He’s a hungry wolf. He’s not going to allow me much more time, I know that.
So I back over to the Christmas tree with the lights shining down, and I beckon him over. He comes, lithe as a panther, and when I point at the rug in front of me he growls, ‘I’m not a dog, ice queen.’
I only stare at him. ‘Do you want me or not?’
He lets out another growl, but sits on the floor where I point. He gazes up at me and, when his eyes meet mine, I shrug off the remains of his shirt then step over to him and lower myself down to sit in his lap, facing him.
‘Better,’ he murmurs roughly, his hands on my hips.
Sitting on him is like sitting on sun-warmed stone; he’s so hot and hard everywhere. I want to lick all over his bare chest, but I stop myself. This is important. He was gentle that moment in the plane, when he showed me the passion inside me, and now I want to be gentle with him. I want to show him the kindness and worthiness that lives inside him.
I lift my hands and take his face between them. ‘Close your eyes,’ I whisper.
At first I think he’s going to resist, because he’s not a man who does as he’s told, not any more. But then slowly his eyes close, the pressure of his gaze veiled for a moment, so I take the opportunity simply to look at him.
He’s beautiful, his face the most perfect ratio, with long, silky black eyelashes and a proud blade of a nose; with his high cheekbones and perfectly carved mouth. I lean forward and kiss his closed lids gently, then move on across his cheekbones and his nose, raining light kisses down on his warm skin.
I hear his breath catch as I kiss his strong jawline, and he whispers, ‘What are you doing?’
‘Honouring you,’ I say, moving to the other side of his face. ‘Honouring what you did for your sister and what you gave up for her. Honouring all the things you sacrificed for her and honouring the boy you once were—that you still are, deep inside.’ I kiss his jaw again, moving towards his mouth.
‘Katla,’ he breathes, but by then I’m at his lips and I cover them, a light, gentle taste of a kiss that stops whatever he was going to say.
Then I deepen it, tasting his mouth, because I love kissing now, I love kissing him. He makes a rough sound deep in his throat. His arms wrap around me, my breasts pressed to the hard wall of his chest, the heat of him a fire I continually want to warm myself against.
I reach down between us to the button of his jeans and undo it, freeing him. He’s not wearing underwear, and neither am I, so it’s an easy thing to lift myself up slightly and guide him inside me.
I’m already wet and needy for him and he makes another harsh, masculine sound as I settle down on him. We had sex like this up in the jet, and then I wanted to watch what I did to him, because I wanted him to be at my mercy the way I was at his. But not this time. This time I want something different.
Now, I’m scared that he can see what he does to me. Iwanthim to know. I want to show him that he means something to me, something more than I ever expected him to. He’s got himself under my skin so much that I don’t think I’ll ever get him out again.
His hands slide to the curve of my back and he spreads his fingers apart, as if he wants to touch as much of me as he can get, and then he opens his eyes, staring straight into mine.
The shock of the eye contact with him makes me tremble deep inside, but I don’t look away. Instead I begin a slow rise and fall, and he lets me set the pace.
‘Katla,’ he murmurs, watching me as if he can’t see anything else. ‘My ice queen…’
Pleasure begins its slow and delicious build as we move together, perfectly in sync. He doesn’t take his eyes off me and I can’t look away from him. He’s all heat, all fire, blazing beneath me and in that moment, in his arms, I’m fire too. We blaze together, he and I, both of us creatures of flame. And, just before the end comes, before I’m lost in the pleasure he’s giving me, I am suddenly aware of one thing.
I think I love him.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ulysses
I pour coffeebeans into the grinder and set it to grind. It’s morning outside, though it’s early. The sun is still pink in the sky across the water and I can hear the calls of the gulls over the roar of the surf and the coffee grinder.
Turning, I lean against the kitchen counter and look down at my phone, checking once again for any messages from my sister, but there are none.
It looks as if the weather in Italy is clearing and yet… The urge to drop everything and run straight to her is not as strong as it was the day before. Instead, my thoughts keep turning to Katla in my arms last night, in front of the Christmas tree, coloured lights sliding over her bare, pale skin.
I remember the brush of her mouth on my skin, the soft rain of kisses that fell on my eyelids, my brow, my nose, my cheeks. And I remember the way she looked at me, as if there’s nothing wrong with me at all, as if I’m not what I know myself to be: a lost cause.
She thinks the boy in me is still there and for a moment, as she murmured to me about how she was honouring me, I wondered myself—because there was a tight feeling in my chest, a kind of longing for something I didn’t even know I was missing. A longing for what I saw in her eyes, a need for the hope I saw there.
