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When he finally pulls away, I’m hungry for something else entirely, and he gives me the most heart-melting little smile before backing away and waiting for me to sit down. When I do, I feel like I can barely breathe.
How the hell am I going to walk away from him when the month is over?
He lights the tall white candles, then brings two plates of ratatouille to the table. I’m seated at the end of the table, and he sets his plate at the spot just to the left of mine, rather than across the table like I expected him to. It’s a very intimate setup, and I’m charmed by how much thought he clearly put into this. He walks away one more time and comes back with the bottle of red wine.
“Don’t want to forget that,” he jokes, and I laugh. He takes a seat and then watches me, motioning for me to try it.
It smells amazing, and I hope it tastes nearly as good. It would be awkward if this was terrible after all of the effort Dante put into it. But of course, it’s amazing, an explosion of flavors erupting on my tongue. I chew and swallow and smile at Dante.
“You’re a very good cook,” I tell him, and he grins. He reaches over and takes my hand, pressing a warm kiss to my palm before letting go and digging into his own dinner. It’s a long, relaxed, luxurious meal, and we talk and eat until the penthouse grows dark, lit only by the flickering flames of the candles and the under cabinet lighting in the kitchen.
Our conversation comes to a lull, and it’s impossible to miss the expression on Dante’s face, the intensity in his eyes. He stands up and holds his hand out for me, and I stand up and take it. He bends his head down and claims my lips, and his kiss reaches deep into my soul, breaking me and giving me life all at the same time. When he swings me up into his arms, I can’t make myself stop kissing him, and he doesn’t seem interested in stopping, either. He carries me across the penthouse, into his bedroom, and when he pulls my top off and then lowers his hands
to my waistband, I notice that his hands are shaking, just a little. If he’s feeling even a tenth of the maddening need, the insane connection between us, then he’s feeling overwhelmed, too.
But why would he?
I shove the thought away. This moment. Take this moment. Love this man for as long as you’re able, because each moment is precious and there are so few of them left.
I kiss him, determined to tell him without words what I already know in my heart: that I’m utterly, completely, helplessly in love with him.
***
Dante
I’m out of my mind needing Samantha. I can’t touch her enough, running my hands down her curvaceous hips, over her rounded ass, squeezing it, molding it in my hands and pulling her closer to me. Closer, because there’s no such fucking thing as too close where she’s concerned. Even when I’m inside her, I swear sometimes it’s not close enough.
I pull her bra off, and now she’s standing there naked, looking up at me with those sweet, dark eyes, eyes that, despite my best intentions, I haven’t managed to wipe the innocence and trust from. And now I don’t want to. I want her to stay exactly as she is, and I want to know that for the rest of her life, she’ll remember the things we did together.
I’m not fucking ready to give her up yet. I know I never will be. I put it all into worshipping her. I bend and kiss, lick, then gently suck one pert nipple, then the other, and she squirms in my arms in a way that has me so hard I feel like I’m going to lose my mind. I turn her around and bend her over, so she’s bent at the hips.
“Hold onto the bedpost, baby,” I say, and I can hear the desperate growl in my voice. She obeys instantly.
Because she’s mine.
I shove the thought away. She’s there, bent over, gorgeous ass in the air.
“Spread your legs,” I tell her, and she does.
Now. That’s what I wanted. Her sweet pussy is right there for the taking. I know she thinks I’m going to fuck her like this, but I’ve got so much more in mind.
I kneel behind her and press a kiss to her cunt, and she cries out in need and surprise.
“Stay just like that,” I murmur. And then I’m licking her, long and slow, and she screams as my tongue slides over her clit. I do it again, and again, and her legs are shaking and it’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever experienced. She’s helpless the way she’s standing, spread and open for me, no choice but to take the intense pleasure I’m giving her.
My cock is so hard it hurts, but tonight is about her. Tonight is about making sure that, long after she’s left me, she remembers. It’s about making sure no man will ever make her feel as good as I do. Yeah, I’m a bastard. Part of her will always belong to me, no matter where she goes. She’s gonna remember me.
The idea of her forgetting me makes my heart twist in agony. I know I’m never going to forget her.
When she comes, she comes screaming, trembling, gripping the bedpost as I worship her.
“Please, Dante,” she begs. “Please. I need you.”
There's no way I can deny her when she says it so sweetly, even if I wanted to. I stand up, pick her up, and settle her onto the bed, on top of the duvet. I love looking at her, love the way her long, silky hair spreads out on my pillow. And right now, her face is flushed, she’s trembling, and she’s breathless, and I just stare. I’m pretty sure this is what heaven looks like.
I slowly take off my clothes, watching her face as I do. She’s so expressive, and the way she bites her lip when my cock springs free of my pants nearly undoes me. Ordinarily, I take her hard and fast, almost ruthlessly, and she loves it.
Tonight, I’m gonna make it last.
