Dante Claiming His Secret Love-Child(23)

"Yes. It makes you a woman. My woman."

She offered a tremulous smile. "I know I must sound silly. But I don't want to disappoint you. I couldn't stand it if-"

"Gaby. How could you ever do that?" His mouth twisted. "I'm the one, not  you. I disappointed you. I hurt you. I left you alone to face the  hardest days in your life and-"

"You didn't know."

"But I do now. And I want to see you. Please … "

He waited, wondering how he would survive it if she refused him, knowing  he would never force her to do anything even if it meant he had to  spend the next twenty-four hours under a cold shower.

She took a breath. Nodded. And let go of his wrists.

Even more slowly, he drew the cotton T up, eased it carefully over her  head. He could feel her trembling and he wanted to gather her in his  arms, rock her against him, tell her she would always be perfect in his  eyes whether she thought so or not.

He tossed the shirt aside. Her hands flew to her breasts. Dante shook  his head and drew them away. He looked at her, and the breath caught in  his throat.

She was more than beautiful, she was heart-stoppingly lovely.

Her breasts were fuller and all the more feminine for it. Her nipples, a  pale pink that had always reminded him of summer roses, were a duskier  shade than in the past.

His eyes moved down her body. The elegant indentation of her waist. Her  belly, not flat but delicately convex and faintly, all but invisibly,  striped with silver.

Yes, her body was changed. His seed, his son, had changed it. She was the essence of femininity.

And she was his.                       
       
           



       

Pride, primitive and male, the same emotions that must have driven the  earliest man when he first emerged from his cave, swept through him.  Mine, he thought, and he reached for her and brought her close against  his heart within his encircling arms.

"Gabriella. You are exquisite."

"You don't have to say-"

He drew back. Kept his eyes on hers as he cupped a breast, traced the erect crest with a finger.

She moaned; he thought he had never heard a more exciting sound.

"Your breasts are beautiful." He dropped his hand to her belly, curved  his fingers over her warm flesh. "And this, your skin gilded with  silver … " His gaze narrowed. "You are mine, sweetheart, and I have never  wanted you more than I want you now."

He kissed her, parting her lips with his, kissed her throat, the slope  of her breast, and when he drew the ruched pink tip into his mouth, her  cry of pleasure shot through him. He teased her with his tongue. Licked.  Nipped. Sucked … and suddenly there was a new taste, a taste even sweeter  and richer-

Her hands flattened against his shoulders, pushed him away.

He lifted his head, saw panic in her eyes.

"I am hurting you," he said gruffly. "Baby, I told you. We'll stop-"

"You're not! The feel of your mouth is … is wonderful." Color leaped into  her cheeks. "But I should have realized. I should have known. Sometimes,  after I feed the baby, there's … there's a little milk still left. I  should have warned you that … that-"

"Warned me?" He caught her wrists as she tried, again, to cover her  breasts. "You're a woman, sweetheart. My woman. I love knowing that you  can do this for Daniel." He paused. "For our son."

She gave a little sob, slid her hands into his hair, brought his lips to  hers for a long, deep kiss and fell with him into the flames.

Dante stroked her breasts. Her belly. Her thighs. She cried out, sought  his mouth. Her hand cupped his straining erection. The breath hissed  through his teeth and he kicked free of his jeans.

Too fast. Way too fast. How could he, a man who was almost arrogant  about his sexual control, how could he be so close to losing that  control now? Because, dammit, he was.

He could feel the tightening in his scrotum, the tension building in  every muscle. He was racing to the edge, heart pounding, holding back,  holding back, because his Gabriella deserved more.

More of his mouth at her breasts. His hand between her thighs. His  fingers parting her, finding her clitoris. More of this and this and  this, he thought fiercely, as she cried out and arched off the bed.

"Please," she whispered, and he groaned, thrust into her. Deep. Hard.  Fast. She reached up to him and he kissed her, rode her as she wrapped  her legs around his waist.

"Dante," she sobbed. "Oh, Dante … "

She climaxed; he felt it happen, heard the trill of joy that broke from  her throat, and he threw back his head and knew that what was happening  to him had never happened before.

He was with her as they flew into the burning heart of the universe.

They slept in each other's arms, legs entwined, her head on his chest,  his arm curved around her, his hand lightly cupping her breast.

And awoke to the darkness of the night, the wonder of being together, the sweetness of it.

The deep, hungry need for fulfilment.

He caressed her. Feathered his fingertips over her nipples. Kissed them.  Stroked his hand down her body, between her legs, sought and found the  very heart of her.

She moaned. Arched against his seeking hand. Used every feminine motion  of her body to beg him for more. Still he hesitated. All the mysteries  of a woman's body after childbirth, he had learned tonight. She said he  couldn't hurt her, but for all he knew, in his ignorance, he could.

Making love more than once, God, more than twice, might be a mistake.

"Are you sure you can do this?" he said, his lips a breath from hers.

She gave that wonderful laugh again, wrapped her hand around him and said, "You tell me."

He growled, rolled her on her back, lifted her leg and brought it high  over his, opening her to him but entering her as slowly as he could  bear.

It was agony.

Exquisite agony.

So was her soft moan of pleasure.

A shudder gripped his powerful body; he buried his face in her throat as  he filled her, deeper, deeper, until he couldn't tell where he ended  and she began. Until they were one. One, he thought, his heart filling  with joy …

And then she moved.

His mind emptied.

She moved again and he groaned, moved with her and she cried out, sank  her teeth into his shoulder and they let go together, shattered  together, fell off the edge of the world together.                       
       
           



       

He held her until her breathing eased and he knew she was asleep. Then  he kissed her, checked the baby monitor, smiled at the sight of his  sleeping son. He drew the duvet over them both, gathered her close  again.

He had never felt so complete in his life.

He slept, too.

They woke. Made love. The moon rose and set. And the night slipped away and became morning.

Gabriella opened her eyes to the soft patter of rain.

Rain, this time of year? It was too soon. Rainy season didn't come to the Pantanal until-

But she wasn't in the Pantanal. She was in Manhattan. In Dante's home.

In Dante's bed.

Memories of the long, incredible night rushed in. She tried to remember  how many times they'd made love even as she chastised herself for the  effort. It didn't matter … But, somehow, it did.

Dante had always been an amazing lover. Tender. Savage. Giving and demanding all at once.

Indefatigable. She'd been with only a couple of men before meeting him,  so she was far from an expert. Still, Dante's virility was, well,  amazing.

And yet last night the frequency with which he'd wanted her had shocked her.

She had wanted him, too, each time. And that had shocked her, as well,  that her need for him had seemed insatiable, her desire for him endless.  But then, it had always been that way with him.

She'd always wanted him; even these past endless months, unable to  imagine feeling a need for sex ever again, even then, if she were  honest, there'd been nights she'd dreamed of Dante. Hot dreams. Dreams  from which she'd awakened empty and shaken, an ache low in her belly,  her breasts full and sore …

Her breasts, full and sore …

Deus! The baby! She shot a look at the baby monitor, but it showed only  an empty crib. Quickly she rose from the bed. Dante's robe, the one  she'd worn yesterday, was neatly draped over the back of a chair. She  yanked it on, hurried to Daniel's room …

And saw Dante by the window, holding his son in his arms.

He smiled when he saw her. "Good morning, sweetheart."

"I overslept. I don't know how. The baby-"

"He's fine." He looked down. "Aren't you, buddy?"

Daniel offered an enormous grin. Dante did the same.

"See? He's great."

"He must be starving … "

"Well, we were starting to think we'd have to wake you. I mean, a snack's a snack but when a guy wants his breakfast … "