A Closed Heart by Oster, Camille (guided reading books TXT) 📗

Kicking her boots off, she welcomed him to her, and it felt heavenly sinking down on her body, into her welcoming arms. How in the world had he managed to live without this for so long?

Claiming her lips again, it left his consciousness wavering with the sweetness. “I’ve missed you,” she said when it finally ended, her breath hot on his lips.

“I have missed you unbelievably.”

Her hair was splayed out around her like a halo and he took a moment to simply watch her, feel the lusciousness of being cradled between her thighs. There was nowhere else he wanted to be. If this was heaven, he would take it.

The tension soared as he pressed into her, the viscous feeling of desire spreading throughout his body. Pure, naked desire. It was beyond carnal; it was base and pure. It was as honestly him as he could be. The very essence of his being wanted her.

She kissed him this time, taking him down into the encompassing sensations. No, there would be no teasing and tempting this time. She needed him as much as he needed her—he could feel it. The small moan escaping her and her hands grasping at his shirt to reach his skin.

That desire should be such a need was something he’d only experienced with her. It felt as if his wellbeing, his ability to exist, depended on her right now.

“Unbutton,” she ordered and he complied. Clumsily, perhaps, but his fingers shook so severely. He freed himself, but there was the hinderance of her drawers. Her fingers seeking him, however, had him gasping. When he noticed again, there was no impediment between them.

Returning to her, he pressed inside her, utter heaven stealing him away. This was the only place in the world worth being. They strived to be closer, her groans reverberating through him. He had to fight to not let himself go, torturing himself through deep, powerful strokes into her. At every moment, it threatened to overwhelm him, to steel his control from him.

This wasn’t perhaps pretty, more based in pure need, and because of that, it was beautiful.

“Julius,” she cried, her voice strained. Her hands reached for him frantically and he felt as her release washed over her, her face strained in wonderous delight.

Seeing her like that was probably the best thing he knew. He felt her releases around him, loosening any resolve he had. His own stole through him in a rush, a surge taking everything he was with it. Releasing into her, giving her everything he was.

His lungs burned, but the satisfaction was complete. Now he sank down on her and let her arms envelop him again. This was absolutely wonderful too. Both of them spent and now they were just together.

He loved her. The realization struck him, and he didn’t mind it one bit.

Despite wanting to stay just as he was, buried inside her, he pulled away. Heat was coursing through his body, and he didn’t want to become burdensome for her.

As they lay side by side, she turned her head to him and smiled, but neither of them moved or said anything as he took her hand in his.

How was it he had found this? He’d felt instinctually that this had existed, but he’d never found it—until he’d met her. At that moment, he was the luckiest man in the world.

As he watched, she sat up. “It's not much, I’m afraid. Don’t be shocked. I don’t invest in fine rooms.”

Finally he looked around, still trying to catch his breath. No, they were not fine rooms. “The bed seems decent enough.”

Chapter 32

WHEN JULIUS WOKE, he had absolutely no idea where he was, but he warmth beside him was all he needed to settle again. All was right in the world and he stayed as he was with his eyes closed, snuggling closer to her warmth. How was this not the best thing in the world? Then he got curious, vaguely remembering entering her rooms, but being too distracted by her, over and over.

Underneath her arm, she slept peacefully. Utterly naked. Now he needed to distract himself or she would not be sleeping for long. His desire for her just didn’t let, but he would allow her to sleep.

Looking around, he noted the room he was in. A fairly large room that seemed to be the only room. It was both her living domain and her studio. It had a fireplace, but no fire burned in it. Three large windows bathed the room in the early morning light of what looked like a gray day. She would have chosen it for the windows and the light it provided. Her easel stood in one of the corners, close to the window. It did smell a little unpleasantly from the paints and accoutrements. This was her world—a completely foreign world he only knew through her descriptions of it.

Beside him, she stirred, and he held his breath, although he wasn’t entirely sure what for. “Good morning,” he said when she turned around. Her cheeks were impossibly rosy from sleep and she was as beautiful as he’d ever seen her. “If I could paint, I would paint you just like this. You are utterly perfect.” Reaching out, he shifted one of her curls behind her ear and sighed. He hadn’t been happy since she’d left, and now, he was happy again. Simple as that. The world wavered again as he leaned in to kiss her. This was a place he never wanted to leave. If there ever was a perfect moment, this was it.

“I should paint,” she said. “I usually paint first thing in the morning. I find the shift between dreaming and waking very inspiring.”

“Then paint,” he said.

There was a pause and then she shifted out of bed and pulled on a velvet dressing gown that seemed