Romance Of Betrayal
“It sounds… like it should be yours, only yours. ‘Mon amour.’ My love.”
I blushed, my heart pounding in my chest. “You know I don’t speak French.”
He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “Then I will teach you… one kiss at a time.”
I laughed, a trembling, delicate sound. He pulled me into his arms, holding me so close I could feel the strength of his desire, the depth of his longing that he had never released. His fingers drifted over my skin, tracing patterns I had never known I knew. Every caress was a poem. Every caress was a confession.
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