“Diana?”
I turned; the ache in my throat swelled, afraid I was hearing things. Slowly getting up, I walked over to the door and opened it.
Chapter Nineteen
Diana
He was here.
I wasn’t dreaming this time. Standing before me as he lingered in the doorway, eyes shadowed, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. For a moment, we said nothing—two people bound together by a promise neither knew how to keep.
I just stood there staring at him. Afraid that if I blinked, he would vanish, and then before I could even utter a single word, his lips were on mine as he held me in his embrace. I didn’t know whether I was dreaming or whether this was real.
All I knew was that I never wanted it to end.
August held me tight, his hands tangling in my hair, his lips urgent against mine. His kiss was the spark that ignited a wildfire of emotion inside me that had been banked for months. I melted into him, my fingers clutching at his coat, my body remembering his with a familiarity that defied our time apart. It was as if we had never been separated, as if the distance and danger didn’t exist. For that moment, we were just two people in love, finding solace in each other’s arms.
I needed more. I needed him. To feel him, to know that he was truly real.
Pushing his coat off his shoulders, August growled, walking me back into my room, kicking the door shut as his coat fell to the floor. His hands were everywhere, sending shivers down my spine as he pressed me against the nearest wall. I could feel the weight of his body against mine, his heart pounding in rhythmwith mine. His kiss was desperate, hungry, and I knew he’d felt the same aching loneliness as I had.
In that moment, I didn’t care about the danger, or the reasons we’d been kept apart.
All that mattered was that he was here, and he was mine.
My hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, eager to feel the warmth of his skin. He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching mine as they trailed down to my swollen belly, almost as if he were seeking permission.
I nodded breathlessly as he reached out and, with a gentle touch, traced the curve of my belly, his expression softening with wonder. “Our baby,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t believe I’m finally here, finally getting to touch you, to hold you. I’ve dreamed of this moment.”
I smiled, my heart so full it hurt. “Me too,” I admitted. “I’ve felt so alone, but now...” I trailed off, not trusting my voice as tears pricked at my eyes.
August brushed a thumb over my cheek, catching a stray tear, and whispered reverently, “I love you.”
His words hung between us, a bridge over the chasm of our separation. I couldn’t speak, afraid that if I did, this moment would shatter, and I’d wake up from this dream, back in my lonely reality. Instead, I pulled him closer as my hands explored the familiar planes of his body, my lips tracing the contours of his face, committing every detail to memory.
With one touch, my dress was undone. The zipper glided down my back as his hands moved higher. I could feel his breath on my neck as he stepped back, my breasts still pressed against him. My arms fell, leaving my dress and bra in a heap at my feet.
“My God,” he breathed, the words a raw, ragged whisper. His gaze, a searing brand, devoured me. It lingered, a predatory caress, on the swollen curve of my belly, where my hands had instinctively rested, shielding the burgeoning life within. Heclosed the distance, his touch replacing mine, a possessive claim. The scent of him—wood smoke and something darker, primal—filled my senses as he murmured, “I’ve missed so much. I’ve missed everything.”
“Not everything,” I whispered, my voice a shaky counterpoint to the tempest brewing within me. My fingers traced the sharp angles of his jaw, his stubble rough against my skin, a tangible reminder of the years stolen, the absences etched onto his face. There was a hunger in his eyes, a desperate, almost frightening need reflected in their depths. “There’s still time,” I murmured, the words a fragile promise against the overwhelming power of his presence.
His embrace was a vise, crushing yet exhilarating. I felt the tremor running through him, a raw, physical response to my body, to the life we were sharing. His arms, corded with muscle, slid down my back, the heat of his skin searing itself into mine. His kiss on my neck was a brand, a possessive mark, sending a shiver down my spine. His hands found my breasts; his fingers were brutally efficient in their exploration. A gasp escaped me, a sound of both pain and pleasure, as his touch ignited my nipples, already swollen and hypersensitive. My breath hitched with a ragged, desperate intake of air, as his thumb circled, teasing, tormenting. His grip tightened, and a wave of dizziness washed over me; the world tilted, my knees buckling under the sheer intensity of his touch. His hands moved lower, his exploration deliberate, a calculated seduction that left me trembling, yearning, utterly consumed.
His lips, a brand searing my skin, moved from the trembling curve of my mouth, down my throat, a trail of fire scorching my neck. The rough graze of his beard against my skin sent shivers, a prelude to the devastation to come. His mouth, a ravenous predator, claimed my breasts, the heat of his breath a branding iron against my newly bared flesh. He was acartographer of pleasure, charting every inch of my body with a feverish intensity. Each kiss, a violation, a surrender, a breathless gasp escaping my lips. The unexpected places—the hollow of my throat, the sensitive skin behind my ear—ignited a wildfire within me. My legs dissolved into liquid weakness and threatened to buckle.
His hands, calloused but gentle, found the fragile silk of my panties, a prelude to their imminent destruction. The slow, agonizing pull felt like an eternity, each second stretching into a lifetime of anticipation. Kneeling before me, his gaze devoured me, as a dark hunger burned in his eyes. A guttural growl, primal and possessive, ripped from his throat at the sight of my exposed flesh, and heat pooled between my thighs. The brush of his lips just above my clitoris—swollen, aching, throbbing—sent jolts of pure electricity through my body. The fall of the silk was like the shattering of a fragile spell, leaving me utterly naked, exposed to his consuming gaze.
Rising, August held me captive in his gaze, his arms bracketing me, his eyes burning with a potent mixture of adoration and something else... something darker, wilder. He traced the line of my hip, his fingers lingering, and a slow, predatory smile curved his lips. “Beautiful,” he whispered, the word a caress as he traced the trembling pulse in my throat. “But beautiful isn’t enough. You’re mine.” The possessive inflection, the glint in his eye, spoke volumes. It wasn’t just lust; it was a claim, a conquest. And in that moment, utterly exposed, utterly consumed, I felt a strange, intoxicating mix of terror and delight.
He advanced, the floorboards groaning a silent prelude to his capture. His hands, calloused yet surprisingly tender, closed around me, pinning me against the raw heat of his chest. The agony of my nipples, hardened to granite against the crisp, unforgiving starch of his shirt, ignited a firestorm of pleasure that ripped through my naked skin. The scent of his cologne—adark, musky blend—filled my nostrils, a heady intoxication that stole my breath.
I shoved him back, a defiant tremor running through me. His eyes, a molten storm of dark passion and something else... something dangerous and untamed... held me captive. The raw, primal lust blazing within them—a sin confessed and embraced—erased every fear, every doubt. This was not mere love; it was a raging inferno that threatened to consume us both.
His touch, a devastating caress, sent shivers skittering across my skin. His fingers explored the landscape of my body, as wildfire against the scorching heat of his lips fused to mine. The taste of him—salt and something wild, almost feral—was imprinted on my tongue, a brand I willingly wore. His thumb, a featherlight caress against the hypersensitive skin of my hip, drew a gasp from my throat. The contrast—the icy spark of his touch against the molten lava of his kiss—was exquisite torture.
His kiss deepened, a desperate, consuming claim. His desire—a palpable force—mirrored and intensified my own. Time dissolved. The world outside ceased to exist. Only the raw, unfiltered heat of his body pressed against mine, the frenzied rhythm of our breaths, and the burning promise of oblivion remained.
A low, guttural groan tore from him as he finally pulled away, his eyes, dark and hungry, boring into mine. “A thousand times,” he rasped, his voice a raw whisper, thick with barely contained need. “A thousand pathetic fantasies. But this... this obliterates them all.”