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His frown made it clear he’d misunderstood her. She could see him withdrawing in his mind first. “Hate you for tormenting me, you idiot, for making me beg and wait.”
“So we’re back to calling me names, huh?” There was no humor in his voice or expression, just searing emotion and sensuality.
“If you’re fool enough to think I meant anything else.” She gasped, her knees almost giving out. He stepped away from her, the driven look in his eyes slamming into her. He tugged her out of the hall past smiling personnel. She ran in his wake, dazed, unquestioning, quaking in anticipation.
He stopped only when they were at the end of a corridor housing the doctors’ rooms.
One was open and there was no one inside. He tugged her behind him as rushing personnel passed by and cast them curious looks.
He locked the door behind them, looked down at her. For answer, she wound herself around him, arms and legs. He staggered with her until he opened the bathroom and spilled with her inside the shower cubicle, his hand behind her head and his arm at her back taking the impact against the tiled wall at the last second. They remained like that for endless minutes, panting, their bodies and gazes fused, exchanging memories, longings, hunger—everything. She silently sobbed to him what she couldn’t say out loud, what she had no right to say. Dante, Dante, you’re everything, my heart. His unending universes of inner beauty and strength and tenderness said she was everything to him, too. And she believed she was. For now. Until he left.
She brought his lips down to hers, sank into him with all her love and despair. And he gave her back everything, then more, and more. More fervor, more intimacy, more abandon.
Suddenly Dante’s groans doused her in dread. What if they were ones of pain? His injury—two weeks weren’t enough for him to be back to normal…
Distressed, she unclamped him and attempted to regain her footing. He wouldn’t let her, crushed her tighter to him, then shifted, taking their weight on his extended arms against the wall. His eyes detailed his pain and how his hunger overwhelmed it, negated it. Then he closed them, gritted his teeth. “I am going away tomorrow, Gulnar. Nothing will make me stay.”
She bit him. His lower lip, his chin, his neck, silencing his mutilating verdict, frustration, grief, arousal sending her berserk.
Growls of pain, of voracity rumbled from his gut. He dropped her to her feet, tore her scrubs off her then swooped to his knees, yanked down her trousers. She wanted to help him, to be naked before him, against him, now, now, but she had no volition.
He put himself between her thighs, worshipped from calf to thigh to stomach. His hot breath, his voice, his passion scorched her flesh, She didn’t obey him as much as she sagged in his grip completely. He nudged her thighs further apart, bent lower to bring them over his shoulders then heaved her up, her flaming hair streaming back, sliding upwards against the tiles, until she was straddling his shoulders. Then he buried his face in her.
A scream welled from her depths, too loud, too frenzied to form. The next one would have, but he reached out a hand to her mouth, caught it in his palm. She bit down, harder each time his tongue lashed her swollen, hypersensitive flesh. He was giving her no chance but to thrash every time he drove deeper inside her. But she just had to make him understand, tell him what would deliver her. Her voice wouldn’t come. Her tongue filled her mouth and everything else in her, heart and body and soul, was swelling, overflowing. She managed a word, the only word that mattered. “You—you…”
He gave her one more hot, wet lash that almost had her blacking out then raised his eyes to her. Obsidian gems housing all his intellect and passion and virility, promising her what he had in store for her. “Yes, amore, me. You’ll have all of me. You promised me anything and I promise you too, anything—everything.”
She bit down hard on the heel of his palm as all her desperation detonated, crashing down through her, each convulsion wringing her tighter of every sensation her body was capable of.
And it left her feeling so empty that the last of her sobs were real distress, not the delirious weeping of release.
Her hands flailed on his head, gliding, memorizing, as he completed her pleasure, just enough pressure, enough insistence, making sure she had nothing more to want, to feel. He stopped only when there was no more, leaned his cheek on one inner thigh, rubbed his forming beard into it, sought her streaming eyes with his tenderly tempestuous ones, deepening the connection, heightening the intimacy.
It was undreamed of, caressing his face like that, experiencing his magnanimity. Her heart clenched an obsessive fist around the memory. It would never let go.
He let her down from his shoulders, held her to him, contained her, still fully clothed, absorbing her shudders, soothing her. “Shh, shh, amore—ah, bellisima mia—I’ve never seen or felt so much beauty, so much wonder…”
His words spread in her body and brain, balmy, corroding, had her whimpering to him again, incoherent, supplicant, desperate, “Please, please…”
He carefully propped her against the wall, a boneless heap. Then he rose and began to undress, his eyes giving her no respite. She needed none.
The ferocity in his gaze melded with the permeating gentleness of his essence, promised the violence capable of silencing the screaming tension, the cherishing that would express and assuage their need, on every level.
Seeing him standing above her, powerful, beautiful, had a backdraft roaring higher in her blood. She pounced on him, didn’t know where she found the power, her need a ragged sobbing filling her throat.
He undid his buttons in a succession of frenzied motions—and it felt so slow! A growl of frustration erupted from her, her eagerness pushing him against the wall. She fell to her knees, in supplication, in ravenous wonder, took him between trembling hands and lips.
His surprise at the role reversal was short-lived, his surrender to her worshiping even shorter. He growled and hauled her up, fumbled her bra off and pressed his rough chest against her released, swollen breasts, abrading her stinging nipples. The sensation screamed down every tortured nerve, the very idea of the intimacy, of his need for it, inflaming her even more.
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sp; So he felt the same. It wasn’t about physical release, but about merging, taking and being taken, finding that release with her, inside her.
Her heart still thrashed in her chest, demanding her instant addiction, his feel, his scent and taste…
“Take me inside you, amore mio—just take me…”
“Yes, yes, yes…” She strained in his arms, climbing higher, the legs clamping his steel buttocks flailing.
