Learning to Trust by Lynne Connolly

howling.
    “Open your eyes.” That didn’t sound like him, more like a man driven to the point of no return, gruff and demanding. But she opened her eyes.
    His mouth was slightly open, his eyes wild, the pupils huge, almost engulfing the bright blue irises. For her, all for her. He wanted her as much as she needed him. With a shock, she realized she didn’t know if he had donned the condom or not. She’d never, ever forgotten that, even in her worst times. Although she would have done, had there been a black market for rubbers. Not this time. What kind of fool did that make her?
    He drew back. “What’s wrong?” Comprehension returned, his eyes regaining the sharp edge she was used to. “Ah. Yes, I did. I asked you to trust me.”
    “I do.”
    But he shook his head. “It’s okay.” He pushed deep until their pubic hair meshed. “I respect you too much to take chances.”
    Was that it, or did he think to protect himself? She shoved the thought away, deep inside, but it wouldn’t go. “I’m fine. The nuns did tests and I—I haven’t had sex until you.”
    He dropped a small kiss on her lips. “It’s for you. I want you to feel safe with me, even when I’m fucking you senseless. Say, what’s Italian for fucking?”
    “ Fotutto .”
    He smiled. “Then let’s get fotutto -ing.” He plunged deep, and she lost the thread of what conversation they’d had. Her legs went up of their own volition. She curled them around his back, just above his buttocks. He growled and thrust again, finding her G-spot once more, driving her up to another sudden orgasm. She cried his name and held on. He hammered into her, giving her a series of sharp, hard contractions. She felt more, a vibration deep inside her, near her heart, telling her there was more to come.
    Opening her eyes again she caught him watching her, his gaze melting her, caressing her as if he was using his hands. He lifted one hand, supporting his upper body with the other, and touched her clit. Pinched and tweaked it. Then twisted, and she came apart.
    Kneeling between her thighs, her legs wrapped possessively around him, he took her up until she wanted nothing more than this. That he never stopped, that he stopped, that he touched her gently, that he touched her harder. Just that he made her come.
    Her body racked with convulsions, she forced her eyes to remain open and watched him. He flung his head back, his throat stretched taut and he swallowed before he froze and cried her name twice. His cock pulsed inside her, throbbed with the force of his orgasm and every muscle in his body tightened. He gripped her thighs once more. The bruises would remind her of this, and she knew she’d bruise. Perhaps she could get the marks tattooed, a permanent reminder of the way he’d made her existence take a seismic shift.
    His chest heaving, he took a deep breath before he relaxed his grip and lowered his head to gaze down at her face. With his hair tousled, as it was in the mornings, his body sheened in sweat, she adored the way he looked. She’d never, ever forget it. Never wanted to. It would help her in the future, when she was without him.
    “Hey,” he murmured. He scooped her up and flung her backward over the sheets, climbing onto the bed to join her. She went into his arms, their conjoined heat almost uncomfortable, even in the air-conditioned comfort of the hotel room. But she needed this, needed the closeness after they’d—what? Fucked, or made love? She knew which one she’d done, but she couldn’t, mustn’t ask.
    He took her mouth in a luscious kiss, folding her close, making her feel needed in a way that was new to her. He held her just as close when he finished, drawing back just enough so he could talk to her, his minty breath feathering over her lips. “Are you okay?”
    “Very okay.” She reached up, kissed him. “You’re a very talented man.”
    “Thanks. But it’s down to you. You make me lose my mind.”
    She laughed, a relaxed,