Cursing under his breath some more, Dante grabs a robe from the closet and throws it on. While he answers the door, I grab the other robe and go into the lush bathroom to draw a bath.
“Not bad,” I say out loud.
There’s wall-to-wall marble, a deep soaking tub, and a gorgeous view of the ocean out the window. I also find a selection of luxurious bath products lined up on the vanity. Moments later, the whole room smells of lavender and sea breeze, both refreshing and comforting. I need the comfort. Dante isn’t even processing the idea of having a child. He’s gone straight into work mode, making plans, trying to plot logistics. Controlling every detail. Which I guess is what he does best, but it’s really rubbing me the wrong way.
Stripping off my disgusting uniform, I slip into the mountain of fragrant bubbles and sink into the water up to my chin. This isn’t exactly how I had hoped to tell Dante that we were expecting. Then again, I hadn’t really figured out how—or if—I was going to tell him at all.
Still, it’s both comforting and irritating that he showed up here like this. I’m frustrated that he thinks I’m going to just bend to his will and do whatever he tells me to do…and now that he knows about the baby, he’s going to expect me to come home. Regardless of whatIwant to do.
Damn him.
I place a damp washcloth over my eyes and block out the world. This tub feels like a slice of heaven. When I hear the bathroom door open a few minutes later, I don’t even bother to move. Until Dante gently shifts my shoulders forward and slides down into the bath behind me. His arms and legs envelop me, my head leaning back against his warm, bare chest.
It’s hard to breathe with him so close. It’s hard to think straight with his naked body wrapped around me. So I don’t say anything. I figure I’ll let him talk first.
His fingers lightly tug my hair over my shoulder and he caresses the base of my neck. “Frankie, I’m…” His voice trails off.
“Sorry?” I prompt.
“Not used to thinking about other people sometimes,” he finishes.
Internally, I deflate. It’s definitely not what I wanted to hear.
But then he continues, “I want to take care of you, Frankie, and our baby. I want to give our child a solid, safe future. Nothing like what you and I grew up with.”
As he talks, I can’t help thinking of my mom, of how different my childhood was from what Dante is promising. Care, support, protection. Stability. I can feel my eyes stinging with tears, even under the cool weight of the washcloth.
Dante reaches around and slips it from my eyes, dipping it in the water before gently washing the tops of my shoulders. Then he lifts my hair and runs the cloth over my neck, my throat, and beneath my jaw. My hormones have me on edge almost immediately. The light rub of the fabric over my skin, his careful exploration of my body, and the feel of him wet and naked behind me, every bit of it is electrifying. A low moan escapes my lips. He leans me slightly forward and trails the cloth down the exposed part of my spine, my back and around to my ribs.
It feels so good. I’ve missed his touch, even if I hate to admit it. All of our problems could easily fade away right now. The lies. The mistruths. The withheld information. In this moment, everything is perfect and I’m right where I’m supposed to be. Measuring my breathing, I rest against him once more, giving him full access to my front.
He softly strokes the cloth over my hard nipples before making light circles around them and over my breasts. The unexpected sensations make me tremble, a hot ache growing between my legs. The cloth works lower, over the sensitive edge of my ribs to my belly button, to my abdomen where he ever so gently lays a hand just above my pubic bone. He stays like this for several breaths, him and me breathing together as he wraps around me, keeping us safe.
Then he ditches the washcloth and slips his hand lower, sliding his fingers between my thighs and tracing along my sensitive lips. The press of his mouth beneath my ear nearly sends me into orbit. I reach behind me to cup his head in my palm.
He lightly grabs my wrist. “Let’s get out.”
“Okay,” I murmur.
Dante gets out and quickly dries off, then grabs a huge, fluffy towel and helps me from the tub. He holds my hand and guides me as if I’m fragile. Maybe I am. I don’t resist as he dries me, then wraps the towel around my body before picking me up and carrying me to the bed. It’s so easy to slide back into that easy place of loving him, wanting him, needing him. So I don’t fight it. Not right now.
I want him too much.
Dante takes his time peeling away the towel, as if he’s forgotten what I look like naked and he’s unwrapping me slowly to enjoy the surprise. Goosebumps light on my skin. He notices and quickly covers me with the soft white down comforter. I open one end in invitation, and once he climbs on top of me, I cover him too.
We’re immersed in our little cocoon as he carefully and thoroughly works my body. His touch is tender and gentle in the way he explores me, his lips reverent as he kisses me. I give in, letting myself go completely, reveling in his hands, his lips, breathless with wanting him inside me. But he takes his time, covering me with kisses, inch by inch, refusing to take a single caress of reciprocation. It’s like he’s worshipping me as I lie there and take all the pleasure he offers.
When he finally thrusts his hot, hard cock into me, stars shoot behind my eyes. It’s been too long. Too damn long. Lost in the feel of him, hungry for him to fill me up, I cry out as the pleasure flames bright, expanding, building, so fast I can’t stop it, until I’m tossed over the edge. An orgasm shockwaves through me, quickly followed by another that bypasses the first and floods me harder than any climax ever has. Meanwhile he pushes into me with strained, measured thrusts, as if he’s purposely holding himself back.
“It’s okay. You’re not going to hurt me,” I tease.
The words no sooner leave my mouth then he pounds into me, groaning hard, his release spilling inside me with a hot gush that leaves us both gasping for air.
Afterward, Dante gathers me in his arms, a possessive hand on my still-flat belly. Soon enough, the even rise and fall of his chest tells me he’s drifted off, but I’m not so lucky. I can’t quiet my mind.
The FBI shirt is wadded up on the floor where Dante threw it earlier. I can’t hold back a smile. Even if Dante didn’t see the humor in it, I did, and I’ll never forget the look of horror on his face when he pulled it out of the bag.
He’s a much better man than my father—that’s not in doubt. With him, I know I’ll always have security. Gourmet food, a castle of a house, designer clothes, money. My baby and I will have all the trappings of a steady, stable life.
