Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Tatiana
The day is sunny, and the birds are chirping. Even here, at the cemetery, the world carries on. The sun rises, and the robins go about catching worms and hatching their pretty blue eggs.
I stand in front of the mausoleum where my parents and grandparents are buried, taking in the gable with the simple cross.
I’ve been here before. My mother brought me to put flowers in the wall-mounted vases that frame the granite door, the ones in which I’ve just put the roses.
But it feels as if this is the first time that I’m crushing the dead birch leaves under my shoes and seeing the snowy white of velvety petals against the veined gray of the granite.
Judging by the decayed wreaths on the stone steps, no one has been here for a while. I should’ve come sooner. I don’t know why I haven’t. I don’t know why there are no flowers, no signs of me having been here.
I won’t be surprised if Leander doesn’t ever come. He wasn’t close to our mom. He never gave her the respect or love she deserved. The only interest he had in our father was what he could inherit from him.
The crunching of steps on the gravel path pulls me from my thoughts. I glance over my shoulder. Dante is walking toward me, his eyes burning on my face as if he’s been studying me from a mile away. His guards are standing at a respectable distance, giving me privacy.
My husband doesn’t look away until he stops next to me. He searches my face for a few beats before cutting his gaze to the fresh flowers. Something dark and harsh flashes in his eyes, but when he looks at my mother’s name that’s carved into the stone, whatever I saw or thought I saw is gone.
We both face forward, standing shoulder to shoulder in silence. His warm fingers wrap around my hand where it rests loosely at my side. The touch is comforting, a reminder of life in this lonely cemetery.
He breaks the silence first. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for your appointment. How did it go?”
“Good.” I smile, gazing at the roses. “Hypnotherapy is very relaxing. It’s not what I imagined.”
“What did you imagine?” he asks in a low, tender voice.
“That I’d wake up from a deep sleep and remember nothing. Instead, I’m conscious of everything that’s happening. It’s not like those shows on stage where a spectator is hypnotized and told to do something they can’t control.”
He rubs a thumb over my knuckles and says with humor, “That’s a relief.”
I laugh but quickly smother it. The sound of my happiness seems out of place here. “I miss her.”
Dante loosens his grip on my fingers and turns me toward him with his hands on my shoulders. His serious gaze drills into mine as he frames my face between his palms and stares down at me with somber, heavy intensity. “I’m sorry that she can’t be here for you.”
In an instant, I’m taken back to that defining moment when I bumped into Dante outside our condo on the day my father told me whom I was to marry.
I remember the safety I felt in his arms. Snow dusted his hair and coat, but I was warm.
Scared. Relieved. It was the first time I experienced a man’s desire for me.
It was the first time a man vowed to fight for me.
In that moment, I knew in the deepest corners of my heart that I’d always fight for him too.
Just like on that day, he opens his jacket and folds it around me, wrapping me up in his arms and scent. He showered. His skin smells clean and of that sophisticated but subtle cologne I love so much. He hasn’t been busy with work. He’s been on a job.
I pull away to look at him. “Are you all right?”
Taking my hand, he kisses the back. “Are you worried about me?”
“Always.”
He pulls me against him with an arm around my shoulders and steers me toward the path. “You shouldn’t be.”
“How did you know I was here?”
He looks at me and raises a brow.
I smile. “Are you having me followed?”
“If my men report your movements to me, it’s for security reasons.”
“You can just say it if you’re worried that I’m meeting someone in secret,” I tease. “I have nothing to hide.”
He stops dead and faces me squarely. “Good, because if you ever see another man, he will be dead before you can utter his name.”
“Dante,” I exclaim. “I was just pulling your leg.”
He presses a possessive kiss on my lips. “Let’s go. It’s getting cold.”
Dante and I leave together in his car, but instead of going home, he takes me to a building I’ll never forget. My heartbeat quickens when he helps me out of the car in the underground parking lot.
I stare at him, noticing the tight set of his jaw and the strained look on his features. “Why are we here?”
He leads me to the elevator without answering. His men follow us inside and get out with us on the top floor, but they remain in the hallway when he unlocks the penthouse door and ushers me inside.
I walk to the center of the open-plan living area as he closes and locks the door. The place looks exactly as I remember. The only items missing from the picture that’s burned into my mind are the champagne, candles, and rose petals.
I turn to Dante in surprise and repeat my question. “Why are we here?”
He walks to me with determined, predator-like steps. “Do you remember this place?”
Just like the first time he brought me here, nerves flitter in my belly.
“Of course I do. You brought me here to take my V-card because you thought a hotel room would make me feel cheap.” I close the remaining distance between us and place a hand on his chest. “It wouldn’t have, just so you know.
Being with you can never feel cheap, no matter where we are. ”
He catches my wrist and presses my hand on his heart, preventing me from pulling away.
“Dante.” My voice is soft. “Why are we here?”
The darkness I glimpsed at the cemetery moves across his features. “I want you to give yourself to me.”
“I have.” I stare into his eyes. “Body and soul.”
“Do it again,” he challenges. “Show me.”
I don’t know why he needs this, but I do know that he needs me.
So I show him. I drop my bag on the sofa and reach behind me to unzip my dress.
The soft fabric pools around my heels, leaving me in the underwear set I found in my drawer with the price tags still intact.
Silver thread weaves through the lace, and pink ribbons decorate the straps.
The bra and panties are sexy but classy, portraying soft, innocent femininity.
I can’t be sure, but I think he bought them for me.
He drags his gaze over my body, studying my curves with a hungry look in his eyes.
“This is yours.” I motion at my body as I kick off my shoes. “Take it.”
He doesn’t let me invite him twice. He scoops me up into his arms and carries me down the hallway. In the bedroom, he lowers me onto the bed.
He undresses quickly, leaving his clothes and gun on the chair, before climbing over me.
He’s a beautiful portrait of ink and muscles, a man defined by darkness and sin.
Taking his time, he removes first the bra and then the panties.
When I’m naked, he bends my knee and hooks it over his shoulder.
Like that first time, he doesn’t allow me to hide beneath the covers or from his unabashedly bold stare as he studies every inch of me.
Supporting his weight on one arm, he slips his free hand between my legs. I’m wet already. The discovery darkens his eyes, making the amber color appear like molten gold.
I’m wet enough to take him, all of him, and this isn’t the first time when he had to be careful with me.
He guides his cock to my folds and enters me with a decisive shove of his hips.
The position in which he holds me opens me wider and gives him deeper access.
I feel him everywhere inside me, filling all the spaces in my heart.
“Dante,” I moan, biting my lip to stifle the scream threatening to escape.
“Tell me.” He pulls back and slides in again, igniting a fire beneath my skin and flames in the pit of my belly. “Don’t deprive me, Tatiana. Tell me how it feels.”
I arch my back, unable to articulate in sound the intensity of the sensations coursing through me. I want to give him what he’s asking for, but I’m not capable of more than a deep, throaty, “Ah.”
He splays his hand over my belly in a possessive touch, holding it there for a moment as he starts to move his hips.
The warmth of his broad palm bleeds into my skin.
The touch is anchoring and soothing. I imagine him cupping my round belly when I was pregnant with Noah, but for some reason, the image refuses to fully take shape.
I have a bizarre notion that I never experienced that intimacy with the father of my baby.
But then he strokes his hand up my body to cup my breast, and all logical thoughts abandon me.
“Tell me,” he says, increasing his pace. “Tell me who you belong to.”
I don’t hesitate. “I’m yours.”
And there’s something so right with that statement, a feeling of safety knowing my place is with him, that I belong here, in his arms. When I’m with him, I always experience a profound sense of peace.
He brushes his knuckles over my nipple, teasing it into a hard point. “That’s the only right answer there can ever be.”
I grip his shoulders as he lowers his head and flicks his tongue over the tip before sucking it into his mouth. He explores my breast with kisses and nips, doing so at his leisure before moving to my other breast.
Not breaking his rhythm, he wraps his fingers around my neck and anchors me to the bed as he crashes our lips together. The kiss is violent and tender at the same time, not only stealing my breath but also what little is left of my reason.
“I fucking love your body,” he says in a harsh tone against my lips. “I can never get enough of being inside you.”
I kiss him again. “Then don’t.”
He pulls away a little, watching me with a fierce expression. “I want to come inside you.”
“Dante,” I whisper. “We said we’d wait.”
“I waited, Tatiana.” He clenches his jaw. “You have no idea.” He reaches over me and takes something from the nightstand, a foil packet that he tears open with his teeth. “But you’re right. You’re not ready, and we should wait.”
He placed that condom there on purpose, making sure it would be in reach when he needed it, which means he came here to prepare before meeting me at the cemetery.
But why didn’t he simply take one out of his pocket before he undressed?
Maybe he wanted to do an inspection to be sure the place was still up to his standards, or maybe he stocked the fridge.
He definitely would’ve done a security check.
Whatever the case, the fact that this was a premeditated plan is hot. If he wanted to make love to me here, our first time must hold the same special meaning to him than it does for me.
He pulls out and sits back on his heels.
His cock juts out, hard and embossed with veins, the crest glistening with his pre-cum and my arousal.
Gripping my ankle in a tender hold, he removes my leg carefully from his shoulder and rolls on the condom.
I watch him quietly, finding the act of him sheathing himself strangely erotic.
When he’s done, he intertwines our fingers and lifts my arms above my head. He pins me down in that position for the final stretch, taking as much of me as he can, thrusting deep and moving fast.
I sometimes forget how extraordinary his stamina is. I can hardly keep up with his grueling pace. By the time he flips me over onto my stomach and pulls me onto my knees, my skin is covered with a fine sheen of perspiration, and my legs are already wobbly.
I cry out in pleasure as he stretches me from this angle.
Always knowing what I need, he moves a hand between my thighs while locking the other on my hip to keep me in place for his deep but lazy strokes.
The only sounds in the room are the slapping of our flesh as he slams his groin against my ass and the moans that pierce my panting.
He takes me hard, yet he doesn’t rush it. Ever so slowly, he pushes me closer to the edge. He seems to be reading me like a roadmap, knowing when to slow down and when to speed up. He adjusts his movements to my body’s reactions and holds back his own pleasure to synchronize our release.
When I come, he finally lets himself go to climax with me.
It’s only then, as he empties himself in the condom, that I realize how enormous his control truly is.
Dante has always been exceptionally careful with me, and I’ve always taken that for granted.
I never understood the strain it put on him or the price it cost him until he grips my chin and forces me to look at him over my shoulder.
A storm plays out in the golden depths of his eyes as my orgasm fizzles out to ripple through me in aftershocks.
Dante is a dangerous and calculated man.
He can be as cold as he can be passionate.
Yet for me, he’s always forced control. He’s always given me the beautiful face of the man, but he’s never let me see the terrifying face of the monster.
He’s like a beast in a fashionable three-piece suit, a gentleman on the outside with a darkness lurking inside him.
That’s when I know. He’s not only protecting me from his true nature but also holding back from me. He’s not allowing himself to get too close to me. That’s the look I’m seeing in his eyes, the vicious control he’s practicing at all costs.
And that’s when the knowledge sinks like ice into my chest.
As much as I’m his, he’s never really been mine.