Free Bewitched in Budapest (Xcite Romance) by Justine Elyot Page A

work goes bad, I don’t finish any project.’
    I linked an arm through his and laid my head on his shoulder.
    ‘It’s funny, you seem so full of the joys of life.’
    ‘I have to keep the look of happiness, you know. Very common in my country, suicide of young men. I fight depression, not with pills, with my own energy. At least, I try.’
    ‘You’re very strong,’ I whispered. ‘But you know, there’s no shame in asking for help.’
    ‘I have help. You make me see things different. I want to work hard now, to make success.’
    ‘Have I really helped you?’ I contemplated this with pleasurable disbelief. What had I done to deserve this “life-changer” accolade?
    His forehead touched mine, his nose following suit. ‘Yes.’
    There was so much I wanted to say back to him – that he had helped me, and how, and why, and was this it? Or is there a future for us? And if so, what can it possibly be? But he shut off all the questioning with a kiss, a sincere if slightly soapy snog. I breathed it all in, as if it might be my last. It might be, for all that.
    Once we were flat on the bed, all my concerns about the bedroom décor melted into the larger reality of my desires. Who can be distracted by an antique lamp when a handsome man looms over you, erection in full proud glory? The dusty wine-coloured velvet drapes were irrelevant beside the lips, the eyes, the sighs, the sights and sounds and scent of my beloved.
    I gave in, too avid for more of him to care about anything else. I didn’t need lightning for his touch to ignite me from nipples to clit, didn’t need thunder to wrap myself around him and press into his hard cock. There was no rain, but it didn’t stop us devouring each other like famished creatures while the bedsprings creaked and groaned.
    ‘I want you,’ he said, over and again. ‘I want you.’
    The words didn’t sound glib or practised. They sounded as if they came from a place inside him, hidden behind the insouciant playboy façade, only coming out under the stress of fervent emotion.
    When he held me down, his eyes were sad, a little bit stunned. I ducked my head up to kiss him and spread wide my legs. You want me, you can have me. This was the message, loud and clear.
    He read it, donning the condom and entering me with a rhythmic slowness, quite different from the frantic coupling in the ruin. He watched me as he slid in, eyes pinning me. I could almost hear his heart, or was it mine? Hammering with goading speed.
    He ignored its rush and steadied himself, braced with his palms flat either side of my shoulder, his hair curling down and brushing my forehead, his body merging with mine.
    Once I had him inside me, I exhaled and let my lips find the approximation of a smile. He still looked awed and scared, but he tried to mirror it, succeeding after a minute or two. I put my arms around his neck.
    ‘I want you,’ I said.
    We gave each other, slowly and deliberately, making sure the pleasure was maximised. We made sure each stroke was accompanied with kisses and caresses and nudges and rubs. We moved together in the darkness, each knowing what the other needed instinctively.
    When my body’s responses meshed to form the beginnings of climax, he lifted my thighs just enough to speed the process, making his thrusts correspondingly deeper, though keeping them tightly controlled.
    My pleasure, when it came, was so primal and yet so delicate. Sounds I didn’t recognise as my own voice came from my throat, I felt myself unlocked, unleashed, and also possessed. I had the lover I was meant to have, at last.
    His gift to me came soon afterwards – a growly, manly orgasm that nonetheless had at its core a piercing vulnerability.
    I cradled him and we rocked together on the gentle waves of afterglow while the rain gushed steadily outside.
    Why had I had to come here to give my heart? Why had this had to happen?
    We slept for hours, awoken only by the jarring bleep of my mobile phone. I had to go to