Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Tatiana
“Get your slut of a daughter out of my sight before I kill her.”
The pain is excruciating. Flames consume my back. I wish I was dead. I’d rather die ten times over, but I can never betray Dante.
“No,” I cry out as someone stretches my arms above my head, pinning me to the floor.
“I’ll cut that bastard out of your womb myself.”
“No,” I sob, trying to curl in on myself to protect my baby.
My mom’s face appears next to me. She stares up at my brother with loathing. “You make me regret the day I gave birth to you.” Then she bends over me with a smile. “You’ll find everything you need there.”
Insistent shaking pulls at me.
“Tatiana, darling, wake up. You’re dreaming.”
I jerk awake, gasping.
Dante sits next to me in bed, the lamplight illuminating his strained features. “I’m here.” He grips my chin, grounding me to the present by forcing me to meet his serious gaze. “You’re safe.”
I inhale, hold the air in my lungs, and exhale a few times, practicing the technique Dr. Chad taught me.
When I’ve calmed a bit, he lets me go but watches me with a deep line running between his thick eyebrows.
Placing a palm on my sweaty brow, I blow out a shaky breath.
He stretches out beside me and rests his head in his hand. The pose is casual, but his body is tense. “Nightmare?”
I manage a jerky nod.
“What was it about?” He runs his fingertips up and down my arm. “Tell me. It may help.”
“I’m not sure.” I frown. “It didn’t make sense. I think it was about my scars.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “About when it happened?”
“I don’t know. I just felt the pain. It was like flames, like being burnt alive.”
He cups my jaw. “I’m sorry, Tatiana.” The fury that sparks in his eyes is raw, but his tone is calm and controlled. “I’d give my life to take that away for you.”
The declaration is sweet. To be honest, I don’t think about the scars that much.
I don’t dress in clothes that will reveal them in public, but I don’t go out of my way to hide them at home.
I do want to know how I got them, but I want to remember in my own time.
A part of me still recognizes instinctively that the truth is going to devastate me, and I’m not ready to deal with that yet.
He searches my face. “From what you recall, is this the first time you’re dreaming about it?”
“Yes, but the dream feels strangely familiar, almost like a recurring dream. Maybe visiting the graves had something to do with it. Perhaps it brought back forgotten pieces of the past.”
He trails the back of his knuckles down my arm. “Have you remembered anything else?”
“Just a few flashbacks here and there, strange notions I can’t explain, but nothing concrete.”
“Strange notions?”
“Such as knowing that Noah didn’t like to hold my hand.”
“Is seeing Dr. Chad helping?”
“Definitely. Her techniques help to calm me and to feel more in control of myself. I tend to get a bit paranoid at times. I just—” I bite off the rest, not wanting to sound ungrateful.
“You just what?”
“I think it will be better if I’m not so bored.
Sometimes, it feels as if I have too much time on my hands, too much time to think.
The cleaning company comes twice a week, and with Emily taking care of most of the cooking, I don’t have much to do.
I adore spending time with Noah, but I need a personal challenge. ”
He studies me with a thoughtful look. “What about going back to school?”
I consider the possibility. “That ship has sailed. It doesn’t hold the same appeal it used to.”
“Are you saying you want a job?”
I lift an eyebrow. “Will you let me?”
“If it makes you happy.”
“What about security?”
“We can work around it.”
I sit up. “Do you mean that?”
“Of course.” His smile is terse. “I never said I was going to lock you up in the house and deny you the right to have a career.”
I don’t know why I’m so surprised. Of course Dante will want what’s best for me.
He’s not going to dictate how I’m supposed to live my life as my father had done.
My father had controlled and managed me for so long, telling me what I could and couldn’t do, that I sometimes forget I’m no longer living in the condo under his thumb.
I’m a wife and a mother. I’m my own woman, and Dante will never take that away from me.
“I’m sorry.” I avert my gaze. “You’re not my father. I didn’t mean to imply that you’re like him.”
“Tatiana.” My name is harsh on his lips. “Do not apologize when you’ve done nothing wrong.”
I slip my hand into his, intertwining our fingers so that our wedding rings press together. “Thanks for not saying no.”
He looks at me from under thick, golden-brown lashes. “What do you want to do?”
“Organizing.”
I sit up straighter. Where did that come from? The word just slipped out. Yet now that the idea is out in the open, excitement mounts inside me.
“As in event organizing?” he asks carefully.
“Home organizing,” I blurt out.
Wait. Exhilaration courses through me.
“I’m good at it,” I exclaim, surprised at the revelation that made itself known and thrilled that I remembered something about myself.
“Oh, my God, Dante.” I climb into his lap and lock my arms around his neck. “I’m good at it!”
Something passes through his eyes, but it’s gone before I can get a read on it.
His question is cautious. “That’s what you want to do?”
“Yes,” I cry out. “I mean, I think so.”
He scrutinizes me, looking into my eyes as if he’s trying to see into my soul. I’m too elated about my discovery to pay too much attention to his wariness. Maybe he’s already thinking about the security nightmare of protecting me if I’m out on the streets, working in a different part of the city.
Needing to set him at ease, I splay my palm over his chest. “It can be a half-day job to start with. I still want to be here for Noah until he goes to school.”
Dante nods, but the gesture is tense. He kisses my forehead. “We’ll see.”
Now that I’ve made a choice, I’m impatient to act on it. It’s a hasty decision, but at least I made one, and that feels like huge progress. I haven’t made any big decisions since I woke up with a part of my memory missing.
It’s still early, and Noah won’t be up for another hour, but I know Dante. He won’t go back to sleep. We may as well use the time we have alone.
He watches me through hooded eyes when I get onto my knees and straddle him.
He steadies me with his hands on my hips as I pull down his pajama bottoms to free his cock.
He’s hard and thick, the broad head already glistening with pre-cum.
The sight is hot, the knowledge that he wants me intoxicating.
I want to get rid of my panties, but when I make a move to stand, he tightens one hand on my hip and dips the other beneath my nightdress.
He goes straight for the kill, holding my gaze with smoldering heat burning in his as he presses his fingers on my clit.
I jerk in response to the touch. Pleasure fires through my nerve-endings.
Reading me to gauge my reaction, he rubs in circles.
When he traces my opening through the silk of my panties, he finds me wet.
Approval and possessive satisfaction set into his features.
My pulse spikes when he fists his fingers in the elastic and twists his wrist. The fabric pulls tight against my clit, the stimulation almost too much.
The ripping of fabric sounds as he tears the underwear off my body.
He lifts the torn scrap of silk to his nose and inhales deeply.
Knowing this turns him on only makes me wetter.
Gripping the base of his cock, I position the crest at my entrance.
I hold on to his shoulder for balance as I lower myself slowly onto him.
I’m still sore from last night, but the way he fills me feels so good that I want to make the moment last.
Once I’ve taken him fully, I move.
“Tatiana,” he growls, brushing the hair from my cheeks and cupping my face.
When I rotate my hips, he utters a groan and slides his hands down my sides before locking them around my waist.
I arch my back, showing him how good he makes me feel.
He reciprocates by clamping his teeth on a nipple through the silk of my nightdress, gently nipping the tip.
After giving the other breast the same treatment, he stretches one hand over my back and the other around my nape, holding me in place as he kisses me as if there’s no tomorrow.
We break the kiss when I increase my pace. He allows me to set the rhythm, content to let his gaze roam my face and breasts. He only takes over when I tell him I’m close.
Burrowing his fingers in my waist, he bounces me in his lap until I cry out my release.
“That’s my good girl,” he says in a low, husky voice. “Such a needy girl, coming all over my dick.” He lifts me off him. “Look at the mess you’ve made.”
My cheeks burn at his dirty talk, but I’ve always liked it.
He reaches over and takes a condom from his nightstand drawer. Always enjoying watching him, I get ready for the show, but once he’s torn the packet open, he hands me the condom.
His command is gruff. “Put it on me.”
I’ve never done this before, not that I can remember. We didn’t use condoms when we started sleeping together. He never made a secret of the fact that he wanted to make me pregnant.
I take his hard, warm flesh in my hands. His cock jerks at the contact. I battle a bit to roll on the condom, but he doesn’t help me. He watches my face, letting me struggle.
When I’ve finally managed, he spins me around so that I’m on my knees, facing the headboard. He pushes me down with a hand on my back and lifts the nightdress up to my waist.
I grip the headboard, bracing myself, but I’m still not prepared for the stretch or the pleasure as he slides his length inside me, not stopping until he’s buried to the hilt.
“Dante.”
As always, his thrusts are controlled, his pace perfectly timed.