Chapter THREE
Ginetta
––––––––
I've always found solace in art, losing myself for hours in the graceful lines of a sculpture or the lush strokes of an oil painting. But today, walking through the hushed halls of the Met, I'm finding it impossible to concentrate on the priceless works surrounding me. Not with Dante's heat pressing against my side, his breath stirring the fine hairs at my nape every time he leans in close to murmur in my ear.
"Exquisite," he says, and I know he's not talking about the Degas we're standing in front of. Not with the way his molten gaze drags over my figure, touching me everywhere like a physical caress.
I suppress a shiver, trying to focus on the ballet dancers floating across the canvas and not the way Dante's hand rests possessively at the small of my back. He's been touching me all morning, each casual brush of skin on skin stoking the ever-present embers of my desire for him. A hand cupping my elbow as we climbed the museum steps, fingers grazing my hip as he guided me through a doorway. Every carefully measured touch is a reminder of the scorching passion we've barely kept at bay, a silent promise of the pleasure hovering just out of reach.
It's maddening. Dante is maddening, with his dark suits and darker eyes, the way he looks at me like he wants to consume me whole. Like I'm the most intriguing piece of art he's ever seen and he won't be satisfied until he's mapped every inch of me with those wickedly talented hands.
I thought I was doing the smart thing that night at his penthouse, putting some much-needed distance between us before I tumble headlong into his bed. His velvety words of possession still echo in my ears: "When you are ready, I'm going to take you apart, piece by piece, until you're begging for me." The memory never fails to make me shudder. In the days since, I've lost count of how many times I've gotten myself off to the fantasy of Dante's hard body pinning me down, his lips and teeth and tongue taking their pleasure in my revved-up flesh.
But in the light of day, I know I need to keep my wits about me with this man. Dante isn't someone to be taken lightly. He's older, powerful, clearly used to getting what he wants. And what he wants...is me. Totally, completely. I can't afford to be cavalier with my heart or my body, no matter how tempting he makes it to just surrender.
So I've been trying to take things slow, keep our interactions firmly in daylight. I readily accepted his invitation to tour the museum together, thinking the public setting would force us to keep things PG. I should have known better. Apparently, nothing can stop the sexual tension from crackling between us like a live wire.
I can feel the weight of Dante's stare on my face now, tracing my features like he's committing them to memory. Electricity crackles over my skin, making me feel too warm in my sundress.
"What are you thinking about, tesoro?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through me. "You look a thousand miles away."
I dart a glance at him, my heart rate kicking up at the predatory gleam in his eyes. He looks like he wants to eat me alive. I lick my suddenly dry lips and his gaze drops to my mouth, pupils flaring.
"I'm thinking that if you keep looking at me like that, we're going to get kicked out of here for public indecency," I manage, trying for glib. It comes out far too breathless.
Dante grins, a flash of white teeth. "Sounds like a good time to me. Why don't we get out of here and go somewhere I can look at you however I want?" He leans in closer, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he adds in a dark rasp, "Touch you however I want?"
I shudder, liquid heat pooling low in my belly. The thought of his hands on me, his big body pressing me into a mattress - or a wall, or any sturdy surface - has me clenching my thighs. But I can't let myself give in to the sexual pull between us yet. Not if I want to keep any scrap of self-preservation intact.
Pulling away slightly, I shoot Dante a warning look, though I'm sure my flushed cheeks undermine the stern effect. "Keep your hands to yourself, mister. This is an art appreciation date, not an anatomy lesson."
Something dangerous flashes in his eyes at the word "date" and his hand flexes on my hip. But he merely chuckles, the sound dark and promising. "I'd love to appreciate your art, Ginetta. And trust me, I'd be very thorough in my lesson."
My face flames at the blatant innuendo as I picture Dante's dark head buried between my thighs, his tongue doing wickedly talented things. I physically shake myself free of the sultry images before I spontaneously combust on the spot. Damn this man and his ability to reduce me to a hormonal puddle of goo with a few silky words.
I clear my throat and step pointedly away from his touch, needing distance if I'm going to keep my head on straight. "As ah, educational as that sounds, I'd much rather get some lunch. I'm starving."
Dante's lips quirk but he allows the subject change, holding his hand out with a flourish. "Then let's feed you, tesoro. I know just the place."
It turns out "just the place" is a tiny Italian cafe tucked away from the hustle and bustle of Fifth Avenue. The ma?tre d’ greets Dante like an old friend, ushering us to an intimate corner booth dripping in Old-World charm. Dante helps me slide onto the plush red leather, his hands lingering on my waist a few seconds too long. I feel the imprint of his touch like a brand even after he moves away to sit opposite me.
The table is so small that our knees bump underneath and I feel the jolt of awareness all the way to my core. It takes a Herculean effort to keep my eyes on my menu and not the way Dante's charcoal grey henley stretches across his broad chest. I studiously read the appetizer options, determined to keep things light and casual.
But Dante, it seems, has other ideas. As I reach for my water glass, I feel the unmistakable glide of his palm smoothing up my bare thigh beneath the table. I inhale sharply, almost upsetting the glass, and shoot him a startled look. He meets my gaze with a heated one of his own, his fingertips drawing maddening whorls on my sensitive skin.
"Dante," I hiss, trying to keep my voice down. "What are you doing?"
His lips quirk into a half-smile but he doesn't stop his sensual assault on my thigh. If anything, his touch grows bolder as he teases the lacy edge of my panties. "Tell me, Ginetta," he says, his deep voice sending shivers cascading down my spine. "What's your favorite pasta shape? I'm partial to orecchiette myself."
Is he seriously asking me about pasta right now? While his magic fingers are inching dangerously high on my leg? The man has nerve, I'll give him that. "Um," I stammer, finding it exceptionally difficult to concentrate with his skin on mine. "I like...penne?"
"Mmm." Dante's eyes gleam in the low light. "There's nothing quite like the pleasure of a perfect mouthful. Wouldn't you agree?" His fingers trail along the sensitive crease of my thigh and I nearly shoot out of my seat. He smirks at my full-body shudder. "Are you wet for me, bella? I'm dying to feel your sweet honey on my tongue."
"Dante," I manage again, my voice strangled. God, how can he have me this worked up with barely a touch? And in public, no less? My earlier brave front is quickly crumbling under his sensual assault. "We can't do this here."
"No?" he murmurs, letting his fingers brush over my clothed sex in a barely-there caress that has me seeing stars. "There's a dark little alcove behind the kitchen that would be perfect for what I want to do to you." He leans in, his eyes black with promise. "I could have you coming on my fingers before the first course is served."
A whimper escapes my throat at the brazen suggestion, my hips tilting unconsciously into his touch. What is he doing to me? I feel feverish, desperate. Like I might die if I don't feel more of his hands on me.
Just then, the waiter appears with menus and a basket of breadsticks, startling me back to reality. I hastily scoot away from Dante's tempting fingers and grab a roll to busy my hands.
Throughout lunch, Dante keeps up a string of lascivious comments and innuendos that have me squirming in my seat. He makes eating mussels look positively indecent, his tongue swirling over the fork in blatant mimicry of other, dirtier things. By the time we've settled the bill - or rather, Dante has, waving off my offer to split it - I'm a quivering mess of need.
"Let me walk you home," Dante suggests as we step out into the balmy afternoon, his hand settling into the small of my back. I know I should refuse, put some much-needed distance between us before I do something reckless. But I find myself nodding mutely, letting him tuck me into his side as we stroll down the block.
We walk in charged silence for a few moments before Dante guides me smoothly into a narrow alley between two brownstones. I barely have time to gasp before he's crowding me up against the warm brick, his big body blotting out the rest of the world.
"I've been dying to do this all day," he rasps, lowering his head to mine. Then his mouth is on me, hot and urgent, tongue delving past my lips to claim me in a soul-searing kiss. I moan helplessly, my hands fisting in his hair as he consumes me.
He tastes like the rich coffee he had with dessert, dark and decadent. I feel drunk on the flavor of him, my head spinning with heady want. Dante's hands are everywhere, skimming over my waist, my ribs, the sides of my aching breasts. I arch into him shamelessly, too far gone to care that we're technically in public. Let all of New York see how badly I crave this man.
"You taste like heaven," Dante groans into my mouth, nipping at my bee-stung lips. "I could kiss you for hours, tesoro. Eat you out until you scream." He runs his tongue along the seam of my lips, delving inside again when I gasp.
I've never been kissed like this before, like he's trying to crawl inside me. Like he wants to brand himself on my very soul. It's overwhelming and perfect and I never want it to stop.
But of course, it must. A slamming car door startles us out of our passionate haze and Dante reluctantly drags his mouth from mine, breathing hard. I blink up at him, dazed and disheveled, lips tingling. His eyes are molten obsidian, his hair mussed from my eager fingers.
"Christ, the things you do to me," he says roughly, resting his forehead against mine. "I'm trying to be patient here, Ginetta. Let you set the pace. But you're killing me with wanting you."
My heart clenches at the raw need in his voice. I'm right there with him, my body crying out for his. But that small, sane part of me knows I'm not ready to fall into bed with Dante. Not yet. Soon, God yes... but not tonight.
So I force myself to take a shaky step back, putting some much-needed distance between our straining bodies. "I'm not trying to be a tease," I tell him, my voice husky. "I want you too, Dante. So much. But..."
"But you need more time," he finishes, a wry smile touching his lips. He tucks an errant strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my overheated skin. "I get it, tesoro. I'll try to keep my hands to myself... for now."
The unspoken "but not for long" hangs between us, a dark promise. A shiver rolls through me even as I nod.
Dante sees me the rest of the way home without incident, dropping a chaste kiss on my cheek at my stoop. But the memory of our encounter in the alley haunts me for the rest of the night.
As soon as I'm alone in my bedroom, I strip naked and fall back onto my bed, my skin fevered and over-sensitive. Dante's scent clings to me, intoxicating. With a groan, I let my hands roam my body, cupping my heavy breasts, rolling the tight peaks until pleasure spirals through me.
I see his face above me, feel his phantom touch mapping my curves. Hear the gravelly timbre of his voice - "I'm going to take you apart, piece by piece..." I writhe on the sheets, one hand delving between my thighs to find my swollen, aching flesh. At the first touch of my fingers against my clit, I moan brokenly.
So wet. I'm so wet for him already and he's not even here. With my free hand, I plunge two fingers inside, picturing Dante's thick digits stretching me wide. Filling me up. My back arches as I work myself with fast, needy strokes, grinding my clit against my palm.
Dante's dark eyes boring into mine as he brings me closer to the edge. The wicked promise of his sinful mouth on my breast, my neck, my throbbing sex. It's too much, too good. With a keening cry, I shatter, my inner muscles clamping down on my fingers in a vicious paroxysm of bliss.
I collapse back onto the tangled sheets, momentarily sated. But I know my body won't be content with my own touch for long. Not now that I've had a taste of Dante's passion, his consuming hunger. He's ruined me for my own hands... and I have a feeling he's going to ruin me for all other men too.
A soft knock on my bedroom door startles me out of my Dante-induced haze. Shit, I forgot Natalie was coming over tonight. I hastily wipe my fingers on the sheets and grab my silk robe, trying to slow my galloping heart.
"Come in," I call, hoping I don't look as thoroughly worked over as I feel.
No such luck. As soon as Nat pokes her head in, her eyes go wide, a knowing grin stretching her lips.
"Well, well, well," she drawls, stepping into the room and shutting the door with a snap. "Looks like someone was having a very naughty private moment. A certain tall, dark and fuckable Italian wouldn't happen to be the star of your fantasies now, would he?"
I blush crimson, but there's no point in denying it. Natalie knows me too well. "Dante is..." I struggle for the right words. "He's intense. Overwhelming. Being with him is like standing too close to an inferno."
Natalie waggles her eyebrows. "Sounds like my kind of man. So when are you going to let him douse your fire? Put out the flames?"
I groan and flop back on my bed. "I want to, Nat. God, do I want to. You have no idea how badly. But..." I gnaw my lip, trying to find the right words. "I'm afraid of losing myself in him. In this...pull I feel whenever he's around. What if he consumes me and there's nothing left?"
Natalie sighs and settles next to me, taking my hand in hers. Her expression gentles, turning serious and fond. "Oh, honey. The best kind of love is all-consuming. That's how you know it's real." She gives my fingers a squeeze. "I know it's scary, opening yourself up to that kind of intensity. But babe... what if it's worth it? What if Dante is your once in a lifetime?"
I swallow hard past the sudden lump in my throat. "I don't know if I'm that brave, Nat."
"Well, I do." She smiles at me, her hazel eyes soft. "You're the strongest, most badass woman I know, Ginetta Moretti. If anyone has the ovaries to go after what she wants, it's you." Natalie waggles her eyebrows again. "Or should I say who she wants."
A surprised giggle escapes me and just like that, the heavy mood lifts. I sit up and hug my best friend fiercely, beyond grateful for her steadfast faith in me.
When we pull back, Natalie grins and reaches for the bottle of wine she brought. "Now, I want to hear all about your sexcapades with tall, dark and dangerous. Don't leave out a single dirty detail." She waggles her eyebrows lasciviously.
Laughing despite my lingering inner turmoil, I let Nat pour me a liberal glass of Malbec and settle in to dish about my growing feelings for the complicated, captivating man who's determined to claim me, body and soul.
As we sip and giggle, trading dating war stories, my mind keeps circling back to Dante. His wicked smile, the heat of his hands, the way he looks at me like I'm the only woman in the world.
I know Natalie is right - the depth of emotion and desire he stirs in me is rare. Precious. Probably a once-in-a-lifetime kind of connection. Am I really going to let my fears keep me from exploring this incredible thing between us?
The more I let myself dream of being with Dante - really being with him, no holds barred - the more I ache for it. Deep in my bones, with a fierce longing that scares and arouses me in equal measure. No man has ever made me feel this intensely before and we've barely scratched the surface of what we could be together.
God, I want him. Want to get lost in the raw passion he ignites in my veins; to surrender to the heated promise in his eyes and let him shatter me into a million blissed-out pieces.
But even as I tremble with budding resolve to throw caution to the wind and leap into Dante's arms...I can't quite silence the whispers of uncertainty. The trepidation that falling for this powerful, magnetic man will change me irrevocably. Consume everything I am in the wildfire of his wants and needs.
Can I trust Dante with my heart the way I long to trust him with my body? Or will I just be another conquest for the seasoned playboy who's surely had more than his share of female attention?
There are no easy answers and my wine-soaked mind is too hazy to puzzle it out further tonight. So I hug Natalie goodbye and tumble into bed, still aching and restless. As I drift off, it's to the lingering feel of Dante's scorching mouth on mine...and the knowledge that one way or another, this maddening, impossible man is going to be my blissful undoing.
I can only pray I survive the fall.