Page 162 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 5-8
‘Dante!’she screamed. Every syllable was torn from somewhere deep inside her...
Carefully, Dante withdrew from Emma before standing and reaching for her again. Pulling her into his embrace and lifting her into his arms.
‘Dante—’
‘Shush,’ he breathed. Quietly, although nothing within him was quiet.
His body demanded more than her undoing. It not only demanded everything they’d had before, but it demanded... He wasn’t quite sure. But he knew her being back in his arms didn’t feel like enough. His gut told him so.
And yet he didn’t trust it. His instinct was to fasten his mouth to hers and take them to bed and ignore that feeling. To find oblivion in the two of them coming together.
Never in his life had performance anxiety made him falter. But he was faltering now. Denying himself his primal needs because he was thinking about what came afterwards.
That concept was alien to him, though. He didn’t quite know what to do with it. And so he’d do nothing; he’d stay firmly in this moment and he’d take his time. Prolong the moment until he would have to face that foreign feeling again.
His neck dipped, and he met her gaze.
‘Thank you,’ she said, and her fingers splayed on his heated cheek. ‘That was—’
‘Only the beginning,’ he said, because he did not want her thanks. He wanted his wife back.
And shewascoming back to him. It was all that mattered. Having her beneath him, where she belonged and where she’d stay until his body no longer ached.
He swept her into his arms and carried her over to the bed. And she clung onto him, her arms around his neck, breathing against it, her breath fanning across his flesh.
‘I will make this good for you,’ he promised rawly.
‘I know,’ she said. She trusted him to keep his word. To meet her every desire.
And he would.
He’d make her shake. Tremble. With a desire so rampant, so addictive, that neither would be able to think straight.
She reached for him as he set her on the edge of the bed, placing a hand on his stomach.
‘I want to learn every inch of you,’ she confessed, her fingers moving to the silver buckle of his belt. ‘I want to learn how to give you pleasure too.’ A blush bloomed a deep scarlet on her cheeks. But she did not release his eyes. She did not remove her hand. ‘I want to pleasure you with my mouth.’
He nodded. A single dip of his head, because he didn’t trust himself to speak. Because he had only missed her body, her mouth, nother.
Slowly, she unbuckled him. And he made himself stand still. Taut. As he prepared himself for the silkiness of her mouth. The warmth.
Belt open, she undid his button, splayed the waistband of his trousers, and her hand crept inside his boxers. She withdrew him with gentle fingers. Until he was free and his arousal stood tall and erect in her small, pale hand.
Her blond head dipped...
‘Emma,’ he said, and she flicked her tongue over the tip of him, the silken edge beading with his need for her to take him deeper.
And she took him, inch by inch, until her throat flexed and accept him, and he—
‘Emma!’ he roared as she sucked him. Used her pale hand to pump him in unison with the slide of her lips, the sheath of her warm, wet mouth.
He fisted her hair. Wrapped it around the palm of his hand. Watched her please him.
And he couldn’t stand it. How easily she took him to the edge of his control. How easily she undid him. How easily she made a mockery of the way in which he ran his life, the rules he’d put in place.
‘Emma, stop,’ he growled, need lacing the words. Because she would not undo him yet. He wouldn’t lose control. He would show her the strength of his control. The power he had over himself to resist the ultimate satisfaction so that he could bring them both to climax, together.
He drew an agonising breath into tight lungs. ‘Can you feel what you do to me?’ he asked breathlessly. ‘I’m so hard, it hurts, Emmy. But I don’t want to spill myself into your mouth. I want to beinsideyou. To feel you wrapped around me as I drive you to the edge again,’ he said. ‘Ineedto be inside you,’ he confessed.