Page 37 of The Proposal

“How?”

“Have you ever touched yourself?”

My eyes widen with a gasp. “No.”

“You’ve never experienced an orgasm?”

I shake my head as I nibble on the corner of my bottom lip. Sex has always seemed taboo to me for some reason. It’s something that was never talked about. I learnt the basics of anatomy during my schooling, but that’s as far as it goes. When I was informed about the bloodied sheet ritual, I somehow associated that with pain. Why else would you bleed?

“Straddle my lap,” he says, grinning.

“Is it going to hurt?”

My question has his smile growing. “Like I said, our clothes will stay on … it will feel good, Arabella. Do you trust me?”

I find myself nodding because even though trusting this man is something I never expected, I do. I can only hope that trust is not misguided.

His hands wrap around the back of my thighs, guiding my legs until they’re straddling his hips. I can feel him hard and pulsing through the thin fabric of my underwear, or maybe that sensation is coming from me. I haven’t even moved yet, and the pressure this position provides already feels amazing.

Since I arrived in this country, every intense look or touch from this man has given me that foreign tingling between my legs—a throbbing need—but what I’m experiencing now is on a whole other level, like a pesky itch that I can finally scratch.

It ignites something inside and sends a ripple of warmth throughout my body.

I place my flattened palms on Dante’s chest as he grips my hips and begins to rock my body back and forth over hiserection. The friction against my sensitive flesh has me tilting my head back and moaning. I’m experiencing a sense of euphoria I’ve never known.

He continues to guide me until my body’s natural reaction takes over. When I begin to move against him of my own accord, his hands slide underneath my dress and continue a path up my sides.

“Dante,” I whimper when the pads of his thumbs skate over my hardened nipples through my bra. It sends a shockwave of pleasure right down to my core.

My hands reach for the buttons on his shirt, and I begin to clumsily undo them. I need to feel his skin.

“Can I take off your dress?” he asks. “I promise your underwear will stay on.”

“Yes,” I reply, lifting my arms in the air.

A part of me wants to go all the way with him, to experience everything he has to give, but I’m also grateful for his patience.

Once he tosses my clothes aside, his eyes rake down my body. He’s the first man ever to see me so scantily dressed, but the sheer appreciation reflecting back in his eyes is enough to stop me from feeling self-conscious.

“You’re fucking perfection,” he growls, his words raw and unrestrained. I remain still, watching him watch me. “Every part of you, Arabella, inside and out.”

My father’s words filter into my mind,“If that arse of yours gets any bigger, no man will ever want to marry you.”

“It wouldn’t kill me to lose a few pounds,” I admit as heat climbs my neck.

“Bullshit. I like you just the way you are.”

“You do?”

“It feels like you were made especially for me, Arabella. Your curves are as sexy as fuck.”

“They are?”

His back rises off the bed as his lips seek out mine. “Yes,”he whispers against my mouth. “There’s only one thing I’d change about you if I could.”

I draw back and narrow my eyes. “What would you change?”

“I’d make you like me more.”

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