Desire's Edge (21 page)
“I’ve never looked at you like that. You know that. I thought you did.”
“Okay. Maybe not. But you do perceive yourself that way. And what I need to know is . . . is there anything beyond that, Dante?”
She swallowed hard. Had she really said these things to him?
He was quiet for so long she began to really be afraid. Maybe she’d pushed him too hard. But what was he going to do? Ask her to leave? A part of her wanted to. The rest of her wanted him to wrap her up in his arms and ask her to stay with him.
Forever.
Don’t be an idiot.
Her stomach ached. Her heart ached.
“Jesus, Kara.”
Here it came. She threw back the covers and started to get up. But he grabbed her arm, forced her to face him.
“Where are you going? What is really going on here?”
Anger flooded her then, hot and powerful. Anger and fear and loss.
She could not do this.
“I’m leaving, Dante.”
Even in the dark she could see his jaw drop as he let her go. He shook his head.
“I won’t keep you here against your will,” he said, his tone even, careful.
“Of course not. Because the infamous Dante De Matteo would never do anything that violated the safe, sane and consensual credo. But you would never do anything that really let anyone inside, either, would you?”
He stared at her, shock on his face. She was shocked herself. Then his dark brows drew together and he said so quietly she could barely hear him, “No.”
She shook her head. “What does that mean?”
“It means you’re right.” He paused, drew a hand through his hair. “And it’s . . . I’ve never realized before that it’s . . . a failing in me. I’ve only seen it as necessary. And I still think it is. Mostly. Maybe. Christ, I don’t know anymore, Kara.”
She couldn’t help but soften a little at the self-deprecating tone in his voice. The real confusion there.
“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” he admitted. “But it has something to do with you. And I don’t like it—I’ll tell you that much. I don’t get it. Tonight, after we got back here . . . something happened to me.” He stopped, shook his head. “It was different. New. I don’t know if I want to think about it too much. I’d pretty much decided I didn’t by the time we went to sleep. But if the alternative is you walking out of here right now, then I will think about it. I’ll do my best to figure it out.”
“Dante . . . I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For being such a bitch to you about this when I feel the same way. Something is changing and it scares me. That’s why I wanted to leave.”
“Do you still?”
“No. Not now that I know you want me here. Despite all of... this, whatever it is.”
“Okay. Okay.”
He reached out for her once more and she went to him this time. Her heart was a small, aching hammer in her chest. But she was going to simply let it be. It was a little easier, knowing he was just as confounded by what was happening between them as she was.
They sat in silence for so long that she began to wonder if he’d drifted off. But then he shifted, sliding down until he was lying on his back, and taking her with him until she was laid out over him. Her breasts were pressed against the solid wall of his chest, her bare stomach against his. She could feel the muscle there. The small flex of his erection at the juncture of her thighs. And she had to pull in a gasping breath at the desire surging through her, like a tide. That liquid. That powerful.
“Dante . . .”
“Shh. Just kiss me,” he said softly.
The way he said it was like a wave of heat fluttering over her skin, spiraling into her heart. He pulled her head to his, his hands on her cheeks. When he kissed her it was surprisingly tender. His lips brushed over hers, gently, barely touching her. A soft shiver of desire trembled through her, making another layer of need beneath that first, sharp wave. This one was different. Just as intense, but in an entirely different way.
Things were different between them. They’d both admitted something. They’d both opened up. But with his mouth on hers, his tongue slipping in to explore, to demand in a new and tender way, she couldn’t think about how scary that was. All she could do was give in. To his kiss. To him. To the still-tenuous and fragile connection she felt between them.
She sighed into his mouth, heard his answering rasping breath as his hips arched, pressing his erection against her dampening mound.
She spread her thighs apart, allowing the tip of his cock to slide along her cleft.
Pure pleasure, that slipping sensation. The velvety touch of his cock against her aching clitoris. And knowing it was him.
Dante.
He began to move, arching, retreating, so that his cock was sliding between the wet folds of flesh, over her clit, and down again. He was still holding on to her face as he kissed her, cupping her cheek. And, reaching down with one hand, he smoothed his palm over the side of her breast, his touch bringing new sensation. She shifted so that he could cup it in his hand, and he brushed the nipple with his fingertips. And even as the rest of his motions—hips and cock and mouth—were excruciatingly gentle, he pinched her nipple between his fingertips.
She gasped. Breathed him in. Sank into the pain that wasn’t even pain, somehow, but simply a deeper pleasure. A pleasure that mixed with the tenderness of everything that was happening between them. Of his mouth on hers. The soft surging of his hips, pressing his cock against her. Contrasting. Lovely.
She tilted her hips into his, pressing against the hard ridge of his erection. He kept kissing her, kissing her, his tongue dancing against hers. And his exquisite torture of her nipple sent lovely shocks through her. Pleasure built, a tightening in her sex, in her belly, her breasts. She kept moving, her hips writhing against his.
He pulled his mouth from hers long enough to murmur, “Come for me, my beautiful girl.”
And she did. Just came apart, shivering all over as her climax poured through her body. Driven by the hard press of his solid shaft against her clit. She same onto him, grinding against his lovely, hard flesh, panting into his mouth.
His hands were all over her then, stroking her back, her buttocks, her thighs. And every touch sent another delicious wave through her. She was still quivering with the aftershocks of her climax when he reached for a condom, slipped it on, somehow, and raised her body over his.
“Come on, Kara,” he said, his voice thick with need.
He held her body poised over his with his hands strong on her waist. She looked into his eyes. They were two glittering points of jet in the dark room. She waited for his signal. For his command. And when he gave a small nod of his chin, she melted a little all over as she lowered herself onto him.
“Oh . . .”
She couldn’t help but moan as he filled her. Hard, hot flesh inside her, surging deeper, deeper. He held on to her, moving her body up and down with his strong arms. Bringing her down, over and over, onto his cock.
She loved that even on top of him,
he
was still so firmly in control. He set the pace. He gave her pleasure, took his own. And as he pumped his hips, harder and harder, the mood shifted from tender to primal.
he
was still so firmly in control. He set the pace. He gave her pleasure, took his own. And as he pumped his hips, harder and harder, the mood shifted from tender to primal.
“Christ, Kara,” he panted, “I just need to be deep inside you.”
“Yes, Dante . . .”
“I need to see you come again. Make yourself come for me.”
She reached down and pressed her fingers to her hard clitoris, and sensation flooded her.
“Ah, God,” she murmured, overcome with sensation: his cock, her fingers, his command.
“Come on, beautiful girl,” he gasped, his hips thrusting, his hard shaft pushing inside her, pulling out. “Do it. Make it happen.”
She circled with her fingers, angled her hips so that his thrusting cock hit her G-spot. And with a cry, she came once more.
“Dante! Ah!”
She was shaking, grinding onto his cock, into her own hand. Her sex was clenching hard around his thick, driving flesh.
“Ah, Kara . . .” He jerked up into her, over and over, his grip on her hips tightening. “Christ, baby . . .”
He pulled her down on top of him roughly. Held her close.
“So good . . . so damn good,” he murmured into her hair.
And suddenly that tenderness was back, stronger than ever, as he held her.
They were both panting hard, slick with sweat. He was still softening inside her. She didn’t want to let him go. Didn’t want that separateness of their bodies. He kissed her cheek, her throat, his lips a sweet caress on her skin, and she felt his every touch like some sort of confirmation of what was between them. She didn’t want to put a name to it. But it was
something
.
something
.
They lay together for a long time, and she slept for a while, lying on top of him, their bodies pressed together. It was lovely, to drift for a while, to wake up so close to him.
The sun was just beginning to rise, turning the clouds outside the windows orange and pink and gold, like a watercolor painting of the sky. She sighed, happy, turned back to him and pressed her face into his neck, breathed him in.
He woke, his arms tightening around her, and it was only then she realized that even as they’d slept, he hadn’t let go.
Another surge in her chest, her heart beating, fluttering with something beyond pleasure.
“Baby,” Dante murmured. “My girl . . .”
And just like that, desire rose in her once more. His cock hardened beneath her, and she opened her thighs for him again.
He shifted only long enough to pull another condom from the lacquer box next to the bed, to sheathe himself. Then he was inside her. And it was all lovely, sleepy sex this time. The gentle, rocking motion of his hips, and hers. His moans, her sighs. Sensation a slow, burning build, and finally, they reached that peak together, cried out, tumbled over once more.
He kissed her: her cheek, her hair, her jaw. Soft, lovely kisses. She inhaled, taking in the scent of his skin. Of sex. Of the two of them together.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling the heat of his body against hers. The steady rhythm of his heart. That sense of
connection
.
connection
.
A part of her still wanted to be scared. But she felt too good.
This
felt too good, and she couldn’t deny herself.
This
felt too good, and she couldn’t deny herself.
Just let it be for now
.
.
She couldn’t do anything else, really. She felt helpless against the sensations in her body, her heart. The warning bells were silenced by what she was feeling. For the time being, anyway. And she was allowing herself to give in. To Dante’s command. To the pleasure of being with him. Even to the crushing fear of being in love with him.
It wasn’t as if she had to
do
anything about it. She didn’t even have to tell him how she felt. No matter how powerful it was. It was a sweet secret she could hold close.
do
anything about it. She didn’t even have to tell him how she felt. No matter how powerful it was. It was a sweet secret she could hold close.
It had been two weeks since Kara realized she was in love with Dante. The secret was getting harder and harder to keep. She hadn’t told Lucie, had never said the words out loud, even to herself. She was afraid if she did, it would make it even more real. And even allowing the thought to run through her mind was about as real as she could handle.
That and simply
being
with him.
being
with him.
She’d been drawing him. And drawing the city. The clouds hanging over the view of Elliott Bay she could see from the windows of his apartment. The mountains in the distance. A bowl of fruit on her small kitchen table.
She’d found some of her charcoal pencils and an old drawing pad. She hadn’t dared to dig out her paints. It was too soon. She felt too unsure about it. About giving in to that need. That desire. It felt too . . . indulgent.
But she knew it was because of Dante. Because of the way he was making her feel. About him. About herself. He was beginning to make her question the old ideas—outmoded now, she’d come to realize—about her life and what she should be doing. About some of the choices she’d made. The way she’d held herself back because she was too afraid of what others might think of her.
Her parents, mostly. Which was ridiculous. She was a grown woman. But her relationship with Jake hadn’t helped, either. And she’d allowed it. Allowed Jake and his judgment of her to color her thinking.
Maybe she wasn’t as strong a woman as she’d thought herself to be.
Or maybe she simply wasn’t thinking clearly about any of this. Maybe she should put her charcoals away. Forget about painting . . .
She stood in front of her office windows, looking down on the rainy city, letting it soothe her tangled thoughts. Cars splashed through the street, a few umbrellas dotted the sidewalks. A part of her wanted to be out there, feeling the damp Seattle air, always touched with a little ocean salt from the bay. There was something about the way the city smelled in the rain that felt like home to her. Cozy, even in the middle of a storm. She loved that sensation of being held warm in her coat, with the damp air chilling her feet through her boots.
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