Hired: Mistress: Wanted: Mistress and Mother / His Private Mistress / The Millionaire's Secret Mistress

‘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 between his legs. She pulled back as if she’d been scalded, the strength of his erection shocking her, the feel of him in her hand terrifying. But Dante pulled her hand back, holding it there till the fear abated, till the arousal that had always been there stirred again.

‘You make me feel like this, mi cora.’

She could feel him growing in her palm, feel a trickle of sweat between her breasts as he swelled harder beneath her touch, a bubble of moisture between her legs as his fingers crept up her T-shirt now, tiny, delicate strokes as he inched up slowly further, and it had gone too far, way, way too far. She murmured her protest, attempted to halt things, but he kissed her harder, captured her protest with his tongue and silenced it. She could feel the fleshy pad of his index finger circling her aching nipple as he held the soft plumpness of her bosom in his palm. Only now did his lips release hers. Any sooner and she would have begged him to stop, would have halted things.

But now she was putty in his skilled hands, pliable, warm, willing to move, to let him do with her what he wanted, and, oh, how he did—kissing the pulse leaping in her throat as she wriggled out of her top. The second her breasts were free, his tongue paid them the attention they deserved, tender attention, kissing the swollen, needy tips in turn, his finger retracing his steps, working downwards now. Her stomach tightened in renewed tension as he slid down the zip of her shorts, but for the first time since contact he spoke, the liquid deep tones of his voice not breaking the spell but somehow deepening it.

‘Don’t hold onto those thoughts, bella, just let them come and go.’ Repeating the words she had said to him, but with entirely different meaning this time. And she tried, really tried to just relax as his hand cupped her bottom and lifted her enough to slip off the shorts and knickers in one. But the movement erased what had been achieved, embarrassment flooding in as her flesh was exposed, her knees lifting instinctively and her hand moving down in a futile attempt to cover herself. Wanting to hide her body from Dante’s gaze. She half expected his wrist to close around her hand, as Edward’s had done, to roughly demand to return to where he had just been.

‘Don’t fight,’ he ordered, but unlike Edward he was soothing her with words instead of touch. ‘Don’t think about that, just think about this.’ His hand hovered over her stomach until she caught her breath. She wanted the contact again and he was very gently tracing tiny endless circles around the little hill of her abdomen as his lips dusted her cheeks. He was kissing away the salty tears that were spilling from her eyes with his other hand around her neck, massaging her hairline, yet still the hungry swell of him against her told Matilda how much he desired her. A barrage of sensations that could have been confusing but instead soothed, the panic that had momentarily engulfed her waned until she lay outstretched and acquiescent in his arms, thrumming with anticipation for all that he might yield.

‘I’m going to touch you now.’

He was already touching her, his body was pressed against her, his lips on her face, his erection jutting into her, but she knew what he meant, was grateful for the strange warning, shivering as his hand reached her damp intimate curls and gently stroked them, his lip capturing the nervous swallow in her throat as his fingers crept slowly deeper, the infinitely gentle strokes he had teased her with before almost rough in comparison to the tenderness he displayed now, gently circling, pressing. But what if she couldn’t, what if she let him down? She felt herself tense but not in desire, that panic again creeping in as he slid a finger into her tight space, slid it in slowly, taking her dew and then back to where it was needed. His touch firmer, massaging away her fears and replacing them with need, as she quivered at his touch, uncurling under his masterful skill, his palm massaging her swollen mound, over and over, his fingers gliding in and out, patience in every movement. She opened her eyes once, drunk on lust, moaning at the blissful warmth that fired her, and she saw his eyes smiling down at her, not a trace of superiority in them, just desire.

‘Matilda.’ It was Dante’s voice that was breathless now, his body pressing harder into hers. She’d been so indulgent in her own pleasure while he’d been so unselfish, but that he could be so aroused from just touching her was all the affirmation she needed. Bold, so bold now, it was Matilda making the move, wrestling with his heavy belt, unzipping him, pushing the silk of his boxers down and staring with animal lust at him, the swollen, angry tip almost explosive. And even if it was the most wanton, outrageous thing she had ever done, even if all there could be was this moment, she needed it, needed him deep, deep inside her. She wanted his weight on top of her and it was heaven as Dante pushed her down, his clothed body squeezing the breath out of her, strong knees parting her willing thighs. She could feel him nudging at her entrance and opened her legs a fraction more to accommodate him. Even before his heated length stabbed into her, her body was convulsing, her most intimate place wrapping around his, dragging him deeper with each quivering contraction of her orgasm as he moved within her.

‘More!’

Her eyes opened. Breathless, speechless, she stared at him as still he moved within her. What did he mean more? She’d achieved more than she had ever thought possible—he’d already toppled her to climax.

‘Give me more, Matilda.’ He was pushing harder and now so was she. Now he was sliding over her, pressing her harder into the ground. But her body wanted to still, to recover from her orgasm, and she’d thought he’d been close, was sure he’d wanted her as much as she’d wanted him. For a second the doubts were back, the tiny dark voices that told her over and over she wasn’t quite good enough, wasn’t sexy enough, wasn’t woman enough to please a man.

‘Matilda,’ Dante gasped. ‘Come with me. I can’t hold on—see what you do to me?’

He stared down at her and it was as if Dante was struggling to stay in control—and her body that had begged respite, mere moments before, rippled into delighted action as he ambushed her. Her legs wriggled free, wrapping themselves tightly around his hips, pulling him fiercely in, her fingers digging into the taut muscle of his buttocks. And she understood, understood then that she’d never truly let go, had merely glanced around the door of the place Dante was taking her to now.

‘You’re beautiful bella.’ Over and over he said it. His chin was rough against her tender face, his breathing rapid and irregular, and she felt powerful now, felt his desire, his blatant need for her irrefutable. ‘Dante…Dante.’ Over and over she said. Pulling his shirt up, her hands ran over his back as her own frenzied mouth searched for comfort, sucking, licking the salty flesh of his chest,

‘What you do to me!’Dante rasped. ‘You sexy bitch…’ His body his words were one unguarded paroxysm now, but so, too, was Matilda. She felt sexy, he made her sexy, her body responding to his debauched words, shivering as he spilled his precious nectar and she dragged it from him, convulsing around his length, dragging each delicious drop as if it was her right, as if it was hers to take, her whole body in rigid spasm, clinging to him as still somehow he moved, slower now, giving her all of him until, sated, exhausted, he collapsed on top of her before rolling onto his side, pulling her into his arms and welcoming her, back to a world that was more beautiful for what had taken place.

‘You are so beautiful,’ Dante drawled, then gave a small cough. ‘Matilda, what I said just then…I mean, maybe I went too far…’

‘Maybe I needed to hear it.’ Matilda smiled. ‘In fact, I think it’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me.’

He laughed—a real laugh—and it sounded so good. To see him relaxed, smiling, was like glimpsing somehow a different man, and all she knew was that she wanted more of this. He ran his hand over her warm, naked body and she squirmed with pleasure, not embarrassment, couldn’t believe she was lying naked in his arms in the middle of the day and feeling only beautiful. ‘At least we’ve answered your question.’

‘What question?’

He kissed her very slowly, very tenderly before answering.

‘It was Edward’s problem, not yours.’ He kissed the tip of her nose as his words sank in.

‘Or you’re just an amazing lover!’

‘Oh, that, too.’ Dante grinned.

‘You know, sometimes people say things in an argument that they don’t really mean.’

Matilda gazed up at him. ‘Perhaps,’ she said softly. ‘Or in anger they find the courage to say what’s really on their mind.’

The sun must have gone behind a cloud, because suddenly his face darkened, his body that had been so yielding, so in tune with hers stiffening, and Matilda wasn’t sure if it was because of what she’d said or because he’d heard it first. The sound of tyres crunching on the gravel had them both jumping like scalded cats, suddenly aware of her lack of attire and Dante’s trousers around his knees. She hated the intrusion, wanted so much to see him properly, the glimpse of his tumescence as he hastily pulled his trousers up and tucked himself in nowhere near enough for Matilda.

‘Dante!’ Katrina’s voice pierced the still afternoon. Completely flustered, somehow Matilda managed to dress in record time, zipping up her shorts and almost falling over as she pulled on her boots, until, with her heart pounding, the footsteps drew closer and the gate was pushed open. Matilda did not even look over as Katrina approached and bluntly addressed Dante. ‘I saw your car—what on earth are you doing home?’

‘Trying to catch up on some reading,’ Dante said casually, but it didn’t wash with Katrina and after a long pause he elaborated. ‘I thought I’d see how the garden was coming along before I shut myself away for the rest of the day. Where’s Alex?’

Katrina didn’t say anything at first, suspicious eyes swivelling from Dante to Matilda. ‘Asleep in the car,’ she finally said slowly. ‘I was just going to carry her in.’

‘I’ll come and help,’ Dante offered, but Katrina had already gone, walking out of the garden without a backward glance. Matilda stood with her cheeks flaming, her anxious eyes swinging to Dante, hoping for reassurance.