20. Arabella
Chapter 20
Arabella
I ’m sitting in the living room, chewing on my thumbnail as I anxiously await my husband’s return. The only light is coming from the dim glow of the lamp in the corner. It is some ungodly hour in the morning, but despite my best efforts, sleep wouldn’t come.
Dante assured me he was safe when we spoke on the phone earlier, but I know his lifestyle; I grew up in that environment. I’m very familiar with the volatility that comes with being part of the Cosa Nostra.
I’m sure he thought he was safe the day he sat outside by the pool with his father before bullets rained down on them. That thought is what had me climbing out of my skin.
When the front door finally opens, I leap to my feet. Heavy footsteps follow, moving through the foyer. I pad across the cold tiles, and I almost run into Dante as he turns towards the long hallway leading to our bedroom. His eyes widen when he sees me, and he freezes for a second, clearly spooked.
“Shit, Arabella,” he breathes out, his voice low and a little shaken. I can tell he wasn’t expecting me to be there because he flinched before he spun around to face me. It’s not like him to be so on edge, which only escalates my concern. “I thought I told you not to wait up for me.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” I reply as my eyes drift down his body, stopping when I notice the dark red splatters staining the front of his light-grey dress shirt. The colour is so vivid against the fabric that it’s almost impossible to ignore. My pulse quickens, and my breath hitches in my throat as the dread I’ve been feeling all evening returns with a vengeance. “Is that blood?”
My eyes slowly move back to his face, and when they meet his, a sharp, silent tension fills the air. His expression is guarded, but there’s also a flicker of something I can’t quite place. It’s like he’s holding his breath, waiting for me to say something else, or maybe he’s hoping I don’t say anything at all.
“Dante,” I whisper as I close the small distance between us and grasp the lapels on his suit jacket. “Is that your blood?”
“No.”
His answer calms me somewhat. “So, you’re not hurt?”
“Physically, no,” he replies, which seems like an odd answer.
Is he mentally struggling with something that happened? I know better than to pry further. Whatever went on this evening is none of my business.
I swallow hard, trying to push down the lump that’s now formed in the back of my throat. His look is unreadable, but I get the feeling he’s silently begging me to look away, to pretend I didn’t see what’s so clearly in front of me, but I can’t.
The pain reflecting in his eyes feels like a physical blow, raw and unmasked, as if he’s now carrying a burden too heavy to bear.
“Have you eaten?” I ask.
“I’m not hungry. ”
I blow out a puff of air and reach for his hand. “Come,” I say.
“Where are we going?”
“To clean you up.”
He doesn’t put up a fight; he just follows my lead. I’m thankful for that. I don’t know what he needs from me, but I’m willing to give him whatever it is.
When we enter our bathroom’s en suite, I pause by the vanity and drop his hand before moving towards the shower and turning on the taps.
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 my husband 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 replaced with 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 hands together 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.
Each thrust becomes harder, faster, and deeper. The intensity lifts my feet off the ground as he squishes my body further into the tiles.
“Fuck, Bellezza ,” he groans into my neck. “I can’t get enough of your sweetness. Everything around me seems dark, but when I look at you, all I see is light.”
As soon as my eyelids flutter open, I stretch my weary muscles. I’m aching in places I never knew existed, but I have no regrets. After being pummelled within an inch of my life in the shower, Dante carried me to bed, gently laid me on top of the mattress, and buried his face between my legs again. When he was finished, he moved up my body and settled himself between my legs.
This time, things were different. He was sweet, loving, and sensual . It almost felt like he was making love to me, and it was so beautiful that tears stung the back of my eyes at one point. I’ve never felt so … cherished.
A smile curves on my lips as I roll over, turning towards my husband, only to be immediately disappointed when I find his side of the bed empty and cold. Did he even get any sleep?
Rising, I slip my arms into my dressing gown and head into the bathroom to clean up.
Minutes later, I find him standing in the kitchen; he’s leaning against the sink, staring out the window, completely lost in thought. I hate seeing him like this. I long for a husband with a simpler life, someone with a steady nine-to-five job, free from the constant threat of danger and the haunting memories of the things he’s forced to endure, but I know that’s not the reality we live in.
My bare feet pad across the tiles, and when I reach him, I slide my arms around his waist, resting my cheek against his bare back. Comfort is all that I can offer him right now. I already know he’s not going to talk about whatever happened last night.
He places one hand over mine, lacing our fingers together and squeezing tight, acknowledging my presence.
He remains silent for the longest time, but when he eventually speaks, I’m in no way prepared for what he says. “I got rid of Edoardo last night.” My eyes widen at his confession, but I don’t reply. I stand there and listen, letting him get whatever he needs off his chest. “I found out he was the one behind Papa’s execution. He was responsible for all those bullets that almost killed me as well.”
Those words have me gasping. “Wasn’t he your father’s best friend?”
“Yes.” He releases a long breath before continuing, and I feel his entire body deflate as he speaks. “That’s not even the worst part.”
“That is bad … inexcusable.”
“I also learned that he was responsible for my mother’s death.” When he speaks, his voice cracks, which hurts my heart.
I release him and move to his side, grasping his arm and encouraging him to face me. “Wasn’t she in a car accident?”
He nods, finally meeting my gaze. “He was the one who ran her off the road.”
“Oh, Dante,” I murmur, reaching up to gently cup his face in my hands. I know the pain he’s carrying all too well. He may not have witnessed her death like I did my mother’s, but I can’t imagine how hard it must be to accept that both of his parents were taken from him unnecessarily by someone else’s hand. “I’m so sorry. I hope you made that bastardo suffer.”
His eyebrows lift slightly, and a faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “I did.”
“Good,” I reply, pushing up on my toes to press a soft kiss against his lips. “Are you hungry?”
He lifts a shoulder nonchalantly. “I could eat.”
I release him and step back. “Go sit. I’ll make some caffè (Coffee).”
“Okay,” he answers, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he stands there, staring at me intently.
“What?” I ask, frowning. “Do I have something on my face?”
The smile on his lips widens. “No,” he says as the tips of his fingers brush gently across my cheek. “I’m just thankful to have you in my life. ”
“Same.” We’ve come so far since the first time we met. I still miss my sister, but I’m finding peace with him in Australia.
“I didn’t hurt you last night, did I?”
“No,” I answer. There is no denying I’m sore, but I enjoyed it too much to have regrets. “I’m still able to walk, so that’s a plus.”
He laughs, a sharp, genuine sound, and I can’t help but smile along with him.
When he leans in and places a soft kiss on my forehead, my heart does a flip-flop in my chest. My feelings for this man are growing at a rapid pace, but that no longer terrifies me. Neither does he. I know how sacred the things that happen in his world are, so the fact that he just let me in, even just a little, means so much.