His name on her lips made his breath shake with need. Not just physical need – but there was that… there was always that – but emotional too. Every bone in his body yearned to be close to her and his mind needed it even more, needed her gentle voice and soothing words, needed the touch of her every-forgiving hands and the caress of her mouth on his skin.
"What, my love?" He gently touched his nose to hers and he was pleased to note that it made her eyes close and a light sigh to escape her perfect lips. She was affected too. Good.
"Do you—" she stopped herself, opening her eyes and finding strength in his stare. "Do you love me, still?"
His hands tightened on her face and moved her impossibly closer. Silly girl. "Lucrezia, I love you more than anything. Why would you ask such a thing? Is it not obvious?"
She found her shoulders shrugging in an attempt to save face. She did not like to cry in front of him – the Borgias were strong and tears were not permitted. "I killed my husband, Cesare."
"No, my love, no," he immediately responded, unable to hear her speak with such defeat. "It was an accident."
Then why, she wondered, had he been so adamant that she did not move closer to her husband as he lay on the wooden floor of her house, bleeding and dying. He had held her back with such strength and determination – if it was an accident, why did he stop her? Why had she had to beg him to call for a medic?
She opened her mouth to ask those questions, trying to make sense out of the feelings of loss, guilt and despair she felt over a husband she never really loved the way he deserved, but before she could speak his mouth was on hers. As always, he was insistent and demanding with his kiss, as though his passion could not be controlled. Even then, when she was still reeling from the week before and feeling dead inside, she relished in the thought of it. She used to calm him and now she riled him. And as always, she succumbed to his passion and his determination, her body falling limp into his arms that were ready to catch her.
And every doubt she had in her head flew out without a second thought.
And God came rushing back.
His tongue entered her mouth and she did not hesitate to open her mouth and allow it. Her hands slid to around his neck, pulling him even closer at the same time his hand grasped her hair and urged her forwards. Not a millimetre between them. Never.
"Mine," his voice whispered into her mouth, an echo of the last time they had spoken.
Naked. Clean. Bloodless. Mine.
If she did not know Cesare as she did, she would wonder if she truly was his. He made love to other women. He pulled away from her often when his guilt became too much. He allowed that animal, the King of Naples, to watch her husband consummate their marriage. But she did know him, better than she even knew herself so she knew without a doubt in her mind or her heart that she belonged to him as much as he belonged to her.
With every ounce of her being.
She had seen the look on his face when Alfonso had humped away at her, not realising she could not take her eyes off her brother. They never could resist straying to his face when he was in the same room - never had and never would. It was he she imagined on top of her, then. He whose breath ticked her ear, whose moans echoed throughout the room. It was the only way she could have gotten through the ordeal.
So as he sighed the possessive noun into her mouth with the same amount of surety his lips possessed, she knew it was true.
She was his. Always.
