Page 88 of The Proposal

Dante is still standing where I left him when I rejoin his side. That haunted look in his eyes tugs at my heart. I want to kiss him all over and do whatever I can to make him feel better, but given the horrors I’ve faced in my past, I know it’s going to take a lot more than that to soothe him. All I can do now is give him an outlet …an escape.

I raise my hands, skimming over his chest and slipping underneath his suit jacket, gently pushing it off his shoulders until it slides down his arms and pools in a puddle by his feet. My gaze remains fixed on him as I move to quickly undo the buttons of his ruined dress shirt. I want all evidence of this evening gone. I’ll dispose of his clothes in the morning.

He manages to toe out of his dress shoes as I unbuckle his belt, but his eyes never once stray from mine. The silent pleading in his gaze tugs at something deep inside me, something I can’t ignore.

When I reach for the button on the waistband of his trousers, he places his hand over mine, stopping me.

At first, I’m confused, but then he lets go and reaches for the hem of my nightgown, lifting it over my head in one swift movement. He doesn’t hesitate to slide his thumbs into the sides of my underwear, tugging them over my hips.

Once he’s stripped me of my clothes, he lifts me off the floor and sits me on the countertop of the vanity. The marble is cold and hard under my backside, but if this is what myhusband needs to forget, even for a moment, then I’m not about to complain. I will be his distraction; I’m sure he’d happily be mine if the roles were reversed.

Dante’s hands grasp the back of my thighs as he lifts my legs, spreading them in the process. I’m forced to lean back and rest my flattened palms against the marble to balance myself.

He falls to his knees and rests my feet on his shoulders as he wastes no time burying his face between my legs. I throw my head back and moan into the silence as he devours me. This isn’t tender or loving like he’s been in the past; it’s raw and desperate.

The stubble on his face rubs against my sensitive skin, sending a shiver of both discomfort and unexpected desire through me. The roughness contrasts with the warmth and softness of his mouth, and I can’t help but flinch, yet I’m strangely drawn to the intensity of the moment.

The pad of two of his fingers circles my entrance before pushing inside. He usually works his way up to this, but I’m so turned on that I welcome the intrusion easily.

He buries his digits to the knuckle before crooking them inside me, massaging a place that is so sensitised it has me spiralling on the edge in seconds.

His assault on my body does not relent as my orgasm hits me like a tidal wave of pleasure. The sounds that leave my mouth sound foreign as my entire body shakes with the aftershocks.

When he finally draws back, he carefully removes my feet off each shoulder, letting them dangle free. I lean back on my elbows in a sedated bliss as I try to catch my breath.

My gaze remains fixated on Dante as he stands and pops the button on his trouser pants, dragging down the zip.

When his erection springs free, he grasps the base and strokes it before closing the small distance between us. The haunted look I saw when he first got home is now replacedwith a burning heat that has an intensity that almost feels suffocating.

He slides the tip of his erection back and forth through my slick heat before slipping himself inside me. He does it with care, but that is where his control ends.

Once he’s fully seated, he leans in to give me a frenzied, bruising kiss as he draws back and thrusts straight back in. The force is enough to knock the air out of my lungs and drive my body backwards, leaving my head spinning.

He wraps one arm around my waist, dragging me back to the edge of the countertop, anchoring me in place. When he pulls out of the kiss and buries his face in the crook of my neck, his movements become almost manic, pounding into me at a relentless pace, over and over again.

His feral grunts and the sound of our skin violently slapping together fill the air, and all I can do is hold on for dear life, letting him get all of his frustrations out. If he needs to use my body as a carriageway to purge all his demons, then so be it.

It only takes a few minutes for him to find his release. He buries himself to the hilt as his movements become jerky. His teeth bite into the flesh on my neck, hard enough that I know it will leave a mark, but there is something about an untamed Dante that I find incredibly hot.

His chest heaves with each laboured breath as he slowly withdraws from my body. He grips my hips, effortlessly lifting me off the counter and placing me back on my feet.

Still, no words are offered, so I stand there and watch as he strips out of the rest of his clothes. His penis has softened slightly and now hangs heavily between his legs as he reaches for my hand and leads me into the shower stall.

I bathed earlier, but I guess another one won’t hurt since he just dirtied me up.

He guides me under the spray, then grabs the body wash. After squeezing some into his palm, he rubs his handstogether before placing them on each breast, lathering them up with his big, strong hands.

I’ve never shared a shower with anyone before. I was only ten when I lost my mum, so having someone care for me in this way is incredibly intimate. It feels like we’re creating a closeness … a sense of trust, and a deeper connection.

When his hands move south, I reach for the body wash and return the favour, quickly swiping my hand over the splatters of blood on his neck. I try not to think about who’s blood that is, or how it got there.

By the time my hands skim over that delicious ‘V’ of his and wrap around his shaft, he starts to harden again. When his fingers slip between my legs, my lips part as I tilt my head back and whimper.

“Dante,” I moan as he turns me around and pushes me up against the tiles. He uses his knee to part my legs wider as he places open-mouthed kisses against my neck.

He enters me in one swift movement, filling me to the hilt as his fingers slide around the front of me to massage my clit. “Arabella,” he growls against my skin, and the way he says my name has a tingle shooting down my spine.

If I’m expecting his softer side to reappear, I’m mistaken. It only takes a few long, languid strokes before he begins to ramp things up again.

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