Dante's Honour-bound Husband

She shuddered beneath the intimate touch feathering across her belly. With each lingering kiss, liquid heat splashed across her skin, the warmth of his breath fanned flames outward in ever-growing waves.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he murmured. “I don’t think I ever will.”

His comment arrowed straight to her soul, so beautiful and so painful. If it hadn’t been for The Inferno, she’d have taken such delight and joy in the words. But she’d never know whether his reaction came from the brand of their Inferno connection or whether it came from the heart of the man.

While desire built, tears filled her eyes, overflowed, leaving hot, wet tracks behind as they slid across her temples and lost their way in her hair. She wanted this man. Wanted to love him and be loved by him. She tugged at him needing the reassurance of his kiss. He gave in to her silent demand and slid upward, the friction of skin on skin whipping up a more powerful storm of raw need. Did it really matter which part of this night was Inferno and which part real? She’d take what he gave her. Rejoice in it. Give herself over to it. And give everything she had in return.

She cupped his face and took his mouth, welcoming him inward. Wrapped him up in arms and legs and endless heat. Fueled a blaze that exploded into a need beyond anything she’d ever imagined. It ran rampant through her veins, filling her very heart and soul. She slid her hands downward to the masculine source of his desire. Cupped him. Slid her fingers over and around him.

“I love you,” she told him, squeezing gently. “Please, Constantine. Don’t make me wait any longer.”

His breath roared from his lungs. “Cavolo! Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” The question escaped through clenched teeth, his Italian so low and desperate she almost didn’t understand.

Her mouth tilted upward in a teasing smile. “How could I know since I’ve never done this before?”

“You learn fast, piccola.” His gaze warned of retribution. “Allow me to return the favor.”

Before she could draw breath enough to respond, he cupped the warm center of her, slipping inward as he had at the lake and teasing her with slow, deliberate strokes. She bowed upward with a soft cry, desperate for his possession but not quite sure how to force the taking. She felt again the telltale flutter, the helpless clenching that would shoot her over the edge. He opened her then, slipping between her legs.

“This was always meant to be,” he told her. “Call it fate. Call it The Inferno. You and I were always destined to come together. This couldn’t end any other way.”

He took her then with a single stroke. Gentle. Powerful. Unyielding. He sheathed himself in the warmth of her body. He moved with her in a primal rhythm as old as mankind. But it wasn’t a simple sexual act. It was so much more than that. She could feel the connection in her heart, in her blood and bones, in her very soul. Where once they’d been separate and apart, empty and alone, now they were joined by an unbreakable bond.

Gianna gave herself over to the moment, reveling in it, wishing it would never end. But the rising tide couldn’t be turned back. It rose faster and faster, sweeping her along, tumbling her over and over. She felt the odd flutter from before, the flutter becoming a ripple, then a hard, fisting pressure. Unable to help herself, she shattered, safe within Constantine’s arms.

He surged home, his hands buried in her hair, his eyes blazing with the strength of his passion and desire. His climax hit, hard on the heels of her own. And as the final rays of the day slipped from the room, he greeted the onslaught of night with a bellow of pure, raw pleasure.

In that timeless transition between night and day, they became one. Forever changed. Forever bonded. Forever mated.

Constantine had no idea how many hours passed before he woke. The darkness was dense and rich, suggesting the blackest, most silent hour of the night. He left the warm nest the two of them had created in the bed and retreated to his room. It only took a moment to feel his way to his overnight bag and find what he needed. Then he returned to Gianna. Returned to where he belonged.

She still slept. He could just make out her sleeping form, the paleness of her skin reflecting the softest of glows from the sickle moon peeking in through the window. Her mass of hair tumbled over the pillow and down her back. And her arm was stretched out across the mattress as though reaching for him, even in deepest sleep.