Dancing beside the cool blue ocean on a hot winter’s night in a place that had once been the scene of a nightmare turning dance step by dance step into a dream.
“The men are watching you,” Dante growled in my ear as he extended his arm, showcasing me at the end of it as I undulated like a flame to the increased tempo of the jazzy music.
When he curled me back into his body, my back to his front, his words were hot on my neck. “They want you.”
I tipped my head back on his shoulder, rolling my hips into the bowl of his groin, finding the thickening ridge of his cock with my ass and grinding into it.
“You like them watching you,” he continued to murmur in that sensual commentary, matching me movement for movement, our dance swiftly turning from something fun and frivolously into something deeply erotic. “You like them admiring your beauty because you feel safe. You know I’d never let them have you.”
“Yes,” I panted as he placed his hands on my shoulder, gently escorting my down into a languid squat where I writhed for a moment before slowly moving upright, my body flush against the heat of his.
“I wouldn’t let them get close enough to even smell you.” His nose was in my hair, dragging in the scent of Chanel Number 5 and the lingering tang of lemons. “They don’t deserve that. They’re lucky they even get to look at you.”
“And the women?” I countered, spinning to face him, my fingers diving into the sweat-dampened hair at his nap as straddled his thigh and melted into his torso.
“Non ci sono donne.”
There are no women.
People were watching us, I could feel their eyes on my skin like needle points. I wasn’t the type for public displays of affection, but then, I hadn’t been the type to do a lot of things before Dante.
So, I gave into the impulse unfurling in my gut and kissed him.
I brought his lips down to mine with my hands in his hair and took his mouth the way he’d so often taken mine, owning him with my tongue, teeth and lips. Our chests were pressed so tightly together, our hips still swaying, that I could feel his heartbeat against my own.
His masculine scent was in my nose, all sweat, citrus, brine and man. I felt drugged by it, by the feel of his massive, powerful hands bracketing my hips, urging me harder against his thigh so the friction found my clit and set my core to throbbing.
“Are you wet for me, Lena?” he said against my damp lips. “If I moved my hand between your thighs, would you soak my fingers?”
A panting groan was my only answer before he kissed me again. I was so lost in the silken slide of his lips against mine that I didn’t notice his hand move subtly between our bodies and down my belly, his fingers curling into the fabric of my dress until they palmed my pussy.
“Hot and damp,” he concluded, nipping at my lower lip. “It’s time to go home.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “Andiamo.”
The car ride was just over an hour, but it felt infinitely longer. Dante ordered me to touch myself for him again while I slouched in the passenger seat, but he didn’t let me take off my underwear this time. The friction wasn’t enough for my aching pussy, but his grin was cruel when I begged.
He liked to see me on the edge, needy and wanton for him.
When we finally reached Villa Rosa, he didn’t lead me inside.
Instead, when I got out of the car, he tugged me off balance and scooped me up over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
“Dante,” I protested, hitting him in the back. “Let me go!”
He ignored me, striding around the house to the backyard and straight to the lemon grove. His face was almost severe with desire when he finally put me down at the edge of the trees between the fruit and the hanging laundry.
“I wanted to take you here yesterday. Lie you down and bury myself inside you until everything else faded away,” he told me as he studied the hanging clothes then pulled a white sheet from the line and ripped a long strip from the end of it.
Only the bright moon and the light spilling from the house limned his features in silver and gold, his eyes twin pools of black darker even than the night sky. He wound the fabric around his hands and snapped it taut as he approached me.
“Hands up, bella mia,” he ordered sinuously.
I didn’t hesitate.
I was still hypnotized by the pulse of lustful music between us, by the rhythm that had been set between our two bodies. I actually ached for him to touch me again.
Dante’s smile glinted menacingly in the low light as he crossed my wrists and tied them in a complicated knot to the wooden trellis that supported the trees sloping down the steep mountainside.
Briefly, anxiety flared through me. Christopher had tied me down a few times and it was almost impossible to forget those memories. But I resolved to replace them with stronger, positive ones just as Dante and I had done in Sorrento.
“Che coraggio,” he murmured for the second time that night as he stepped back to study me.
What courage.
Warmed through with his praise, already wet and pulsating, I demanded, “Touch me.”
“Like this?” he teased, stepping forward to run his hand down the middle of my chest, following the plunging neckline of the designer dress.
“Di più,” I ordered, glaring at him.
Harder.
He gently tweaked my nipples through the fabric. “Va bene cosi?”
Like this?
“No,” I ground out, arching my back to get closer. “More, Dante.”
“You want me to fuck you hard, my Lena?” he asked darkly, twisting my nipples tight between his knuckles until I hissed. “Because after tonight, I need to fuck you until you feel me in every inch of your skin.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “Do it.”
“In Italian,” he coaxed, letting go off my breasts.
“Scopami, per favore.”
Fuck me, please.
His grin flashed in the moonlight. A moment later, both hands found the neckline of my dress, fingers curling into the fabric and he ripped it straight down the middle. I gasped as the fabric capitulated to his strength, tearing cleanly all the way done to the hem until it gaped open on either side of me.
“Ottimo,” he growled, palming my naked breasts, rolling the nipple against his palms.
Better.
It was so much better.
My head fell back between my shoulders as he stepped closer to take one of my hard peaks into his mouth to suck and nip at with his teeth. The contrast of the pleasure and pain made my breath stutter.
He held one breast to his mouth as he worked it while his other hand went straight to my sex. His growl vibrated through my nipple when his fingers slid into the pool of wet at my center.
“So drenched for me,” he groaned.
My shiver had nothing to do with the cool winter night and everything to do with the way he traced every fold and dip in my pussy like a cartographer determined to map out my pleasure.
“You know, we didn’t have dessert.”
I watched with heavy lids as he plucked a heavy lemon from the tree and pried it open using just his thumbs. The juice ran down his wrist. He raised his arms to lick up the rivulet of sweet liquid and hummed.
“Do you want some, too?” he asked innocently, but Dante was entirely indecent, utterly wicked.