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“Magnificence!”
“You do know how utterly breathtaking you look, bald?”
He’d thought it repelled her! At least at first. That first time when she’d seen him without the scarf. The shock in her eyes then—how could it still hurt, after all that time, and the thousand ways she’d shown him how much she lusted after each inch of him? He stood up, running his hands over the perfect smoothness she’d achieved. “First that I’ve heard it! I’ve been actually thinking of growing my hair back.”
Her dimpled, flushed lips spread, indulgence incarnate. “Don’t you dare! Haven’t you ever looked in the mirror? In women’s eyes?”
He went back to their mattress on the ground, stretched out, reached out his hand to her. “Haven’t seen anything in either.”
Her eager leap into his arms uprooted his heart all over again. “And in my eyes?”
Hunger. Appreciation. Constant and consuming. He saw that. Reveled in it. Lived for it. What would he live for after her?
For now, his hand trailed gratefully, proudly over her perfect buttock, up her satin, resilient back, ended up cupping her hungry breast. Her erect nipple hardened more. “Yeah, there I see things.”
“What? Tell me.”
“I see you and me, always ready, always hungry, feasting, worshiping. I hear us, I feel us, merged, sharing every intimacy, every privilege. Am I reading right?”
She came fully over him, rose to straddle him. He was hard again. Aching, maddened, as if he hadn’t found total satisfaction inside her just minutes ago. As if he’d been aroused all his life without possibility of relief. She took him in her hands, rested him against her flat, firm belly, stroked him, stoked him. He thrust himself into her grasp. “Your sight is perfect—double meaning, oh, so intended. Now use it to watch this…”
She rose on her knees, and a little more besides to scale his length, rested him at the honeyed heat of her entrance. Holding his eyes, she opened on him. He lunged, tried to plunge himself inside her in one thrust. She shook her head, her beloved hair an indignant flame. “Watch, darling—watch me taking you, watch yourself invading me…”
“Gulnar, mercy—I’ll come in a second like that…”
“I will, too—as soon as I have you where you belong. Watch us, darling…”
She sank on him, her mindless moans melting into delirium, taking all of him, the impending tremors of her quake that always hurtled him into his own soul-wrenching release already milking his girth for maximum stimulation, for her, for him. He shouted with it. His enslavement. Her domination. “Gulnar, amore mio…”
She screamed his agony back to him. “Dante!” Her desperation jolted inside him as she rose to begin another stroke. He thrust up into her and she took him, snatched at his length and thickness with her muscles. Then the tidal wave crashed.
He bucked off the mattress, raising her in the air with him. She was no longer bearing down on him, open, abandoning all to his impalement, her convulsions around him wrenching every last bolt of pleasure from every last nerve. He jetted inside her until
he felt he’d poured out his life essence inside her.
Still jerking with the electrocuting release, he snatched at her as she collapsed on top of him, her shudders resonating with his, their tears of deliverance mingling.
“Give me your lips, Gulnar…” he gasped, needing the emotional surrender to complete the carnal abandon.
She groped for his lips, fed him her life and passion, her moans sinking through to his soul. “Dante—Dante, I love you—love you—my love, so much. You’re my life, darling, my life…”
The words sank slowly into his mind.
Had she really said…? Not “I love what you make me feel” or “I love what you do to me” but “I love you” and “You’re my life”?
Endless moments later his shaking hand raised her face to him and her dazed eyes, sated and dissolving in tenderness, slowly filled with horror. Then emptied.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
GULNAR’S lungs emptied of air. Her heart of blood.
What had she said?
Oh, God. She’d told him.
And if the shock in his eyes was anything to go by, she’d told him the last thing he wanted to hear.
She pushed herself off him, shaking. “Strike that off the record, OK?”
