by Maya Banks
But now she was putty in his skilled hands, pliable, warm, willing to move, to let him do with her what he wanted, and, oh, how he did—kissing the pulse leaping in her throat as she wriggled out of her top. The second her breasts were free, his tongue paid them the attention they deserved, tender attention, kissing the swollen, needy tips in turn, his finger retracing his steps, working downwards now. Her stomach tightened in renewed tension as he slid down the zip of her shorts, but for the first time since contact he spoke, the liquid deep tones of his voice not breaking the spell but somehow deepening it.
“Don’t hold onto those thoughts, bella, just let them come and go.” Repeating the words she had said to him, but with entirely different meaning this time. And she tried, really tried to just relax as his hand cupped her bottom and lifted her enough to slip off the shorts and knickers in one. But the movement erased what had been achieved, embarrassment flooding in as her flesh was exposed, her knees lifting instinctively and her hand moving down in a futile attempt to cover herself. Wanting to hide her body from Dante’s gaze. She half expected his wrist to close around her hand, as Edward’s had done, to roughly demand to return to where he had just been.
“Don’t fight,” he ordered, but unlike Edward he was soothing her with words instead of touch. “Don’t think about that, just think about this.” His hand hovered over her stomach until she caught her breath. She wanted the contact again and he was very gently tracing tiny endless circles around the little hill of her abdomen as his lips dusted her cheeks. He was kissing away the salty tears that were spilling from her eyes with his other hand around her neck, massaging her hairline, yet still the hungry swell of him against her told Matilda how much he desired her. A barrage of sensations that could have been confusing but instead soothed, the panic that had momentarily engulfed her waned until she lay outstretched and acquiescent in his arms, thrumming with anticipation for all that he might yield.
“I’m going to touch you now.”
He was already touching her, his body was pressed against her, his lips on her face, his erection jutting into her, but she knew what he meant, was grateful for the strange warning, shivering as his hand reached her damp intimate curls and gently stroked them, his lip capturing the nervous swallow in her throat as his fingers crept slowly deeper, the infinitely gentle strokes he had teased her with before almost rough in comparison to the tenderness he displayed now, gently circling, pressing. But what if she couldn’t, what if she let him down? She felt herself tense but not in desire, that panic again creeping in as he slid a finger into her tight space, slid it in slowly, taking her dew and then back to where it was needed. His touch firmer, massaging away her fears and replacing them with need, as she quivered at his touch, uncurling under his masterful skill, his palm massaging her swollen mound, over and over, his fingers gliding in and out, patience in every movement. She opened her eyes once, drunk on lust, moaning at the blissful warmth that fired her, and she saw his eyes smiling down at her, not a trace of superiority in them, just desire.
“Matilda.” It was Dante’s voice that was breathless now, his body pressing harder into hers. She’d been so indulgent in her own pleasure while he’d been so unselfish, but that he could be so aroused from just touching her was all the affirmation she needed. Bold, so bold now, it was Matilda making the move, wrestling with his heavy belt, unzipping him, pushing the silk of his boxers down and staring with animal lust at him, the swollen, angry tip almost explosive. And even if it was the most wanton, outrageous thing she had ever done, even if all there could be was this moment, she needed it, needed him deep, deep inside her. She wanted his weight on top of her and it was heaven as Dante pushed her down, his clothed body squeezing the breath out of her, strong knees parting her willing thighs. She could feel him nudging at her entrance and opened her legs a fraction more to accommodate him. Even before his heated length stabbed into her, her body was convulsing, her most intimate place wrapping around his, dragging him deeper with each quivering contraction of her orgasm as he moved within her.
“More!”
Her eyes opened. Breathless, speechless, she stared at him as still he moved within her. What did he mean more? She’d achieved more than she had ever thought possible—he’d already toppled her to climax.
“Give me more, Matilda.” He was pushing harder and now so was she. Now he was sliding over her, pressing her harder into the ground. But her body wanted to still, to recover from her orgasm, and she’d thought he’d been close, was sure he’d wanted her as much as she’d wanted him. For a second the doubts were back, the tiny dark voices that told her over and over she wasn’t quite good enough, wasn’t sexy enough, wasn’t woman enough to please a man.
“Matilda,” Dante gasped. “Come with me. I can’t hold on—see what you do to me?”
He stared down at her and it was as if Dante was struggling to stay in control—and her body that had begged respite, mere moments before, rippled into delighted action as he ambushed her. Her legs wriggled free, wrapping themselves tightly around his hips, pulling him fiercely in, her fingers digging into the taut muscle of his buttocks. And she understood, understood then that she’d never truly let go, had merely glanced around the door of the place Dante was taking her to now.
“You’re beautiful bella.” Over and over he said it. His chin was rough against her tender face, his breathing rapid and irregular, and she felt powerful now, felt his desire, his blatant need for her irrefutable. “Dante...Dante.” Over and over she said. Pulling his shirt up, her hands ran over his back as her own frenzied mouth searched for comfort, sucking, licking the salty flesh of his chest.
“What you do to me!” Dante rasped. “You sexy bitch...” His body, his words were one unguarded paroxysm now, but so, too, was Matilda. She felt sexy, he made her sexy, her body responding to his debauched words, shivering as he spilled his precious nectar and she dragged it from him, convulsing around his length, dragging each delicious drop as if it was her right, as if it was hers to take, her whole body in rigid spasm, clinging to him as still somehow he moved, slower now, giving her all of him until, sated, exhausted, he collapsed on top of her before rolling onto his side, pulling her into his arms and welcoming her, back to a world that was more beautiful for what had taken place.
“You are so beautiful,” Dante drawled, then gave a small cough. “Matilda, what I said just then...I mean, maybe I went too far...”
“Maybe I needed to hear it.” Matilda smiled. “In fact, I think it’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me.”
He laughed—a real laugh—and it sounded so good. To see him relaxed, smiling, was like glimpsing somehow a different man, and all she knew was that she wanted more of this. He ran his hand over her warm, naked body and she squirmed with pleasure, not embarrassment, couldn’t believe she was lying naked in his arms in the middle of the day and feeling only beautiful. “At least we’ve answered your question.”
“What question?”
He kissed her very slowly, very tenderly before answering.
“It was Edward’s problem, not yours.” He kissed the tip of her nose as his words sank in.
“Or you’re just an amazing lover!”
“Oh, that, too.” Dante grinned.
“You know, sometimes people say things in an argument that they don’t really mean.”
Matilda gazed up at him. “Perhaps,” she said softly. “Or in anger they find the courage to say what’s really on their mind.”
The sun must have gone behind a cloud, because suddenly his face darkened, his body that had been so yielding, so in tune with hers stiffening, and Matilda wasn’t sure if it was because of what she’d said or because he’d heard it first. The sound of tyres crunching on the gravel had them both jumping like scalded cats, suddenly aware of her lack of attire and Dante’s trousers around his knees. She hated the intrusion, wanted so much to see him properly, the glimpse of his tumescence as he hastily pulled his trousers up and tucked himself in nowhere near enough for Matilda.
“Dante!” Katrina’s voice pierced the still afternoon. Completely flustered, somehow Matilda managed to dress in record time, zipping up her shorts and almost falling over as she pulled on her boots, until, with her heart pounding, the footsteps drew closer and the gate was pushed open. Matilda did not even look over as Katrina approached and bluntly addressed Dante. “I saw your car—what on earth are you doing home?”
“Trying to catch up on some reading,” Dante said casually, but it didn’t wash with Katrina and after a long pause he elaborated. “I thought I’d see how the garden was coming along before I shut myself away for the rest of the day. Where’s Alex?”
Katrina didn’t say anything at first, suspicious eyes swivelling from Dante to Matilda. “Asleep in the car,” she finally said slowly. “I was just going to carry her in.”
“I’ll come and help,” Dante offered, but Katrina had already gone, walking out of the garden without a backward glance. Matilda stood with her cheeks flaming, her anxious eyes swinging to Dante, hoping for reassurance.
“Do you think she knew?”
“Of course not.” Dante shook his head but a muscle was pounding in his cheek, his hands balled into fists by his sides, and Matilda realised that Katrina’s intrusion hadn’t just wrecked the intimate moment—it was almost as if she’d erased it completely. “Why on earth would she think there was anything between us?”
She truly wasn’t sure if he was trying to reassure her, or was blatantly degrading her, but Matilda did a double-take, stunned at the change in him. Gone was the man who had so recently held her and in his place was the inaccessible man she had first encountered.
“Because maybe she guessed that we just made love.”
Matilda eyes glittered with tears, willing him to take it back, to perhaps realise the brutality of what he had just said, to offer some sort of apology. But Dante just stood there refusing to take it as she offered him an out from his rancid words. “Because maybe she’s noticed that over the last few days we’ve become close...”
“No.” His single word hurt her even more, if that were possible, his refusal to soften it cheapening her more than she’d thought possible.
“So what was that all about?” Matilda asked, gesturing to where they had lain, where he’d found her, held her, made love to her, forcing the confrontation, steeling herself to hear the confirmation of her worst fears. “What just happened there, Dante?”
“Sex.” Black eyes stung her, a warning note in his voice telling her she’d crossed the line. His lips set in a rigid line as she shook her head, refused his take on the history they’d so recently created.
“It was more than that and you know it,” Matilda rasped, shocked by his callousness, reeling from the ferociousness of his sparse summing-up, yet refusing to buy it, because she knew there was more to him, had witnessed the real Dante only moments before, and all she knew was that she wanted him back. “Dante, please, don’t do this...” Matilda attempted, her hand reaching out for his arm, but he recoiled as if she was contaminated, shook her off as if she revolted him.
“Good sex, then,” came the elaboration she had foolishly hoped for, the bile at the back of her throat appropriate as he told her his poisonous truth. And it was Matilda recoiling now, Matilda putting up the shutters and swearing she’d never let this man near her again.
“No, Dante, it wasn’t.” This time she wasn’t lying, wasn’t denying what she felt. Looking into his cold, hard eyes, she told him the absolute truth. “Good sex isn’t just the act, Dante, it’s about how you feel afterwards, and right now, I couldn’t feel worse.” She knew he was about to walk off, knew that if she didn’t say what was on her mind now then it would fester for ever, had learnt that much at least, so whether he was listening or not she chose to say what she felt. “I don’t know what your problem is, I don’t know what it is that drives you to shut out something that could have been so good. Maybe you can justify it by saying that I’m not sophisticated enough to play by your rules, or that I don’t hold a candle to your wife, but that’s entirely your business. Frankly, I don’t care any more.”
His only response was a blink, but she knew that she’d surprised him, knew that even as he shut her out further, right now a little of what she was saying was reaching him. It gave her the impetus to continue, the pain he’d inflicted more than enough to go round. “I’m more sorry than you’ll ever know for having sex with you, Dante, but, let’s get one thing clear—I might have lost a bit of my pride here, but you just lost one helluva lot more...” It was Matilda who walked off, Matilda who headed to the house and left him standing in the garden. She refused to cry, just called her parting shot over her shoulder. “You just lost me!”
Chapter 9
His callousness, his emotional distancing after the intimacy they’d shared made the most painful of decisions relatively easy, made walking away from Dante about need rather than want. Because sharing his home, glimpsing his life and being shut out over and over was a torture that couldn’t be sustained and gave Matilda the momentum to pick up the phone and call on every friend and colleague she could muster with a view to rapidly finishing the task she had committed herself to, and rapidly removing herself from this impossible situation she had allowed herself to fall into.
It was the most exhausting time of her life. Hanging the expense, more than happy to bill him, more than happy to pay for it herself even, Matilda ordered floodlights to enable her to work long into the warm nights, grateful for the soothing diversion of nature, grateful that by the time her aching body fell into bed at night, all she was capable of was rest, taking the respite of a dreamless, exhausted sleep while knowing the pain would surely come later.
* * *
“I can’t believe what you’ve achieved.” Deep into a humid, oppressive Saturday evening, Hugh poured her a glass of champagne Matilda didn’t want from the bottle he was holding, having wandered over from the al fresco area where the family had eaten a leisurely dinner. He was now staring in astonishment at the garden, which was almost complete, the sleeping beauty truly awoken, the overgrown wilderness a distant memory. In its place was a child’s paradise—a maze of soft hedges, each leading to its own exciting end, soft turf underfoot and thousands of tiny fairy-lights adorning the massive willow—twinkling in the dusky light and bidding enchantment. “What do you think, Katrina?”
“It’s very nice.” Katrina’s response wasn’t exactly effusive, but Matilda couldn’t have cared less. The only thing she needed to see her through was the knowledge that in less than twelve hours she’d be out of there, in less than twelve hours she could start to pick up the pieces of her life Dante had so readily shattered. “Of course,” Katrina added, “it’s Alex’s opinion that counts.”
Almost on cue, the gate opened and, as she had over the last couple of days whenever their paths had inadvertently crossed, Matilda didn’t even look at Dante. Instead, she focused her attention on Alex, who walk
ed tentatively alongside him, her tiny hand in his. She looked utterly adorable, dressed in cotton pyjamas and cute kitten slippers, newly washed blonde curls framed her pretty face. And as livid and as debased as Matilda felt, momentarily at least, it faded as she watched the little girl’s reaction. Watched as her normally vacant eyes blinked in wonder as she actually surveyed the transformation, a smile breaking out on her serious face as Matilda flicked on a switch and the water features danced into life. It was like seeing the sun come out as a tiny gasp of wonder escaped Alex’s lips. She moved forward, reached out and ran, ran as most children would have, but because it was Alex it was amazing.
“I think she likes it.” She could forgive Hugh’s stilted words, because tears were running down his cheeks as he watched his granddaughter run through the water jets, and for that moment in time Matilda decided that the pain she’d endured had been worth it. To see this distant, reclusive child emerge from her shell, even if only for a moment, that her vision, her concept had actually reached this troubled, fractured child caused something good and pure to well deep inside her. Matilda’s usual happiness, which had been stifled since Dante’s rejection, bubbled to the surface again as she witnessed her work through the eyes of a child.
A child like Alex.
“Look!” Matilda’s voice was an excited whisper. She crouched to Alex’s level, as she had on the first day, taking her cautious hand as she had back then and beckoning Alex to new wonders as Katrina and Hugh wandered around to explore. “Look what’s here!” Parting the curtain of willow, Matilda led her inside the cool enclosure, the fairy-lights she had so carefully placed lighting the darkness and creating a cool, emerald oasis, an enchanted garden within a garden, a place for Alex to simply just be. But the innocent pleasure of the moment was broken as the leaves parted, as Dante stepped into the magical space and completely broke the spell.