AllFreeNovel
Share Us
No.
Not now. Please, not right now.
Her chest got tight, her heartbeats spiking for another reason altogether. Her breaths started to come faster. Black crawled the edges of her vision, tar dripping into her lungs, weighing them down too heavily she couldn’t breathe.
Dr. Das’s voice entered her head.
Sex is natural, Amara. Your introduction to it was traumatic, so of course, that impacted you. You can enjoy sex but communicate with your partner. Let them know what’s working and not working.
What if he never wanted to do this again?
She closed her eyes, blinking rapidly.
“No,” she wasn’t even aware of the word leaving her as blackness swept over her vision.
He stopped immediately, his eyes coming to her. He took in her face, and whatever he saw there must have affected him because his gaze softened. He pressed a soft kiss to the side of her knee before putting her leg down.
Dante took off her flat, his fingers stroking over the arch of her feet, going to the underside, tracing the scars she had there, before slipping the shoe on her and placing her foot back on the ground.
Sense of balance shaken, for more than one reason, Amara held his shoulders for support as he did the same with the other foot, putting her flats in the box to the side.
Amara stood still beside the wall, her knees slightly shaking at the elevated height, as he straightened. Damn if the fact that he still towered over her didn’t have her lady bits tingling. She didn’t understand what had just happened. She wanted this man. She wanted to do naughty, wicked things to him and have him do naughty, wicked things to her. Her panic didn’t make sense. But then, it rarely did.
“I’m sorry,” Amara whispered, feeling her stomach twist, hating that she didn’t know if her refusal would make this her last opportunity to experience something like this with him.
She should have known not to underestimate the man Dante Maroni had become.
“You have nothing to be sorry about, Amara,” he took a hold of her fingers and tugged her towards the center of the room on her tottering heels, supporting her weight, tapping something on his phone before pocketing it. “That’s not how this works.”
The opening trails of a song filled the room as he pulled her in, pressing her flush against his body, one hand holding hers, the other on the small of her back, in a familiar way he held her when they danced.
“How does this work?” she swallowed, asking his shoulder.
“It works with you stopping me when you need to, and me stopping. Or you telling me to keep going, and me going on. Simple as that.”
“And if I keep stopping you?” she voiced the one fear she had.
“Then I stop. No questions.”
Amara pressed her nose into his shoulder, inhaling that woodsy fire scent of his that she loved, feeling heady, feeling beautiful, feeling loved.
He began to sway them softly at first, and she tightened her hold on his shoulder to keep her balance.
“Let go, Amara,” he lined his lips with her ear, speaking the words against her lobe, his mouth brushing her skin, sending a shiver down her spine.
“Let go of everything inside your head,” he continued speaking, guiding her forward, then back. “Feel. Just close your eyes and feel. The music. This moment. Me.”
Amara felt her eyes flutter close, her heart racing. “What if I get hurt?” she whispered into his jacket.
He pulled back so she could see him, his eyes solemn, soft, sincere on hers. His face dipped closer and he pressed a soft kiss to her mouth.
“Then, I’ll kiss your scars.”
And just like that, the little of her heart she’d been holding onto was his.
That night, they danced. That night, they talked.
He told her how he wanted to buy the gallery one day in honor of his mother. She told him of her dream, of helping people heal. He told her about the pink-haired girl he’d had to kill. She told him she’d seen him bury the body. He told her about his brother and his love for building things. She told him about Nerea and how she was slowly accepting her.
