a split second, Dante hesitated as he lifted her dress off over her head, his attention dwelling on the glorious swell of her breasts seguing down into her impossibly tiny waist and the voluptuous curve of her bottom. She was right: he usually did plan every move he made. But he hadn’t planned on her. He was willing to admit that she was an anomaly in his life and didn’t fit the usual mould but he wasn’t yet ready to finish the affair. It would end when boredom set in as it always did and when his desire for her no longer drove him.
He caught her to him with impatient hands and his mouth burned on hers. Tasting him, savouring him, she shuddered as he unfastened her bra and stroked her achingly tender nipples. She hadn’t expected the evening to end like this but she wanted him, needed him in a way she had never imagined she would ever need anyone and, even though that was scary, she could not deny herself the incredible exhilaration of being with him again. She pulled off his shirt, her hands relearning the hard masculine contours of his hair-roughened chest, trailing down to cup and tease his urgent erection, already imagining what it would feel like to have him inside her again.
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