The Sinner (21 page)

“Yes.”

She walked over to him. That brought her very close to his chest and shoulders and skin and hardness and . . .

He did not touch her. He looked down, as if waiting for something.

“Aren’t you going to assist me, Dante? I thought it was one of your rights.”

“You said that you can manage it yourself, and you are certainly acting as if you can.”

“You would prefer I did it myself?”

“Sometimes.”

This time.

Removing that gown was more difficult than she expected, because of the way he watched. She wondered if he had found her gaze so disconcerting a few minutes ago. She could not deny, however, that she enjoyed the wicked thrill of sliding the silk down her arms and lowering it to the floor. She liked the way his expression tightened with the subtle signs of how she affected him.

Her initial awkwardness passed, replaced by a sense of power and pride. His gaze made her magnificent and noble and strong. Standing naked in the afternoon light in front of Dante, she became a goddess.

He reached for her hand and drew her toward him, into his arms. The embrace astounded her. The warmth of his body, touching hers skin on skin all over, pressing her breasts, surrounding her completely—the new sensations piled up, threatening to bury her sense of everything else.

Somehow she held on to her mind. She had come through that door with a goal, and he needed to know what it was.

“I need to say something to you, Dante.”

He nuzzled her neck. “Tell me later.”

“It must be now. You see, I have changed my mind about this.”

His embrace loosened until he was only holding her waist. His lids lowered. “You have not been acting like a woman who has changed her mind.”

“You do not understand. I am not saying that I want you to stop. In fact, I do not want you to think that you have to stop at all. Ever.”

“You are correct. I do not understand.”

“If I believe you will not do anything to impregnate me, I am sure that the fear will not come. That is how much I trust you. There is no need to test that. It is always there for us.”

His expression turned serious, and perplexed. “Are you saying that you would like to test something else instead?”

“Yes. I think that even if you do not promise restraint, the fear still will not come.”

She had assumed he would have more enthusiasm for her decision than he now revealed. He looked deeply in her eyes, as if searching to see if her heart supported her words.

“I do not want this dread to own my life anymore. In naming it, maybe I have defeated it.” She laid her cheek on his chest, so that the taut warmth of his skin touched hers. “I want us to be fully married, Dante. I want to have a family. I want these things so much that I believe my desire for them can conquer any fear.” She looked up at him. “I want you too. Completely. That alone would be enough for me to make this decision.”

He laid his hand on her face. “If you are wrong . . .”

“If I am wrong, we will know very soon.”

“I do not want to frighten you or hurt you.”

“I will not let you. I will not try to brave it out. I am incapable of controlling this if it takes hold. You must promise me, however, that you will not make the choice for me. I will only know if I am free if I believe your intentions have changed.”

A small, charming smile broke. “I think I can promise that if you demand it.”

“I do demand it.”

“Then know now that I will take you if I can, Fleur. Believe it.”

His kiss displayed his resolve. It also revealed the passion of a man who had been listening to too much talk, even if he welcomed what he had heard.

The kiss awoke all of the anticipation her body had buried during the long weeks of wanting him. Her skin was wickedly alert as he caressed parts of her that had never felt his touch directly before. Her back and hips and thighs responded to his warm palms and fingers. New sensations startled her again and again.

He kissed her deeply, in a way he never had before. She could not ignore the subtle difference. It came from his aura more than his action. A primitive part of her could tell that he had not lied. The man who kissed her, who dominated her with his body and embrace, who handled her so possessively that the claim of rights could not be ignored—this man intended to have her if he could.

She understood that without thinking it. Her soul knew.

The fear knew.

It shot out one of its strangling tendrils. She recognized it for what it was. Images of crying faces invaded her head. Her body wanted to recoil defensively, to end the assault.

She would not let it.

She embraced Dante desperately and focused her physical awareness on the delicious feel of his skin and muscles, on the tension in his body and the hardness under her hands. She let her consciousness dwell on his reality.

She summoned more than pleasure to her little battle, however. She let her love for him free. In the warmth and glow of its promise of fulfillment, the fear abruptly withered and shrank and ceased to threaten her.

The victory left her euphoric. Liberated. She had thought she could not control this dread, but she could. With Dante she could. Acknowledging her love gave her a weapon the fear could not face.

Dante knew what had happened. She could tell that he did. He stopped kissing her but his caresses continued, following her curves and feeling her nakedness, tantalizing her. He looked down with eyes that recognized what had just occurred in the last few moments.

A hard challenge entered the lucid depths gazing at her. His caress moved down her body. Daring the fear by making his intentions explicit, his hand smoothed up her bottom, then slowly descended. His fingers skimmed down her cleft and followed the line to where it met moisture and softness and a maddening pulsation.

The touch on that spot shocked her. Wonderfully. Gloriously. Her whole body reacted, but not with fear. She stretched up, seeking his kiss hungrily, needing a way to release the stunning, deep, sensual throb.

The war was won, and they both knew it. She announced her victory by kissing him as intimately as he did her. With her tongue she expressed her pride and excitement.

Heady with liberation, proud of her boldness, she kissed down his neck and his chest, tasting him, enthralled by unfettered pleasure.

The full force of his sensual vitality broke free, encompassing her more completely than his arms. She welcomed the way it dazzled her, controlled her, taught her.

He lifted her in his arms and carried her into his chamber. He laid her on the bed and finished undressing while he looked at her.

“You are very beautiful, Fleur.”

She did not doubt him. Right now, lying on this bed in the filtered light, euphoric from fighting for her right to love and feel, she was sure that she was the most beautiful woman who had ever lived.

The most beautiful man in the world now stood by the bed, his full magnificence revealed, so stunning that her heart did not know whether to race or simply stop. He was a fitting consort for the goddess she had become. His body fascinating her so much she could not look at him enough.

He came to her.

“This is a remarkably singular occurrence, Miss Monley. Finding you, of all women, in my bed.”

He had said that in the cottage, but his tone was different this time. He was not teasing.

Only she was no longer Fleur Monley, the saint, the angel. She was a queen, a warrioress, a handmaiden of Venus, a—

“You are very proud of yourself, aren’t you?” He kissed her nose, which hardly befitted her new power.

“Bursting with pride.”

“As you should be.” He watched his hand caress down her neck and around her breasts. “All the same, you must let me know if I frighten you.”

“I am not going to stop you, Dante.”

“You can still let me know your pleasure, Fleur. If I do something you do not want, you can tell me that.”

“There is nothing I do not want. I have been denied this too long. I have no intention of missing one thing because of cowardice.”

“You do not understand what I am talking about, darling.” He kissed her lightly on her cheek. “You will soon, so remember what I said. I do not want any silent sacrifices. You have a whole life to try everything.”

She stretched her fingers through the hair on his head. “I would not be cautious if I were you, Dante. I am probably braver now than I will ever be again.” She pressed him down so she could kiss him.

He did not allow her to control the kiss long. With a masterful embrace he took over and bestowed dozens of nuanced pleasures on her lips and neck and ear. He made her want him with kisses alone until the waiting possessed her again, and built and built.

Her body craved the return of his caress. He was slow in giving it to her, so that when his hand trailed down her chest she almost begged him to touch her.

He teased as he had in the garden. The same wanton pleasure enslaved her. His circling fingertips had her gritting her teeth. She was helpless to the hunger he demanded.

His head dipped and his tongue began the same slow patterns on her other breast. The desire deepened, went lower. It filled her hips and made her vulva cry. She lost awareness of everything but the sensations and the pleasure and the frantic desire.

His fingers gently touched one nipple. His tongue flicked at the other. An arrow of shivering pleasure shot down her body.

Then another, and another. It felt so good that she wanted it to go on forever. Her body demanded, ached, for relief even as it begged for more.

She could not contain the chaotic need. She heard the sounds of her delirium but did not care.

His head moved and he kissed her again. His hand moved and she rebelled at the pleasure’s end with a muffled cry. He broke the furious kiss and looked down her body. His caress slid lower, to her stomach and thighs.

Her desire moved lower too. The waiting became very focused, very intense. Her legs parted to encourage the caress she desperately wanted. The newly freed primitive part of her comprehended this passion in ways her mind did not.

He caressed closely until her hips were rising toward his touch, begging for more. She saw the expression of hard command when he finally responded to her body’s demands and her audible cries. He looked back at her face with the first touch and then watched as his slow strokes created a pleasure so intense that she lost all control.

She did not care that she had forsaken sanity and dignity and begged for something she did not understand. She did not care that he controlled her madness with his hands and eyes.

He kissed her lips, then her breast, then her stomach. He kissed lower, leaving her arms bereft as his body moved down.

“I am glad that you are so brave today,” he said softly. “Because I have been wanting to do this for weeks.”

She watched, confused. Her body understood, however. With each kiss closer, her vulva shivered.

His kisses went lower yet. His body moved more. Her mind finally comprehended. The notion shocked her. His hand lured her. Prepared her. She closed her eyes just as he moved his body between her thighs and gently lifted her hips.

His tongue replaced his fingers, and her brief spike of sanity shattered. She submitted to the excruciating combination of pleasure and devastating desire. It just got better and better and worse and worse as he drove her to the edge of a terrible, wonderful experience.

An unbearable peak beckoned. She reached for it because there was no place else to go. Her passion leapt, touched a glorious spot of pure pleasure, and showered through her essence.

He was with her suddenly, back in her arms, lying between her legs as he had in Durham. No garments interfered this time. She grasped him, intensely aware of his weight and warmth.

Her vulva still pulsed, still possessed that craving need. The sensation of him entering brought incredible relief. He pressed deeper and the fullness astonished her emotions.

Pain wanted to intrude on her daze. Her passion absorbed it, ignored it, conquered it. He thrust and they were fully joined and he filled her completely. The intimacy of holding him, of feeling him a part of her, moved her more than the highest pleasure she had just learned. She closed her eyes and savored the complete bond.

His passion guided the rest. She sensed a restraint on his desire, and knew when it fell away. His power controlled them both then, creating a whirlwind of tumultuous, fevered kisses and thrusts that awed her. She could only accept and absorb and feel. Nothing at all existed for her but love and intimacy and the reality of him in her body and arms.

The end left her dazed and astonished by her own emotions. Holding him in the stillness afterward, it was as if her heart and soul had been left without any protection. She held him to her, so alert to his scent and breaths and skin that it seemed new senses had been born in her. Special ones, which existed only for knowing this man.

She wanted him to stay on her forever, bound like this, but eventually he moved. Even after he withdrew and shifted his weight off her, she still pulsed as if they were connected.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No.” She did not know if he had. It did not matter.

“Did I shock you?”

“No . . . well, a little.” She turned on her side to face him. “Was that everything?”

“No.”

She smiled. “Stupid question. Of course it wasn’t. After all, you forgot to show me that sensitive spot behind my knee.”

“That I did.”

“And the trick with the base of my spine—no doubt you are saving that for another day too.”

He laughed quietly. “I promise to do better next time, when I am not so impatient.”

She drew a little pattern on his chest. “And the discovery about how a woman’s body can be more sensitive after . . .”

“It is not too late for that.” His caress moved down her body. “Part your legs wide, then do not move.”

She obeyed. His first touch shocked her whole body. His finger stroked low, caressing flesh unbelievably sensitive from their lovemaking. The pleasure was almost unbearable.

Abandon claimed her with a violent break in her control. Almost instantly she tottered on the highest point of arousal, begging for more, shuddering with desperate expectation. It was more intense and dangerous than the last time. The pleasure was unearthly, excruciating, shattering.