Page 62 of Cold Moon

“What’s wrong?” Dante asked, watching me like a hawk as I leaned back against the headboard after taking my vitals for the millionth time in two days.

I shook my head, breathing deep, eyes closed. “Not wrong, just... Could you grab me some water? I’m probably getting dehydrated. Heats are like that, and my blood pressure is up, so—”

But I was already talking to his back. Or better put, he was already all the way in the kitchen, glasses clinking together and the sink running. He came back a few minutes later with two tall glasses of water, a few cubes of ice in each. I figured one of them was for him, but he didn’t so much as take a sip as I drained mine. Then he traded me for the full glass, clutching the empty one against his chest.

“Is that enough? Should I get more?”

I held up a hand to stop him as I sipped from the second. “It’s plenty. Even if I needed more, I can’t just down a gallon of water at once.” I took another sip, then set the second glass down on the nightstand. “I can drink some more when we’re done.”

“Done with what?” He flushed, shaking his head. “I mean, I know—but you’re not waiting days to finish more water.”

I grinned at him, throwing out my hands and tapping the fingers together demandingly. Biting my bottom lip in a way that I desperately hoped was sexy, I looked up at him through my eyelashes. “I mean, technically, I don’t think I’ll ever be done. I just meant done for this round.” Pushing away from the headboard, I pulled myself up onto my hands and knees, and crawled over to bury my face in his chest. “’Cause I need you.”

He almost dropped the empty glass, barely catching it before it slipped through his fingers and crashed to the floor. Instead, he leaned over and set it on the nightstand, without breaking contact with me.

Then, he took my face in his hands, and placed the gentlest kiss on my lips. “If you’re sure you’re up for it. I don’t... I know you know what you need, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

The haze in my brain cleared enough, at least for a moment, to realize that the worry in his beautiful brown eyes wasn’t just for me. Well, it was, but it wasn’t. He was terrified of hurting me, and if he did, that would hurt him. So if I blithely ignored my own body’s signals and let this hurt me, he would take that on himself. Use it to hate himself.

And that, above all things, made me take a mental step back and think about it.

Truth was, I wasn’t up for anything really athletic, after two straight days of sex. My pressure was too high, and even if it was just the dehydration at fault, there was no reason to push it.

So instead of trying to act enticing or sexy anymore, I let myself fall back onto the bed. “How about I let you do all the work?”

That, oddly enough, made him smile. “I can do that. ’M happy to.” He set a knee onto the bed next to me, eyes scanning my body with the strange combination of interest and concern that I was starting to get used to. When he looked back up and met my eye again, there was a twinkle in his.

Instead of explaining his intentions, he just manhandled me over onto my side, facing away from him, then spooned up behind me.

It didn’t do a lot for the itch under my skin, though just the skin-on-skin contact helped a little. Now that I’d had him, though, my body wasn’t willing to go back a step and just snuggle. It wanted—

I gasped in understanding as his fully hard cock brushed against my ass. He propped himself up on an elbow behind me, leaning forward to give my earlobe a little nip, then kissed my cheek. “You just stay there, sweetheart. I’ll take care of everything.”

Before I knew what was happening, he was slicking me up again with his handy little bottle—okay, maybe not so little, and we were going through it fast—of lube. I both did and didn’t want to ask how he’d known I might need it. It wasn’t something I’d ever discussed with anyone, not even Linden. Not being able to get properly wet wasn’t something a person wanted to discuss, ever. It was on one of the lists of symptoms of the Condition, so I’d just accepted it as a fact of life, and pretended it wasn’t a thing. Wasn’t important. Wasn’t just another way I was a defective omega.

But there, in Dante’s bed, him producing lube like it was the most natural thing in the world, slicking himself up as he lay at my back, then sliding into me, achingly slow and perfect. There, I didn’t feel defective at all.

He leaned in, running his lips along the curve of my shoulder, peppering kisses along my neck, as he started to rock into me, slow and gentle. As sore as I was from two days of regular sex, this didn’t bring out any of my aches and pains. Instead, it felt like a slow, steady build of pressure as he slid inside me, wrapping one arm around my middle and pulling me in tight against him.

“How are you so perfect for me?” he asked, working his way down my jaw with his sweet little kisses. “Didn’t think there’d be anyone in the whole world so perfect.”

I turned to look up into his eyes, and didn’t see the slightest bit of hesitation. Of dishonesty. He was really there, really what he seemed, and—“I’m falling in love with you, Dante.” His eyes went wide, and he slowed, staring at me. “So if you don’t mean it. If you don’t want—-if you don’t want me like that. For keeps. Then I need you to tell me that.”

Instead of stopping altogether, or pulling away, he squeezed me even tighter against him. “I do mean it. I want”—he swallowed hard, but didn’t look away from me, not even for a second—“that. I want exactly that. I’m... I think I am too.”

His hand crept up from my waist, till he was cupping my cheek, lifting it so he could kiss me, briefly, on the lips. When we broke apart, he took a deep breath, and buried his head in my shoulder. The smell of salt came sharp and stringent to my nose, and I pretended to ignore it, as he went back to laying tiny kisses all along my back.

Slowly, so slowly, he rocked into my body over and over, hitting just the right spots, but softly, so softly that the buildup took me by surprise. It might have been moments or hours, but suddenly, I was gasping with each motion.

He twined our right hands together and brought the fingers up to his lips, kissing each of my fingertips as I gasped for breath, tightening around him. The pressure of his knot seemed like more in this position, or this time, somehow. I groaned as it breached me, pushing all the way in, filling me up so completely that all I could do was breathe and whimper.

A single touch of his hand was all it took to undo me. Those strong fingers wrapped around my cock, and he hadn’t even stroked when my orgasm hit me, all red and warm and perfect. It was almost as slow and languorous as his thrusts had been, like that long stretch when you wake up on a lazy Sunday morning, without the usual sharp rush that came and went all too fast. It continued for a long, slow moment, the warmth spreading from my core all the way to my toes and fingertips as he stroked me, slowly, milking my orgasm out of me.

I fell asleep there, just like that, in Dante’s bed. Curled up with him all around me. Just where I wanted to be, forever.

37

Dante

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