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She felt muscles bunch in rejection and let go of his hand, but only in order to reach up and grab the back of his neck, dragging his face down to enable her to slant her lips across his.
She wanted to say, Here is my heart, Dante, let me love you, but instead she said, ‘Make love to me, Dante.’
It was a fight he was always going to lose.
He had no idea how long it lasted before a groan that reverberated through his body was wrenched from his throat as he dragged her to him.
One hand behind the back of her head, he covered her mouth with his, the heat an explosion as their lips touched, their tongues tangled. The passion released burnt everything but raw need away.
The only cool he was aware of was the feel of her hands on his skin as she pushed her hands under the fabric of his shirt, across his chest and down over his belly, causing him to suck in gasps and then groans of encouragement as she fought with the zip of his trousers.
He kissed the smooth skin of her shoulder, and both shoulders were bared as her dress slithered to the floor and lay in a silk pool at her feet.
His hands on her waist, he pushed her away, far enough for him to see the complete picture she made. Smooth golden limbs and feminine curves concealed only by a strapless bra and a minuscule pair of matching knickers.
‘You look like a goddess,’ he rasped with throaty awe.
‘I feel like a woman. You make me feel like a woman, Dante.’
Without a word he scooped her up. She laid her head against his bare chest as he carried her through to the bedroom they had once shared, that they would share tonight, and if this was all they had then she would take it.
She knew with total certainty that any pain down the line was worth tonight. Tonight she needed him as much as he needed her. He might not love her the way she loved him but she would take what he had to give.
Dante was very giving; his touch set her alight and fed the relentless hunger inside her. As he paused to fight free of his shirt, she kissed his chest, tasting the salt on his skin, and when he bent back, his body arching over her as he knelt astride her supine body, he took her face between his hands, and kissed her like a man starved.
It wasn’t until he lowered himself that she realised her bra was gone, even though she hadn’t felt the loss until her sensitised breasts were crushed against the hard barrier of his chest.
Her legs parted to his touch, a low moan of pleasure fighting its way through her clenched teeth as he teased the sensitive moist folds with skilful fingers.
She was mindless with the need to feel him inside her, to feel him deep, feel him touch where no other man had. The relief when her agony communicated itself to him and he settled between her parted legs made her sob, as her legs wrapped around his waist, urging him deeper; she was frustrated by the teasing strokes until finally he sank deep, wringing a feral moan from her lips as her body arched up to meet him. As her nerve endings sang all the sensations merged into one glorious whole, they merged, they were one—almost.
As her climax came within reach Beatrice felt she was about to shatter into a thousand pieces. It was too much, too intense, then as it hit she was not broken, but miraculously whole again. She lost herself in the feeling as wave after wave of pleasure rippled along every individual nerve ending in her body.
After it ended, and he lay breathing hard on top of her, responding to a primal need to extend this intimacy, she wrapped her arms around his waist and whispered fiercely, ‘Stay,’ against the damp skin of his neck.
He kissed her and pulled her head onto his chest and they lay, still joined, until she felt him stir inside her.
Her wide eyes flicked to his face so close to her own.
‘You make me hungry, cara.’
‘You make me greedy.’
Later that night they made love again, slower and with infinite tenderness, exploring each other’s bodies with an endless fascination. The lightest touch of his hand and mouth made her body vibrate with pleasure. She sobbed with the intensity of it and every touch was heightened by the shattering depth, the sheer intensity of emotions that accompanied each brush of her skin.
When the deep release came it took her a long time to float back to earth.
Did she say, ‘I love you,’ over and over as she sobbed or was that part a dream?
Beatrice was not sure.
Dante did not sleep. Beatrice lay sleeping in his arms. His heart contracted when he looked at the perfect beauty of her face. It was hard feeling what he did when he looked at her, to hold on to the lie he told himself that what they shared was just sex, but it would never be just anything with Beatrice. He might try and deny it but deep down he had always known that. He felt a fool that he had ever imagined he could treat Beatrice like other women. She had always been different, she had always made him feel… Jaw clenched, he blocked the thought process before it led him to a place he was not ready to go, a truth he was not ready to see.
A man could change; she had made him believe that, because against all the odds she believed in him. As he looked down at the woman lying like a sleeping angel in his arms, he vowed to deserve her faith.
