Alessia dances around the kitchen, preparing another coffee for Maxim. She cannot remember a time when she felt this content. She came close at times when she was dancing and singing with her mother in the kitchen in Kuk?s. But here there is more room to dance, and with the lights on she can see her image reflected in the glass wall that leads to the balcony. She grins; she looks so happy. It’s such a contrast to when she arrived in Cornwall.

Outside, it’s a cold and wet morning. She shimmies over to the window and stares out at the scene. The sky and sea are a dismal gray, and the wind is battering and sculpting the silvery trees that line the path to the beach, but it’s still a sight she finds magical. The surf is crashing on the shore, white-whipped and foamy, yet she can only hear the faint roar of the waves and cannot feel a draft through the glass doors. She’s impressed. The house is well built, and she’s grateful that she’s here, warm and cozy with Maxim.

The espresso machine burbles, and she sashays back across the room to make his coffee.

* * *

Maxim is still in bed, but he’s finished his breakfast and placed the tray on the floor. “There you are. I missed you,” he says when Alessia returns with fresh, unsweetened coffee. She hands him the cup, and he drains the entire contents as she gets back into bed.

“That’s better,” he says.

“You like it?”

“Very much.” He puts the coffee cup aside. “But I like you more.” He hooks his index finger over the first button of the oversize pj top that she’s wearing and tugs. The button opens, revealing the soft swell of her breast, and with his eyes burning into hers he runs his finger gently over her skin and across her nipple. Her breath catches as her nipple peaks and hardens beneath his touch.

* * *

Her lips part in a silent gasp, and her gaze is intense and inviting. My dick stirs.

“Again?” I whisper.

Will I ever have my fill of this woman?

Alessia’s coy smile is encouragement enough. Leaning forward, I press my lips against hers and undo the rest of her buttons, and slip the pajama shirt off her shoulders. “You’re so beautiful.” My words are an invocation.

Her eyes on mine, she raises her hand hesitantly, and her finger traces the line of my jaw, brushing my stubble. Through her parted lips, I watch as she runs her tongue across the underside of her top teeth. “Hmm…” Her voice rumbles in her throat.

“You like it, or do you want me to shave?” I whisper.

She shakes her head. “I like this.” Her fingertips stroke my chin.

“You do?”

She nods and, leaning in, plants a soft kiss at the corner of my mouth and runs her tongue over my stubble, following the line her finger took earlier. I feel it in my groin.

“Oh, Alessia.” I grasp her face and lower us both onto the bed, kissing her as we recline. My lips are on hers, my tongue is on hers, and she’s as greedy as ever, taking all I have to give. My hand travels down her body, over her breast, her waist, and her hip, and I cup her backside and squeeze. My lips follow, worshipping her breasts in turn until she’s squirming beneath me. And when I gaze at her to catch my breath, she’s panting.

“I want to try something new,” I murmur.

Her mouth forms the letter O.

“Okay?” I ask.

“Yes…” she says, but her wide-eyed look tells me she’s uncertain.

“Don’t worry. I think you’ll like it. But if you don’t, just tell me to stop.”

She caresses my face. “Okay,” she whispers.

I kiss her once more. “Turn over.”

She looks puzzled.

“Onto your front.”

“Oh.” She giggles and does as she’s told. I prop myself up on my elbow and sweep her hair aside and off her back. She has a beautiful back and an even lovelier backside. I glide my hand down the curve of her spine to her behind, enjoying the soft, smooth planes of her skin. Leaning over her, I kiss the little mole at the base of her neck.

“You’re so lovely,” I murmur in her ear, and plant soft kisses from there down her neck and along her shoulder as my hand continues to descend and move between her buttocks. She wiggles her arse beneath my palm as I slip my hand farther between her legs and begin to circle her clitoris with my fingers. Her head is lying on the bed, her cheek to the sheet so I can easily observe her. Alessia’s eyes are closed, her mouth open as she inhales, absorbing the pleasure elicited by my fingers.

“That’s right,” I whisper, and slip my thumb into her. She whimpers. She’s wet and warm and wonderful. She pushes her behind against my hand, and I circle my thumb inside her. She gasps, and it’s a call to my bursting dick. I keep up the rhythm. Round and round. She tightens her hold on the sheets and screws up her eyes as she moans. She’s close. So close. And I withdraw my thumb and reach for a condom.

She blinks up at me. Wanting. Ready.

“Don’t move,” I murmur, and shift between her legs, parting them with my knee. I pull her up onto my lap so she’s sitting astride me facing the wall. My dick snuggles in the line between her buttocks.

One day…

“We’re going to do this from behind,” I murmur.

Her head whips around to me, her eyebrows raised in alarm.

I laugh. “No. Not like that. Like this.” Lifting her, I ease her slowly down on my erection. Her fingernails dig into my thighs, and her head drops back on my shoulder while I graze her earlobe with my teeth. She’s panting, but she tenses her legs and haltingly rises up and down again.

Fuck. Yes.

“That’s right,” I whisper, and I shift my hands to her breasts, cupping them both and teasing each nipple between my thumb and forefingers.

“Ah!” she cries, and it’s a primeval, sexy sound.

Fuck.

“You okay?”

“Yes!”

Slowly I lift her up and over, and she places her hands on the bed. I ease back and then forward into her. She cries out and, bending down, places her head and shoulders on the bed.

She looks amazing. Her hair sprawled across the sheets, her eyes tight shut, her mouth open, and her arse in the air. The mere sight of her makes me want to come.

She also feels amazing.

Every. Single. Fucking. Inch of her.

I grasp her hips and move into and out of her again.

“Yeah…” she groans, and I start to move. Harder. Really move. Harder still.

This is heaven.

She cries out. And I stop.

“No!” Her voice is hoarse. “Please. Don’t stop.”

Oh, baby!

And I’m unleashed. I take her. Over and over, sweat beading on my brow and trickling down my body, as I hold back my release until, finally, she cries out and climaxes around me again and again and again. I thrust once more and join her, loving her, filling her, and collapsing on top of her while calling out her name.

* * *

Alessia lies on her front, breathless, spiraling down from her climax, as he lies on top of her. His weight is…agreeable. She never knew her body had such capacity for pleasure. She’s sweaty and languid and satisfied, wrung out from her incredible orgasm.

But as she recovers her composure, truth be told, she feels a little guilty at this indolence. She has never spent the whole morning in bed.

He nuzzles her ear.

“You’re incredible,” he whispers as he moves to her side and gathers her in his arms.

She closes her eyes. “No, you are,” she says. “I never knew…I mean…” She stops and looks up at him.

“That it could be so intense?”

“Yes.”

His brow crinkles. “Yes. I know what you mean.” He gazes through the window at the gray, rain-soaked vista. “Do you want to go out?”

She snuggles closer, filling her senses with him. The smell of his skin. His warmth. “No. I like being here with you.”

“I like it, too.” He kisses the top of her head and closes his eyes.

* * *

I wake alone from my doze only to hear the strains of Rachmaninoff—my favorite of his concertos—coming from downstairs. It sounds odd…and then I realize, it’s just the piano. Of course there’s no orchestra.

Oh, this I have to see.

I jump out of bed and drag on my jeans, but I can’t find my sweater, so I grab the throw from the end of the bed, wrap it around my shoulders, and head downstairs.

Alessia is playing the piano wearing nothing but my cream sweater. She’s found some earbuds and is listening to my iPhone with her eyes closed, and she’s playing. Without the sheet music. Without an orchestra. Is she listening to the concerto?

She must be.

Her fingers fly over the keys, and the music surges through the room with so much feeling and finesse it leaves me breathless. She leaves me breathless. I can almost hear the orchestra in my imagination.

How does she do this?

She truly is a prodigy.

I watch her. Transfixed as the music soars.

It’s…emotional.

She reaches the crescendo at the end of the movement, her head bobbing in time to the music, her hair rippling down her back…and she stops. She sits for a moment. Her hands in her lap as the notes fade into the ether. I feel I’m intruding, watching her like she’s an exotic species in her own unique habitat. But I can’t help it, I break the spell and raise my hands and applaud.

She opens her eyes, surprised, I think, to see me there.

“That was sensational.”

She takes the earbuds out of her ears and gives me a shy smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.”

“I’ve only played this a few times. I was learning it before I left…” She stops.