Flawless.
A perfectionist might point out that he hadn’t shaved, but the stubble that ghosted his strong jaw, merely accentuated things: a shiver of masculinity stirring beneath the surface; a glimpse of what he might look like in the intimate dawn of morning. His full mouth was the only softening feature, but even that was set in grim tension as he lay there.
‘You have to relax,’ Matilda said, her words a contradiction because her whole body lay rigid beside him, her own breath coming in short, irregular bursts. Even her words were stilted, coming in short breathy sentences as they struggled through her vocal cords. ‘Use your stomach muscles and breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth.’
‘What?’ One eye peeped open.
‘Abdominal breathing,’she explained, but from the two vertical lines appearing over the bridge of his nose Matilda knew she was talking to the hopelessly unconverted.
‘You don’t move your chest,’ Matilda explained. ‘Remember when Alex was a baby and you watched her sleep?’
The frown faded a touch, a small smile lifting one edge of his mouth.
‘Babies know how to relax,’ Matilda said. ‘They instinctively know how to breathe properly.’
‘Like this?’ Dante asked, dragging in air, and Matilda watched as he struggled with the concept. His stomach was moving but so too was his chest.
‘Almost. Look, I’ll help you. Just push against my hand.’ Sitting up slightly, she instinctively moved to correct him. She’d shown this to numerous friends, knew how to show him simply, but her movements were hesitant, her hand tentative as it reached out towards him, hovered over the flat plane of his stomach, knowing, knowing where this could lead, wanting to pull back, to end this dangerous game, but curiously excited to start, to touch him, to feel him…
Her hand still hovered over his stomach but it was just too much, too intimate, and instead she placed her other hand on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through his shirt, feeing the breath still in him. Her fingers ached, literally ached to move his loosened tie, to creep between the buttons and feel his skin against hers. But she pushed away that thought, concentrated instead on keeping her voice even as she delivered her instructions. ‘My hand shouldn’t move. Breathe in through your nose, using your stomach, and then out through your mouth—here.’ It seemed more appropriate now to touch his stomach than when the initial contact had been made, and she gently brushed her hand along on his stomach, felt the heavy leather of his belt, the coolness of his buckle and the silk of his trousers. Her whole body rippled with a lust she had never experienced—never thought she could experience—and she herself had engineered it because she wanted to be closer to him. More than that she didn’t know, just knew she couldn’t take a minute more of the crazy feelings that had been going on. ‘Push against my hand,’ Matilda said, ‘and then hold your breath before letting out it. And just let your mind wander.’
For a second, two perhaps, he did. She felt him relax a touch beneath her, but it was fleeting, resistance rushing back in, his hand pushing hers away, Dante turning now to face her.
‘Show me,’ he said.
‘I don’t want to.’ Matilda shook her head, knew she was incapable of going back to that tranquil place with Dante so close, but he was insistent. ‘If it’s so easy to do, prove it.’
Lying on her back Matilda closed her eyes, willed herself calm, trying to force herself to relax. But she could feel the tension in her hands and she drew on her reserves, dragged in the fragrant air, holding it, holding it and slowly letting it out, could feel his eyes watching her body move. And amazingly it happened. Somehow she did wander to that place she visited so often, but it was a different journey altogether, one she had never taken before. With every breath she sank deeper and yet her desire grew, visualising, willing his hands to touch her, for him to rest his palm on her stomach, fleeting, decadent thoughts that were hers only, her limbs heavy against the damp grass, the erotic thought of him near her stomach tightening with the anticipation of a touch that might never come.
His breath on her face caught her unawares. Her mind hadn’t ever been so attuned to her body. She had been so sure his eyes had been there, the shiver of his breath on her cheeks was a shock, but even as her mind processed the sensation it was experiencing a new one—his mouth, pressing lightly on hers, so soft if it hadn’t have been him it would surely have been imperceptible, could almost have been put down to imagination for nowhere else did he touch her. The sun blocked out as he hovered over her, her eyes still closed as she blissfully attuned to the feel of his lips lightly on hers until it wasn’t enough. He was waiting for her bidding, she instinctively knew that. She could smell the bitter orange and bergamot undertones of his cologne, his breath mingling with hers, and after seconds that seemed to drag for ever she gave him her consent with her mouth, pressed her own lips into his.
The greeting was acknowledged by the reward of his cool tongue parting her lips, slipping inside, and that delicious taste of him, the intimate feel of his mouth inside hers, his tongue languorously capturing hers, playing a slow teasing game, long strokes that made her want more, countered by a tiny feather-light stroke on the tip of her tongue and then a gentle sucking as he dragged her deeper into him. And it was the most erotic of kisses yet the most frustrating, because still nowhere else did he touch her. Only their mouths were touching only their mouths in contact, and she wanted more, her body arching, trying to convey her needs. But he misread them, just kissed her ever on, till she burnt for more, literally ached for more, and only then did he give it, but in a selfish, measured dose.
The hand that she desired, that she anticipated around her waist to pull her towards him, instead lay on the soft inner flesh of her thigh, and the impact was as acute as if he’d struck her with a branding iron. It was her thigh, for heaven’s sake, Matilda mentally begged, just a few square inches of flesh, and it wasn’t even moving, but it was intimate, it was so damned intimate that it was surely wrong to be lying here beneath him now. She wished his hand would move, but it didn’t. Instead, it pressed harder, almost imperceptibly at first but slowly she could feel his fingers digging into the tender flesh. Her breath in his mouth was coming faster now, and just as she went to push him away, to move his hand to safer ground, Dante was the one who stopped. Propped up on his elbow, she could feel him gazing down at her and she lay there vulnerable, reluctant to open her eyes, terrified, excited at the same time, wondering what he would do next.
‘How else?’ His words confused her, questions inappropriate now, his touch what she needed, not the mind games he played. ‘How else did Edward hurt you?’
‘I’ve told you,’ Matilda gulped, screwing her eyes closed tighter wishing he would just leave it, and sure he knew she was lying.
‘Not all of it,’ Dante said, his finger trailing along her arm as she spoke, the nub of his finger lingering on her radial pulse, like some perverse lie detector as he dragged her secrets out. ‘Was that supposed to be your fault, too?’
‘I didn’t help,’ Matilda croaked, her eyes still screwed closed, unable to look at him as she revealed her shame. ‘Edward said that maybe if I dressed up…’
‘Would he want you now?’ Dante breathed, interrupting her, confusing her again. ‘All messed up, in your work clothes?’
‘Of course not,’ Matilda started, but her voice trailed off, not sure what he was getting at. Her body was still throbbing with desire, an argument starting somewhere deep within, because Dante had wanted her, hadn’t he?
Doubt was starting to ping in, her eyes snapping open, terrified that he was laughing at her, dreading being humiliated again. But in one movement he grabbed her wrist, rammed her tense hand