The Mistress: The Mistress\Wanted: Mistress and Mother (27 page)

“How else?” His words confused her, questions inappropriate
now, his touch what she needed, not the mind games he played. “How else did
Edward hurt you?”

“I’ve told you,” Matilda gulped, screwing her eyes closed
tighter wishing he would just leave it, and sure he knew she was lying.

“Not all of it,” Dante said, his finger trailing along her arm
as she spoke, the nub of his finger lingering on her radial pulse, like some
perverse lie detector as he dragged her secrets out. “Was
that
supposed to be your fault, too?”

“I didn’t help,” Matilda croaked, her eyes still screwed
closed, unable to look at him as she revealed her shame. “Edward said that maybe
if I dressed up...”

“Would he want you now?” Dante breathed, interrupting her,
confusing her again. “All messed up, in your work clothes?”

“Of course not,” Matilda started, but her voice trailed off,
not sure what he was getting at. Her body was still throbbing with desire, an
argument starting somewhere deep within, because Dante had wanted her, hadn’t
he?

Doubt was starting to ping in, her eyes snapping open,
terrified that he was laughing at her, dreading being humiliated again. But in
one movement he grabbed her wrist, rammed her tense hand between his legs. She
pulled back as if she’d been scalded, the strength of his erection shocking her,
the feel of him in her hand terrifying. But Dante pulled her hand back, holding
it there till the fear abated, till the arousal that had always been there
stirred again.

“You make me feel like this,
mi
cora
.”

She could feel him growing in her palm, feel a trickle of sweat
between her breasts as he swelled harder beneath her touch, a bubble of moisture
between her legs as his fingers crept up her T-shirt now, tiny, delicate strokes
as he inched up slowly further, and it had gone too far, way, way too far. She
murmured her protest, attempted to halt things, but he kissed her harder,
captured her protest with his tongue and silenced it. She could feel the fleshy
pad of his index finger circling her aching nipple as he held the soft plumpness
of her bosom in his palm. Only now did his lips release hers. Any sooner and she
would have begged him to stop, would have halted things.

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.