Chapter 13 #2
He doesn’t smile back, but his eyes crease in the corners. “Ulysses. You’re welcome, Mrs. Morici.”
When we’ve settled in the back and fastened our seatbelts, Dante puts an arm around my shoulders and pulls me against his side. “Hey.” He searches my eyes. “How are you doing?”
“Honestly?” I lean my head on his shoulder. “I don’t know.”
Instead of replying, he kisses the top of my head.
On the way home, I consider what Dr. Chad has said. The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced whatever triggered my amnesia took place when I disappeared from the gunfight Dante mentioned.
Whenever Dante brings up the subject, it leaves me agitated. My palms turn clammy, and my heart starts beating with heavy, painful thuds in my chest. We only spoke about it twice—once when he told me after finding me and the second time when we discussed how much to share with Dr. Chad.
As patient-psychiatrist confidentiality prohibits the doctor from sharing any information with the authorities, we agreed that I’d tell her everything I knew about my disappearance and to share any memories that should return.
Dante was adamant that my health was the priority.
He wanted what was best for me, even if that meant divulging incriminating information of his clandestine operations.
In case of an investigation, the doctor could be subpoenaed to submit clinical records, but Dante only said he’d deal with the situation if it ever happened.
When I objected, he assured me he’d get rid of my files and not of the doctor.
He’d said that tongue-in-cheek, but it still made me nervous.
If anything happens to the doctor just because she treated me, I’d never be able to forgive myself. I made sure Dante understood that.
The part of my memory that’s intact hasn’t forgotten who my husband is and what he’s capable of.
I always knew he was a dangerous man. I never shied away from the truth.
The darkness of his nature didn’t prevent me from falling for him.
We’re destined to be together, the ties that bind us larger than life.
I knew it from the moment I first saw him, and I think he knew it too.
We’ve always combusted like fireworks when we got together.
Yet there’s also a deeper bond, an indestructible tie you can only share with a soulmate.
As I snuggle against him, borrowing warmth and safety, I know without a doubt my feelings for him have never changed.
My love for Dante has been a constant in my life.
I’m grateful for the strong emotions coursing through me because they give me strength.
Being close to the man I love is enough.
As long as I have him, I can handle any curveballs life throws at us.
But I need to be sure he feels the same way.
Dr. Chad was right in many things she said.
I’m frightened that my amnesia will change Dante’s feelings toward me.
So far, he’s been nothing but supportive and kind, but I need to be sure he still desires me.
At home, he helps me out of the car and opens the front door for me. I can’t fault him on his gentlemanly manners. Yet the minute he locks the door behind us, he presses a platonic kiss on my forehead before putting distance between us.
“Can I get you anything, darling?”
His golden gaze is fixed on me with such a hefty intensity that I can almost feel the weight pressing down on my shoulders.
I place a hand on his arm, enjoying the hardness of the muscles beneath his jacket sleeve. “I can help myself, but if I do need something, I’ll let you know.”
“Please, do.” His smile is strained. “If there’s nothing you need right now, I’ll let you rest. I have a lot of work to catch up on.”
Without another word, he turns around and heads down the hallway.
Baffled, I watch him enter his study while he works his tie loose.
Hurt and rejection assault me.
What just happened?
Dante has never given me the cold shoulder treatment, at least not that I remember.
Jazz took Noah to a movie with an army of bodyguards. Emily is taking care of the grocery shopping. Considerately, they gave Dante and me a moment alone after my visit to Dr. Chad. We don’t have much time, and I’m not going to waste it.
Squaring my shoulders, I walk to the study and knock on the door before entering. Dante stands in front of the big window with a glass of amber liquid in his hand.
I eye the bottle of scotch on his desk. “It’s a bit early for a pre-dinner drink.”
He watches me with a wary expression as I shut the door and go closer.
His jacket and tie are thrown over the back of a chair.
He’s dressed in a crisp white shirt and black slacks, looking as hot as only Dante can.
His hair, that’s lost their natural highlights and has turned darker with age, is disheveled in a sexy way.
I long to brush the messy fringe from his forehead and bury my fingers in the soft strands.
I’ll do anything to feel the roughness of his stubble on my skin.
I stop in front of him and place a hand on his chest. Beneath my palm, his heart beats with an erratic rhythm. The muscles of his broad torso are as hard and relentless as I remember. I may have forgotten a lot, but not this.
Never this.
My smile is coy. “Are you going to share, or are you drinking alone?”
Not waiting for a reply, I snatch the glass from his hand and take a sip. The liquor burns down my throat and makes my eyes water, but I ignore the unpleasant sensations.
He takes back the glass. “What are you doing, Tatiana?”
Glancing up at him, I unbutton his shirt. “Having a drink with my husband.”
His jaw bunches.
A visible shudder runs through him when I brush the edges of the shirt apart and trail my fingertips over his hard-cut abs.
When I pull the shirt tails from his pants, he catches my wrist and repeats his question. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” I free my arm from his hold and kiss the groove that runs down the center of his chest. “I missed you.”
He hisses when I hook my fingers into his belt and tug to pull him closer.
A growl reverberates in his throat. “Tatiana.”
Nimbly, I unbuckle his belt. “Why have you never called me Tiana like everyone else?”
He watches me from hooded eyes. “I like your name. I like the way it sounds when I say it.”
I pop the button of his waistband, but he stops me with his fingers curled around my wrist again. Determined to see this through, I strain in his grasp until he lets me go, and then I pull down his zipper.
His knuckles turn white around the glass in his hand. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Why not?” I wrap my hand around his and lift the glass to my lips. “We’re married, aren’t we?”
Heat darkens his eyes as I turn the glass and drink from the same spot where he’s placed his lips.
He cups my head in his free hand. “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
The touch is meant to be gentle, but when he closes his fingers in the loose strands, he unintentionally pulls on the roots.
A shiver skates down my spine. Heat accumulates in my belly. My need flares like sparks from a fire, my body coming alive for him just from that innocent bite of pain.
At the same time, somewhere in a distant corner of the lustful fog that obscures my reason, his comment registers. Does he think he’ll take advantage of me if we have sex because I’ve lost a part of my memory?
My answer is to go on tiptoes and kiss the corner of his mouth. The sharp intake of his breath is all the encouragement I need. It shows me I still have an effect on him, and the knowledge gives me confidence.
Holding his gaze, I take the glass. He lets it go, studying me as if he can’t decide if he should push me away or eat me alive. I press the rim against his chest and slowly tip it.
He stands like a statue, keeping one hand in my hair and balling the other at his side as the alcohol touches his skin. The scotch spills over. It runs in a rivulet between his pecs and over his flat stomach before the cotton of his briefs absorbs the liquid.
Leaning closer, I trace the path of the alcohol with my tongue.
He watches me lick my way down his body with savage hunger burning in his eyes.
I slide down until I’m on my knees, letting the glass drop onto the carpet.
I don’t care if it breaks. All I care about is us.
This. So I do it. I shove his pants with his briefs down his hips and free his cock.
He’s hard for me. I’m eager to taste him and desperate to show myself that this beautiful, powerful man is still mine. We’ve done this before, but it feels like it’s been a while when I lock my fingers around the thick base and swirl my tongue around the crest.
He spears his left hand into my hair and clenches his fingers until he’s bunching handfuls of curls between both fists. “Christ.”
I explore the embossed veins running along his length and the velvety crown with my tongue, kissing him at my leisure before sucking him into my mouth.
“Fuck.” He tightens his grip on my hair, pulling harder on the roots. “You’re killing me.”
The sensitive spot between my legs pulses with an ache that echoes in my core. I take him as deep as I can and stroke what I can’t fit into my mouth with my hands.
When I hollow my cheeks and graze him with my teeth, he utters another curse and rocks his hips with a sharp thrust that pushes him to the back of my throat. My eyes tear up. Saliva runs down my chin as my gag reflex kicks in, but I don’t fight him. I keep still, allowing him to take the lead.
He pulls out and lets me breathe, but he only gives me a second before he pumps through my lips again.
The restraint he held on to burns away with every punch of his hips. He holds my head gently and fucks my mouth hard. The dirty sounds that escape my lips should embarrass me, but they only make me burn hotter for him.