Page 29

CHAPTER 29

A fresh wave of lavender rose toward Maarja’s head. She fought the urge to lie back, to relax against the pillows and allow Dante to pleasure her with his skillful massage, his restrained passion, and the knowledge he was, slowly but surely, chipping away at the shackles that held her bound to reality.

“Go ahead.” As before, he read her mind. “Beds are to be used. For sleep, for resting…for sex. Let me rub this foot while you recline.”

“That’s too—”

“Revealing? What are you afraid of?” One hand slid up the inside of her leg. His fingers dusted the ends of the hair that protected her so inadequately. “That I’ll be driven to touch all the parts of you, enter you with my fingers, my tongue, my dick…my mind? Because I’ve already done that…or have I? Each time between us is new, never tested, never tried in the history of the world.”

As she listened to him, she realized he was unhurriedly lifting himself to loom over her, all the while still holding her foot and massaging it. So as her leg was rising, unfolding, she was unbalanced…she was revealed.

“All my dreams are about you. What I’ll do to you, what you’ll do to me, how we make each other feel. You’re unpracticed—”

“Hey!” True, but…

“And yet you move me as the moon moves the tides.”

Poetic. She relaxed back onto the bed. He eased her toward the middle of the mattress. She got a peek of light, then he adjusted her mask and again she was in night. The mattress dipped as he joined her, one knee between her thighs. “You’re incandescent with desire, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

He smelled…so good. His hair, his skin, his breath…he exuded pheromones that made her whimper and grope her hands along his shoulders.

He spoke in her ear, his smooth voice a seduction in itself. “This first time—”

“It’s not the first time.”

“It feels like the first time. This time, you know who I really am.”

“Do I?”

He chuckled. “You trust me, so you know all you need to know.”

“I suppose.”

“You suppose ?”

“All right, I do. I trust you not to tell me everything.”

His voice grew serious. “I’m not patronizing, but it’s safer for you if you don’t know everything.” With gentle hands, he pushed her hair off her forehead.

“In case I get captured by one of your…vengeful family.”

“Yes.”

A little of her lovely glow faded; she had to stop encouraging Dante to talk.

Yet Dante had promised oblivion; he proved himself a master of distraction. He bent his head and kissed her mouth. He taught her to get lost in the pressure, the taste, the movements of tongue and teeth. It was wet and rich, delicious in its decadence, and when he pulled back, she tried to follow. But he nuzzled at that spot where her jaw met her earlobe, then followed her throat down to her breast to suckle so urgently she dug her heels into the mattress and lifted her hips in supplication.

“What do you want?”

“You.”

“My mouth.”

“No.” She touched his chest. It was bare. Slid her hands down to his hips. They were bare. Reached for his—

“My mouth,” he said firmly.

She no longer held him in her hands, for he was between her legs, suckling again, but this time on her clit. She twisted, cried out, moaned, and when she hurtled toward climax, orgasm, he stopped her, calmed her, petted and massaged her, described to her how much better it would be if she held on to the thin edge of control until he was inside her. He asked if she agreed.

She shook her head, took a breath to shout, and whispered, “No.”

“Think about it,” he coaxed. “You’ve held yourself in control for so long—”

She snorted. He’d held her in his control. He’d taken away her sight, leaving her dependent on him, opening her other senses. Every gentle touch of his fingers stroked the fire in her nerves. The aroma of the sheets, the lavender oil, his skin, filled her mind and brought her the faint scent of her own arousal. Each nuance of his voice both comforted and provoked her. And his taste—she wanted to kiss him, lick him, suck him until his control vanished and he—

The beast was still talking. “Your chatte is swollen, damp, waiting, throbbing. Isn’t it?”

She nodded sullenly.

“When I push inside, what do you think will happen?”

“I’ll come. But I would come, anyway!” Why couldn’t he see that?

“The sensation is building, Maarja. Every moment you wait, it’s building.” He took her hand, put a packet in her palm, tore it open so she could follow his movements as he rolled it on. “Because your chatte is so tight, so hot, so ready, the lubricated condom will help my dick pulse into you.”

Her hand crept down to touch herself, to see if he was right.

He laughed, caught her fingers, kissed them.

“No. Wait.” She got her elbows under her and tried to sit up. “When will we—?”

“When the pleasure heats you, when you melt in my arms, it’ll be just you and me, the wetness, the pressure… So much pressure. Like Bouteille de Flamme and the dark blue stone, we’ll merge and be reborn in strength and glory. Wait for it…”

She bit her lower lip until it hurt.

He licked it, scolded her softly, then continued in that crooning voice, building pictures in her mind. “When I press all the way inside to touch the deepest part of you, that moment will trigger…what, I wonder?”

The idea lingered in the air, a promise and a story to which she knew the inevitable ending…but she wanted to hear the words.

This time, he didn’t describe. He didn’t enhance. Instead, as if she’d spoken, he said, “Good. I agree. This first time, at least—”

Her brain pinged. He was back to calling it the first time.

“—I want to see your face when you come. I want to hear your moans in my ear.” As he told her what he intended, he elevated her hips, used his fingers to open her and to guide himself into position. “I’ll control the pace, keep you waiting, then drive you from peak to peak.” He pressed into her, not far.

She took a breath and held it. He was right; anticipation and frantic need had created an ache so strong she was almost afraid. She hovered on the verge of pain. She whimpered.

He shushed her. “I’m not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you. We’ll take this the way we’ve taken everything. Together, and at a leisurely pace…” He dragged out the words as he pulled out and pushed in. A little farther. A little farther.

She whimpered, groped for him, grasped his butt, urged him to hurry—my God, would he never finish this?—but he closed the gap between them by lowering her to the mattress. He rested his weight on top of her, and he seemed heavier than before, muscular as if he’d spent hours in the gym working off his sexual frustration. His skin burned, giving a lie to his cool composure. She strained to move him, but with his hands under her knees he lifted her, and pressed into her, and lifted her, and pressed into her…

“Are you ready to…lose yourself in ecstasy?” His voice lingered like a sexual promise, triggering anticipation, trepidation, and—

He sank into her body, all the way in. His dick expanded her, the tip touched deep inside… She braced her heels against the mattress, pushed her hips tight against his, and she came. And she came. And she came. Now beneath the mask she could see: pleasure so intense it painted fireworks in the dark.

Placing his palms flat on her hips, he slid them up, up over her waist to her breasts. The calluses of his fighter’s hands scraped across her nipples. Another orgasm had her fighting to regain control, of him or at least herself.

Without success, for he rode her, pressing up and in, keeping their bodies tight, his heavy, heavy weight dominating her as his palms continued their climb up her body. He slid them up her arms, raising them over her head. In one hand, he held both wrists against the sheet. The other moved from her bicep to the side of her face and slowly pushed the mask away.

The wispy, swaying bed curtains cocooned them in a pink glow. She blinked into his face. His crooning voice had conveyed passion, yes, but also encouragement and an almost detached patience.

A false impression.

No wonder he’d covered her eyes. His cheeks were a hard red, his swollen lips parted to show his white clenched teeth, and through golden molten eyes he viewed her the way a lion viewed its downed prey, waiting to quash any attempt to escape.

In a startled panic she did try to escape, struggling to free her wrists, pushing against him as if that would accomplish anything but a return of pleasure.

Both hands returned to her arms. His fingers intertwined with hers. He was so close. So close. “Put your legs around me. Open to me. Maarja. Please.” He trembled with the effort to hold still, but he’d lost control of his voice. No longer hypnotic, it was deeper, more guttural, and held a desperation that she comprehended above all else.

Yet he’d chosen to remove her mask, to reveal himself to her, knowing what she’d see. It was a gamble on his part.

In a rush she accepted him, all the way, thighs wide, legs embracing him.

She thought he tried to smile at her, to thank her without words, but it looked more like a painful grimace as he eased out of her again, and eased back in.

She adjusted her hips, trying to smooth the way and—

His eyes flared and she saw it happen. At last he slipped the leash he’d set on himself. He set a pace that demanded and gave. At once he brought her back to the precipice, to that point of almost climax. As her body reached and yearned, tears slipped out of her eyes and into her hair.

He bared his teeth as if he suffered in agony, making him more of a beast, and the sight of this man driven out of control for her was all she needed. Her climax engulfed her in flames and ice, in color and heat, in the fear she’d been unalterably changed and the conviction that he was right; fate had led them here, to this moment, and nothing could ever be as glorious again.

Except, with Dante, the glory would be theirs for as long as they lived, and beyond.

* * *

Afterward, in the shower, Dante said, “I love the color of your hair. The real color.” He ran his fingers through the short strands. “Dark red, like the bottle and in the right light, it glows. When you feel safe, will you grow it out for me?”

She liked the way he phrased it, comprehending that she kept it short so if she had to fight, her opponent had little chance to grab her hair and use it to control her.

And he said, When you feel safe . It was an unspoken promise that better days would come for them both; they would see to it. “Yes. When I feel safe, I’ll grow it out for you.”