Her palm raced across his skin in kind and her touch ignited an urgency he couldn't allow. He'd take as little pleasure from this as possible. Otherwise he'd never leave the bed. It was a delicate balance, made more complicated by the fact that no matter what she'd said, she still wished for something cataclysmic out of this.
He'd make it as physically cataclysmic as he could. That was the best he could do.
Still deep in her mouth, he yanked off the thong and then explored her torso with tiny openmouthed kisses until he reached her core. There, he licked her with the very tip of his tongue.
"Leo," she gasped, which only drove his urgency higher.
"You taste like heaven." He wanted more and took her nub in his mouth to nibble it gently, then harder, laving his tongue against it until she writhed beneath his onslaught.
Mewls deep in her throat attested to her mindless pleasure and then she cried, "More. I'm about to come," which was so hot it shoved him to the brink.
His erection pulsed and he clamped down, aching with the effort to keep from exploding. He drove a finger into her wet core, then two, and tongued her and she arched up as she clinched around him, shattering into a beautiful climax.
He rose up and tilted her chin to soak up the sated, satisfied glint in her eyes as he gave her a minute to recover. But not too long. When her breathing slowed a bit, he guided her hands upward and curled them around the top edge of the headboard.
If she touched him, he'd lose all his hard-won control.
"Hold on," he murmured, and she did, so trusting, so eager.
He parted her thighs and slowly pushed into her. Rapture stole across her face, thrilling him. She enveloped him like a vise, squeezing tight. She was amazing, open, wet.
His vision flickered as Daniella swamped his senses.
More. He thrust into her. Again.
Desire built, heavy and thick, and he thumbed her nub, circling it. Heat broke over him and he ached to come but needed her to come first. To prove he wasn't weak, and that he could still resist her.
"Daniella," he ground out hoarsely, and she captured his gaze.
He couldn't break free.
Everything shrank down to this one suspended moment and her bottomless, tender irises ensnared him, encouraging him to just feel. And he did feel it, against his will, but heaviness spread alarmingly fast through his chest, displacing what should be there. Against all odds, she'd wrenched something foreign and indefinable and magnificent from his very depths.
Only one thing could encapsulate it, one word. "Dannie."
It left his mouth on a broken plea and she answered with a cry, convulsing around him, triggering his release. He poured all his desire, all his confusion-and what he feared might be part of his soul-into her, groaning with sensual gratification he'd never meant to experience.
Daniella had taken his name, taken his body. Taken something primal and physical and turned it into poetry. The awe of it engulfed him, washing through his chest. He wanted to mark every page of her again and again and never stop. And let her do the same to him.
Intellectually, he'd realized long ago that one small taste of her would never be enough. But the actual experience had burst from its neat little box, crushing the sides, eclipsing even his wildest fantasies.
He couldn't allow himself to indulge like that again. Otherwise his wife would swallow him whole and take every bit of his ambition with her.
Nine
Dannie awoke at dawn tangled with Leo. Her husband, in every sense.
Muscles ached and begged to be stretched so beautifully again. Above all, her heart longed to hear him say "Dannie" with such raw yearning as they joined. Like he had last night, in that smoking-hot voice.
The bedroom-sharing plan deserved an award.
Leo was still asleep, but holding her tightly against him with his strong forearms, her back against his firm front. The position seemed incongruous for someone so determined to remain distanced. But in sleep, his body told her what he couldn't say with his mouth.
He craved a relationship with her, too. The yearning bled from him in waves every moment she spent in his company. It was all over the good deeds he did behind the scenes, which she no longer believed were designed to avoid emotional investment.
He just didn't know how to reach out. And she'd gladly taken on the job of teaching him.
As he guided her toward her full potential as his wife, she'd done the same, pushing him to keep opening up, giving him what he needed. She'd keep on doing it until he embraced everything this marriage could be. The rewards of being the woman behind the man were priceless.
She hated to disturb him, but his front was growing firmer by the moment and it pressed hot and hard against her suddenly sensitized flesh.
Heat gathered at the center of her universe and her breath caught.
Involuntarily, her back arched, pushing her sex against his erection. She rubbed back and forth experimentally. Hunger shafted through her. Oh, yes.
Then his whole body stiffened and his hands curled against her hips, forcing her to be still. Awake, and obviously not on board with a round of morning love.
Wiggling backward, she deliberately teased him without words.
"Daniella," he murmured thickly. "Stop. I forgot to set my alarm. I have to go to work."
"Yes, you do." She wiggled again, harder, and he sucked in a ragged breath. "Ten minutes. I'm so turned on, I'm almost there already."
Cool air rushed against her back as he rolled away and left the bed without another word.
Her heart crashed against her ribs as he disappeared into the bathroom. The shower hummed through the walls.
Nothing had changed between them.
Last night had meant everything to her. But she'd vastly overplayed her hand. Instead of viewing it as a precious stepping-stone toward a fulfilling marriage, Leo seemed perfectly content to sleep with her at night and ignore her the rest of the day.
Exactly what he'd warned her would happen.
She had no call to be disappointed. She'd given him what he needed and hoped it would be the beginning of their grand, sweeping love affair. It obviously wasn't. She'd dropped her dress, pushed him into making that final move and, for her effort, got a round of admittedly earth-shattering sex. She'd even given him permission to do whatever felt right.
At what point had she asked for anything more?
Since the I dos, she'd put considerable effort into preventing screwups, convinced each successful event or household task solidified her role as Mrs. Reynolds.
It never occurred to her the real screwup would happen when she invented a fictional future where Leo became the husband of her dreams.
Flinging the covers up over her shoulder, she buried herself in the bed, dry-eyed, until Leo left the bedroom without saying goodbye.
Then she let her eyes burn for an eternity, refusing to let the tears fall.
Her stupid phone's musical ringtone split the air. Leo.
Bolting upright, she bobbled the phone into her hands. He was calling to apologize. Tell her good morning. That it had been a great party. Something.
A bitter taste rose at the back of her throat when she saw Mom on the caller ID. She swallowed and answered.
"Hi," she said and her voice broke in half.
"What's wrong, baby?"
Great, now her mother was concerned. Worrying her mother was the last thing Dannie wanted.
"Nothing," she lied brightly. "I'm still in bed. Haven't woken up yet. How are you?"
"Fine." A round of coughing negated that. "Do you want to have lunch today?"
Oh, that would never do. Her mother would instantly see the hurt in her heart blossoming on Dannie's face. She had to get over the disenchantment first. "I've got a few things to do. Maybe tomorrow?"
"I'm leaving on the cruise tomorrow. Did you forget? I wanted to see you before I go."
Yes, she had forgotten and it was a brutal reminder about what was important-her mother. Not Dannie's bruised feelings.
Suck it up, honey. "I can rearrange my appointments. I'll pick you up around eleven, okay?"
"Yes! I'll see you then."
Dannie hung up, heaved a deep shuddery breath and hit the shower to wash away every trace of Leo from her body. If only she could wipe him from her mind as easily, but his invisible presence stained the atmosphere of the entire house.
She fought tears for twenty excruciating minutes as the car sped toward her mother's.
The driver paused at the curb outside her mother's apartment and Dannie frowned. Paint peeled from the wood siding and weeds choked the grass surrounding the front walk. The shabbiness had never bothered her before. How was it fair that Dannie got to live in the lap of luxury but her mother suffered both pulmonary fibrosis and near poverty?