Название: Kindling The Darkness
Автор: Jane Kindred
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
isbn: 9781474082136
isbn:
“Upstairs.”
Lucy nodded and let him lead the way, both of them taking the steps two at a time, and they were half-undressed by the time they reached the bed. She’d braided her hair again, and he unbraided it while he sucked on her neck and nipped at her throat, and the dark hair spilled across his white pillow like clouds of dark paint in water while he rocked and thrust and drove himself inside her for almost an hour. She came twice before he finally did—once underneath him and once on top—and he was almost sorry to come because he had to stop fucking her. Almost.
Oliver collapsed onto his back, exhausted and dripping with sweat. He hadn’t had an aerobic workout like this in ages. Lucy curled up against his side and promptly fell asleep. He didn’t realize she’d done so until he’d been talking for ten minutes—about politics and the messed-up state of the world and about being a widower and how he hadn’t been with a woman since and how he was constantly questioning himself and his values and feeling adrift in his own mortal frame. After he’d asked her twice why she’d decided to come back and she hadn’t answered him, he finally realized he’d been talking to himself. Thank God.
He played with her hair where it snaked across his chest. It felt like silk. Oliver curled it around his fist and smelled it—crisp and cool, like cucumber or avocado—and wondered what she used to keep it so luxurious.
It was too cold to lie here unclothed, as much as he would have been content to look at her being naked and still, her body for once without its uneasy coil of tension and mistrust. He pulled the comforter up from the foot of the bed and covered them both.
When he woke—more rested than he could remember having been for a very long time—he found himself alone.
Lucy huddled on the floor of her car in the parking lot outside the villa and cried until she was too exhausted to keep doing it, despite the fact that it hadn’t provided her with any kind of release. People always said, “Let yourself cry. You’ll feel better.” It was bullshit. Crying always made her feel a thousand times worse. And this wasn’t how a Smok comported herself.
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