He walks me backward until my calves hit his cot, his deft hands working the buttons on my frock. A silent second later, my dress pools at my feet and I’m left standing in drawers so sheer, they reveal the auburn tangle of hair beneath.
Dante stares, his chest barely moving, his expression giving away nothing. I grow somewhat uncertain. For all his talk of me being unreasonably beautiful, the male’s surely been with dozens of prettier women.
Females with pointed ears, skilled tongues, and lush curves.
I glance at the sealed tent flap.
“Fal?” He tilts his head, calling to my eyes with his. “Are you having second thoughts?”
“Are you?”
“No.” His certainty renews mine.
If Bronwen hadn’t predicted my future, I would’ve made Dante work for this moment, woo me, but whatever happens, he and I will end up together. “I love you too much to have second thoughts.”
A graceful curve of lip illuminates his handsome face as he scoops up my hands and sets them on his jacket collar. “How about you undress me?”
My hammering pulse makes my fingers shake. After several failed attempts at threading the button through the slit, Dante covers my hands with his and guides them. Once unbuttoned, he tosses his jacket aside and carries my hands to his shirt. I untuck it from his slacks and roll it off him. Although he wastes not a minute towing my hands to the waistband of his pants, I pause to admire the muscles stacked between his razor-sharp waist and taut shoulders.
“We don’t have much time,” he murmurs.
“I know, but give me a minute to look at you.” I slide my hands from his hold and glide them up his taut abdomen, over his rounded pecs, his dark nipples, his sharp collarbone. I don’t miss the shudder that racks his body as I skim my hands back down his beautiful torso to his slacks and unhook the buttons of his fly.
As the crisp material glides down his narrow hips, I pull my hands away and return my eyes to his. Although I never imagined I’d lose my maidenhead in the middle of the afternoon, in a tent in the barracks, I always imagined I’d lose it to this man. I suppose time and place are of little import when you’re with the right person.
Dante takes my mouth in a kiss that makes butterflies soar past my stomach and into my rib cage and drags my body into his, smearing a trail of heat over my navel. Without breaking our kiss, he laces our fingers together and carries them to his taut length.
“Look at what you do to me,” he rasps, nipping my lower lip, before moving our entwined hands over himself.
He pulses against my palm, his skin satin-soft and ribbed with bulging veins. Without being prompted, I glide my thumb over the glistening tip. His hand drops from mine to wrap around my neck.
I squeeze him. I must use too much force because his lips twist. I spring my fingers wide. “Did I hurt you?”
His grimace morphs into a smile. “No, Fal.” He pecks my lips. “It feels good, but it’d feel even better if you moved your hand back and forth.”
Here I thought I’d know exactly what to do thanks to Catriona, Phoebus, and Sybille, but clearly, I’m clueless.
Following his pointers, he groans, which I take as a good sign.
I increase both my speed and pressure. “Like that?”
“Just like that.” His chest rumbles. “Just like that.”
His lids close and his head falls back, his long braids slapping his toned back. He’s beautiful, and everywhere at that. As I allow my gaze to roam over the flesh I grip, his hand snares my wrist and stills it.
I snap my gaze back up to his face which is no longer twisted in ecstasy. “Did I do something wrong?”
“You were perfect. Everything was perfect.”
“Then, why?”
“Because I don’t want to come in your hand.” He thumbs my lower lip before tracing the plumper arc of my upper one. “I want to come inside your body.”
He steps into me until my knees buckle and my ass meets his mattress. Instead of folding over me, he toes off his boots and kicks aside his pants, then widens his stance and aligns himself with my face.
I stare up into his hungry eyes, heat flooding my cheeks as I realize which place in my body he wants to penetrate: my mouth.
Thirty-Three
