I love this woman. More than I love my own life…
His beautiful Beatrice was not a virgin anymore. He’d taken—and given—what Dante never had. He prayed silently that she wouldn’t live to regret the decision that brought her to his bed, or her choice of first lover.
He shifted so that he was beside her and reached a finger to trace her chin. Only then did he notice the flush that had spread across her neck and chest and further down. The skin of her inside thighs had bloomed pinkish red, and Gabriel choked back a sick regret.
Oh God, I’ve hurt her.
“Julia?”
Now her eyelids opened. At first her gaze was wide and unfocused. Then in an instant it shifted. She saw him and the prettiest slow smile played across her lips, exposing her white teeth. She felt like she was a feather coasting on a summer breeze. It was so much better than anything else…to see and hear him, to touch and taste him and then finally, gloriously, the naked, raw, and rare climax.
He exhaled and kissed her deeply. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she purred.
“I love you. I just want to make you happy, to watch you smile. Forever.”
“You’ll make me cry.” Julia couldn’t continue; she was beyond words. She kissed him, eyes closed, reveling in the arms of her lover. Her first. And last.
“Don’t cry, my sweet, sweet girl.” He kissed her eyelids, caressing her cheek with his hand.
Suddenly, he was gone, and Julia found herself alone in the large bed, made larger still and colder by his absence. The aching loss was immediate, but her mind was still slow, numbed as it was by her first taste of this ecstasy. Before she could slide a hand across the sheet to reach for him, he was pressing near her.
“Just let me look, darling.” His whisper was hesitant.
She had no idea what he was asking, so she simply hummed her permission. Then tentative fingers grasped her knees and a gentle hand lifted one, angling and spreading her wide, but not too wide. Now her eyes were open.
Gabriel froze as their eyes made contact. “Just a quick look to make sure you’re all right.”
When he’d attended himself in the washroom, he hadn’t noticed any blood. The realization had relieved him more than he could express. His eyes flickered down, and soon he was sighing, his shoulders relaxing. He pressed something warm and soft between her legs.
She flinched.
“I’m sorry.” Again he pressed the damp cloth to her sensitive flesh. There were a couple of pinkish spots on it, but nothing alarming. In truth, he wished there had been no pink at all, but pink was infinitely better than red.
“I’m fine. You just surprised me.” Julia’s voice shook, but only because she was still floating, and the feeling of him touching her there had intensified her sensations.
Gabriel picked up a glass of water from the nightstand and placed it in one of her hands, shaking two a little white pills from a medicine bottle into the other.
“Ibuprofen,” he explained, hastily. “For the pain.”
“It’s not that bad, Gabriel. I wouldn’t call it pain.”
“Please,” he begged.
She was puzzled by his overreaction but elected not to be stubborn, popping the pills quickly into her mouth and downing the entire glass of water. She was thirsty.
When he’d soothed her and cleaned her up, he scooped her into his arms, kissing her forehead over and over. He carried her across the threshold of the bathroom.
Julia heard the water running before they walked through the door. “What’s happening?” she managed, holding her head up.
“Let me care for you, baby.” He kissed her forehead and gently placed her in the large and inviting bathtub.
The hot water and rose scented bubbles were comforting. She was still dreamy, but things were slowly coming into focus. She opened her eyes and saw Gabriel standing over her, still naked, still glorious, checking the temperature of the water with his fingers and adjusting the taps.
“Are you still thirsty?”
She nodded.
He disappeared for a moment and returned with a garnet-colored liquid in a wine glass.
“Cranberry with soda,” he said. “It’s good for you.”
She arched an eyebrow at him, wondering how he became an expert at warding off female problems, but once again, decided not to pursue the question. She drank greedily and passed him the empty glass.
“You changed the music. What is it?”
“Sogno by Andrea Bocelli.”
“It’s pretty,” she murmured.
“Not as pretty as you.”
He turned off the water and climbed in behind her, placing his long legs on either side of her body, pulling her to his chest. They each sighed in contentment. She leaned her head back on his shoulder, and he stroked her hair, his touch light and gentle.
“Was it—okay for you?” she whispered.
That’s an understatement, he thought.