CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

El

THE BLINDS WERE open in the master bedroom, creating a silver glow from the moon as it cast its light across the white duvet and giant king bed.

There was a fireplace off to the right next to a sitting room that connected to a giant bathroom with a shower big enough for ten people.

It was warm yet modern.

“You’re quiet.” Dante stood in front of me, hands on his hips, his low-slung jeans hugged his leg muscles and his black shirt barely hid his built chest and biceps.

“I was just staring at you,” I finally admitted after a few beats. “You know the wives all think you’re hot.”

He tilted his head. “And I care about this because?”

“You don’t get how sexy you are.”

“No, I don’t, you should probably keep telling me as you strip and show me those garters of yours.”

“I go first.” I pushed him lightly on the chest, and he fell back against the mattress. “And the garters are white.”

He groaned his head falling back against the pillows like he was trying not to react. “A promise is a promise.”

I’d been used as a sex slave for years.

I’d never once sat on a man and stared down at him. Had Xavier given me the chance I would have slit his throat open with my fingernails if need be.

“You’re quiet again,” Dante said, bracing my hips with his hands. “Am I doing this wrong?”

I laughed. “I like this side of you, the one where you aren’t scowling all the time.”

“I don’t,” he scowled. “Scowl all the time.”

“You’re doing it now.”

“I have a sexy as hell woman straddling me and I can’t even see her, what do you expect me to do? Laugh? You realize how painful it is to be pressed against you and not feel you?”

I smiled at that. “Do you trust me?”

He sighed, running his hands up and down the sides of my ribs. “You could have a gun to my head right now and I wouldn’t know, El. The first thing I do when I walk into a room is look for exits. I’ve never been blindfolded, I’ve never let any woman straddle me because I don’t trust anyone not to have an agenda. I walked into this room blind. I laid down for you. Blind. Yeah, El, I trust you.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and kissed his neck, then pulled the towel free. His crystal blue eyes locked onto mine.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s not what’s wrong,” I said. “It’s what’s right. I want to see you. I want you to see me.” I ran my hands through his hair. “I just want us.”

His chest rose and fell as he drew lazy circles with his fingers on my hips, and then we were lying down next to each other, staring.

He spoke first. “Promise me something.”

“What?”

“This right here.” He waved his hand around. “This is our safe place, no blood, no war, just a man and a woman.”

“Just a man and a woman,” I repeated, lacing my fingers with him. “I like that a lot.”

“Good.” He tilted my chin toward him and brushed a soft kiss on my mouth then used his other hand to gather the silk dress and pull it up past my hips. He felt the garters first, his fingers wrapped around the material as a smug grin spread all over his gorgeous face. “White may be my new favorite color.”

I pressed my hand against his, the warmth of his palm spread all the way down my thigh. “Better than a big white dress, right?”

He lifted his head and blinked. “I’m sorry you didn’t get the chance to wear the big white dress.”

“I’d rather have the garters,” I said, my face heating with shyness. “And you. Plus, this dress is prettier than anything I’ve ever worn.”

“I’m going to have to disagree with you on that,” he got up on his knees and leaned over me, his mouth grazed mine. “The most beautiful thing you wear is your own damn skin, El.”

I met his kiss.

I slammed my mouth against his with pure hunger, pulling his shirt over his head and reaching for his jeans.

“This was supposed to be slow,” he murmured against my mouth, his tongue sliding out just enough for me to whimper for more.

I jerked down his jeans, he kicked them off.

“No boxers today,” I mused taking him in my hand.

Dante let out a groan and flipped me onto my back as he slid my dress up over my hips and then over my head, it floated to the ground.

He sucked in a sharp breath. “I should have married you weeks ago,” he watched my face, muscles flexed in his stomach and chest as he welcomed me with another open-mouthed kiss. I rocked my hips against him, he smiled against my lips.

“Not yet,” Dante moved his massive body down, he covered my belly button in another kiss then rested his head on my stomach as he moved his hands down my thighs, his palms caressing the garters like he couldn’t actually believe they existed, and then he very slowly tugged one free, pulling the nylon all the way down to my foot, then did the same with the other.

I nearly melted when his lips fused and held onto mine, his length pressed against my stomach as he grasped my knees and eased them apart only to narrow his eyes at me, like he was spending time taking it all in, like he wanted to savor the moment forever.

“Look at me, El.” He pressed my face between his hands, his eyes urgent. “Don’t look away.”

I didn’t.

I locked eyes with him.

He braced himself over me.

I sucked in a breath when he paused near my entrance.

“Are you watching?” He breathed. “Watch El, this, this is us.”

Tears welled in my eyes as he pressed into me, slowly, possessively. I wanted to close my eyes, it was too much to process, this beautiful man, moving with me, inside me, with me.

I arched, my head dipped into the pillow as a wave of pleasure built and broke between us only to build again, he slowed his movements, leaned his heavy body across mine, and kissed me with his eyes open.

I leaned into him with each kiss.

And with each arch, took him inside, held him tight. Promised forever.

His body shook, his breath hitched. “Nothing should feel this good.”

“Nothing ever has,” I admitted as a tear slid down my cheek.

He kissed it away.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and held on while he showed me love.

While he took me with passion.

While he forced me to see what it should have been like all along.

And what it would be like with him.

“Let go, Dante.” I kissed his mouth, the strain of his muscles was beautiful, the way he held himself protectively over me, both loving and saving at the same time, probably without him realizing it.

Men like Dante Nicolasi existed in two places.

Books.

And in my arms.

He groaned out my name.

I gasped as he thrust deeper.

“I. Am. Yours.” He gave me everything.

I took it all.