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He knew that she was scared, embarrassed...he couldn’t even begin to imagine what else she might be feeling. But he wanted to help give her back her body. He wanted her to appreciate it as it should be appreciated.
He moved slowly and gently, allowing her to get used to the idea. He pushed aside the thin straps of silk and bared her to him. He could see that she was struggling, but all he saw was perfection. Beautiful and powerful. Her breasts bore faint scars from the surgeon’s knife, and as he pressed open-mouthed kisses to her skin he marvelled at the tattoos that had skilfully created nipples and areolas.
He brought his hands round to cup her breasts and nearly groaned out loud at their rightness. They felt heavy as they spilled in
to his hands. His thumb ran gently over her skin, and her answering shudder as it did so almost brought a smile to his lips as he bent forward and took one breast into his mouth. He laved her breasts with his tongue, first one, then the other. Emma hung her head back, pressing them further into his mouth, and he returned the favour as he pressed his groin into hers, bringing her back to him with a piercing need that nailed them both.
* * *
The sensations Emma felt were foreign and strange. She wanted his touch so much, and frustration, resentment and sadness warred in her chest. She hated it that her nipples were no longer there. This was the bit in her treasured romance books that she always skipped over. How the hero would touch, kiss and tease the heroine’s nipples until they became taut and tight. She missed that feeling with an ache so deep. She hated it that her body would never be able to do that.
She had feared so much that this would hurt even more in practice than in thought. But she had been wrong. Antonio had caressed and kissed her breasts, rather than avoiding them, had touched her so much that she wasn’t sure she could take it any more.
Her hands went to the silk straps of the dress. She wanted to turn away.
‘Don’t hide from me, Emma. You’re so brave and so very strong,’ he said between each kiss and caress of her breasts. ‘You said that what you wanted most was this...but this isn’t about me.’
She wanted to tell him that he was wrong, but in the deepest part of her she knew that he was right.
‘This is about you. You’ve had the courage to ask for what you want...it’s time to take what you want. It’s time to stop hiding in the shadows and step into the light. You’re beautiful. So beautiful, Emma...’
She hated it that his words stirred her heart, felt tears forming at the edges of her eyes, betraying her.
‘I want you to say it,’ he told her.
She turned her head away from him. The words were locked in a throat tight with emotion. She didn’t want to say it, but Antonio asked again. Not angry, not frustrated, but with understanding and compassion shining from his eyes.
‘I’m beautiful...’ she whispered.
‘Again, Emma,’ he commanded.
‘I’m beautiful,’ she said, this time with a little more strength. ‘I am beautiful,’ she said, finally allowing belief to make the words strong.
* * *
Antonio scooped her up from where she was perched on the arm of the sofa and carried her through to the bedroom. And when her head rested on his chest he shook away the thought that it felt as if it had always been there.
He gently laid her on the bed, watching her eyes slowly focus on him where he stood over her, still dazed from her own empowerment and her orgasm. And even though he was so ready to take her, so ready to find his own release, he wanted her to be with him, wanted her to feel everything that he felt.
If this was his one stolen moment, then he would make it count.
Antonio’s hands left her chest to pull at the edges of his shirt. Impatient to feel her skin against his, he ripped the shirt apart, sending buttons flying across the room, watching as Emma’s eyes widened in both shock and arousal.
As his hands went to the waistband of his trousers, hers found the zip at the side of her dress.
‘Stop,’ he commanded. Her eyes found his, her cheeks painted red with desire and perhaps just a trace of embarrassment. He leaned forward. ‘That’s for me to do, Emma. That’s my pleasure.’
He leaned back and brought down the zip on his trousers, relishing every second as she watched him slowly push them off his legs. He watched her restless legs, sliding up and down against each other as if the friction might get close to the pleasure he could administer.
He smiled knowingly, stepping forward, pressing her thighs apart and bringing the palm of his hand to rest at her centre.
Emma jerked her hips against the contact of his hot palm between her legs. There was nothing but the autumnal silk of the dress between his skin and hers, slick and ready.
He sat on the bed next to her, reaching around to her side and slowly, ever so slowly, releasing the dress’s zip from its casing, drawing it down to where it ended at the top of her hip. His hands swept under the material, feeling their way across her stomach and up to her breasts. He moved one hand down in between her legs and parted her there with his fingers.
As her hips rose off the bed to meet his hand he swept the burnt orange silk from beneath her, moved it up above her waist with his other hand. He brought her breast to his mouth and whipped the material over her head as he savoured her breasts, relishing each cry that fell from Emma’s lips.
He gathered the dress in his fist and threw the crumpled silk onto the floor, then leaned back and took her small dainty feet in his hands. He stroked the insides of her feet and placed them apart, moving in between her legs. As his hands caressed their way up her calves, over her knees and up her thighs, Emma sighed, watching his hands work their way up over her hips towards her breasts, her spine arching off the bed, pressing them into his palms.
