The click of the latch was the loudest sound in the room, a final, decisive note that sealed them in. Dante turned from the door, his gaze finding hers, and the air between them grew thick, heavy with everything unsaid. Her “help me” was a whisper, a surrender.
He closed the distance, his hands coming to rest on her waist. The fabric of the sweatshirt was soft. “Mmm, you’re warm and toasty.”
His fingers brushed the hem, then curled, lifting it slowly. The material whispered over her head, baring her torso to the golden light. Her skin was a roadmap of healing. Her scars were pale red lines, stark reminders of how close he’d come to losing her. When he traced her hip with his thumb, her full-body tremor had nothing to do with cold or pain. Her eyes were locked on his.
Her hands weren't idle. They found the hem of his shirt, tugging insistently. He helped her pull it over his head, and the moment it was gone, her palms flattened against his chest. The contact was electric.
Before he continued, he had to ask, “Beautiful lady, I have a question.”
She caressed his cheek and smiled. “Mack thought of everything. I’m on the implant for birth control.”
He smiled and leaned in, capturing her lips. The first kiss was a soft and searching question. But the answer was immediate: a desperate, hungry need that ignited between them. Her eleven months in Alabama and eighty-one-plus days of loss, of careful touches and chaste hellos and goodbyes, evaporated in an instant.
The kiss deepened, turning messy and raw. Her hands fisted in his hair, holding him to her, while his arms banded around her, lifting her off her feet. Her legs wrapped around his waist, and the new angle sent a jolt of pure want through them both.
He carried her the few steps to the bed, laying her down as if she were made of glass. The low light from the candles flickered across her skin, making her glow. He knelt over her, his gaze sweeping every inch of her. He saw the still-fading bruising on her ribs, the slight tension held in her shoulders. He saw her—all of her.
His touch was a rediscovery. He mapped her body with his hands, learning the new landscape of her skin. He traced the delicate curve of her collarbone, the slope of each breast. His thumbs and tongue circled her nipples until they pebbled into tight points.
She arched into his touch, a silent invitation. He followed the line of her ribs, down to the soft skin of her stomach, his mouth trailing behind his hands. When he reached the waistband of her sweats, he paused, looking up at her. Her eyes were dark, lips parted.
He hooked his fingers into the elastic and pulled them down, taking her underwear with them in one slow, deliberate motion. She was completely bare to him, without a single shield.
He stood and shed the rest of his clothes, his movements unhurried. He let her look her fill, his body hard and readyfor her. The way her eyes roamed over him, dark with desire, was the most erotic thing he had ever seen. No judgment, no hesitation. Just pure, unadulterated want.
He knelt on the bed between her legs, hovering over her. “Tell me if I hurt you,” he breathed, his voice tight with emotion.
“You won’t.” Her hands came up to frame his face.
He lowered himself, his chest brushing against her sensitive nipples. He kissed her again, a deep, possessive kiss that left no room for doubt. His hand slid down her body, over her hip, his fingers tangling in the soft curls at the apex of her thighs. He found her wet, hot, and ready for him. A single finger slid through her folds, circling her clit, and she gasped into his mouth, her hips lifting instinctively.
He took his time, stroking her, learning what she needed. He watched her face, the way her eyes fluttered shut, the way her brow furrowed in concentration. He slid one finger inside her, then another, stretching her gently. She was tight, so tight, and the thought of it nearly undid him. He curled his fingers, stroking that sensitive spot deep inside her, and she cried out, her inner walls clamping down on him.
He couldn't wait any longer. He positioned himself at her entrance, the head of his cock nudging against her slick heat. He pushed in slowly, inch by agonizing inch, giving her body time to adjust to him. The sensation was overwhelming. Her heat, her tightness, being inside her again felt so right. He watched as he filled her, until he was buried to the hilt.
He stilled, letting them both catch their breath. She felt incredible, wrapped around him like a second skin. Then she moved, a subtle tip of her hips that sent a jolt of pleasure straight through him. It was all the encouragement he needed.
He began to move, his strokes long and deep at first. The carefulness soon disappeared, replaced by a driving, primal rhythm. Her legs locked around his hips, pulling him deeperwith every thrust. The sounds of their bodies coming together with the slap of skin, the ragged gasps for air, and their soft moans filled the room. He changed the angle, grinding against her, and she shattered, her orgasm tearing through her with a force that left her breathless.
“Dante…” His name was a broken cry on her lips, a sound of pure release.
He followed her over the edge moments later, his own release a powerful, shuddering wave that he poured into her. He collapsed against her, his body spent, his face buried in the sweat-damp hollow of her neck. For a long time, the only sound was their combined breathing slowly returning to normal.
Her hand stroked his back in a slow, soothing rhythm. He shifted his weight, rolling to his side but keeping her tucked against him. He looked at her, her face flushed and beautiful in the candlelight. Shannon felt like home.
There was nothing held back. No pain. No grief. Just love. She kissed his temple and whispered his name like it was the only thing still whole inside her.
They held on, breaths syncing, the candles flickering beside them like a promise.
THIRTY-FIVE
CHASE EXECUTIVE SUITE – 1031 HOURS
Shannon woke to warmth everywhere. Not the too-hot, swollen ache of trauma, not the sterile burn of disinfectant and forced movement, but a different warmth running deep in her muscles, in the center of her chest, in the place where her body met memory and finally stopped bracing.
For a second, she didn’t know where she was. The sheets were soft. The air smelled like extinguished candles and Dante. Her hip complained when she shifted, but not with that bright panic. More like her muscles saying,Yeah, you used me.
She opened her eyes.
