Page 18 of The Capo & the Curator

Evelyn takes a calculated step toward me, her hips swaying. My hands clench against the urge to reach for her, to yank her body flush against mine.

"You know," she murmurs, drawing ever closer until the scent of her—warm vanilla and the faintest hint of old parchment—surrounds me. "I’ve always wanted to make love in the stacks.”

The blatant invitation in her tone sends a rush of heat blazing through my veins. In the same breath, a strangled rumble tears from my chest as she reaches out to trail her fingertips along the stark line of my jaw.

"Is that so, tesoro?" The endearment slips free in a low rasp as I fight to maintain what tattered shreds of control still remain.

"Mmm." That sweet purr again, this time accompanied by a slight nod. "Why, I've heard tales of secret trysts unfolding in the dustiest corners of the archives, carried out in breathless silence beneath the very noses of the oblivious masses."

With a growl, I surge forward, capturing her mouth in a desperate kiss. Evelyn melts against me with a soft whimper, her fingers burying themselves in the hair at my nape as she rises onto the balls of her feet to meet me with equal fervor.

The world narrows to this—the scorching press of her body against mine, the velvet glide of her lips, the tiny, desperate sounds she utters into the heated space between us. My hands roam freely, spanning the dip of her waist, skimming the flare of her hips.

When the need for oxygen becomes too insistent to ignore, I tear my mouth from hers with a ragged groan. Evelyn's chest is heaving, her lips swollen and glistening. She blinks up at me through a heavy-lidded gaze.

"Dante..." My name falls from her lips like a sacred prayer, igniting an answering blaze low in my abdomen.

"You'll be the death of me," I grate. The words are half vow, half warning as my lips blaze a searing path along the tender hollow of her pulse point. "You undo me in ways I never could have fathomed."

She arches against me with a breathy moan, her fingers tightening convulsively in my hair. "And you make me feel utterly alive," she confesses in a heated rush.

Capturing her mouth again, I walk us blindly toward the ancient oak desk. With one sweeping motion, I brush aside the stacks of books and papers, blatantly uncaring of the chaos I've created. All that matters is Evelyn, soft and pliant in my arms, as I lift her to sit atop the polished wood surface.

She breaks the kiss with a ragged gasp, her eyes blazing in the dim light. For a suspended heartbeat, we simply stare at one another—chests heaving, desire crackling like lightning in the charged space between our bodies.

Then Evelyn's fingers are working at the buttons of my shirt. The fabric parts and her palms sear delicious trails over the hard planes of my abdomen, upward along the corded sinews of my chest. A low, guttural groan tears free as she rakes her nails through the crisp hair with just enough gentle sting to send white-hot pleasure lancing straight to my core.

I slide her skirt up around her hips, and my fingers delve into the damp heat between her thighs, parting her folds with a hunger that belies my usual restraint.

"Dante," she moans, her hips arching in wordless invitation as she grinds her pussy against my questing fingertips. The sight of her, wanton and undone, sends a jolt of pure lust straight to my core.

"Dio mio, tesoro," I growl, my voice a guttural rasp. "You're so damn wet."

"Yes," she gasps, her eyes squeezed shut as she bites down on her bottom lip. "For you."

A growl rumbles in my chest at her confession, spurring me on. With practiced ease, I find her clit, circling the sensitive nub with just the right amount of pressure. She leans her forehead against mine, and her lips part as she gasps lightly, my tongue grazing hers.

I slide two fingers inside her, curling them in the way I already know she likes.

"Dante..." she moans my name again, her hips rising from the desk. "Oh, God, Dante, yes."

Her words, those sweet, broken cries, fuel the fire burning in my veins, white-hot and all-consuming. I pick up the pace, my thrusts mirroring the rhythm of my hips as I grind against her. I'm on the precipice myself, my cock throbbing in my pants, desperate for her touch.

"That's right," I rasp, my voice a low growl as I feast on the column of her neck. "Come for me, tesoro."

With a keening cry, Evelyn's body tenses as she shatters around my fingers, her juices flooding onto my hand, hot and slick.

"Dante!" she cries out, head thrown back as she rides the waves of her climax.

I hold her close until her tremors subside, and then I pull away, my gaze ravenous as it sweeps her flushed features, her swollen lips, and I can't take it anymore. I yank my belt open, jeans falling to the floor, my hard cock straining against my boxer briefs, aching to feel her heat. I step between her thighs, pushing her back so that her bare pussy meets the head of my throbbing length.

"I need you," I growl, my voice a low rumble. "I need to feel every inch of you."

She arches her hips, her thighs parting willingly for me, inviting me in. "Take me," she whispers.

With one swift, searing thrust, I claim her, her slick, tight heat enveloping me in a vice-grip of bliss. Evelyn arches her back, her nails scraping against the polished wood of her desk as she moans my name, her head flinging back in ecstasy.

"Christ..." I grunt, my hands on her hips as I begin to move, my hips slapping against hers. Her walls clench around me, and I lose my tenuous grip on control. "Fuck, Evelyn..." I growl, leaning over her and burying my face in her neck as I pound into her, our bodies slapping together in a primal, ancient rhythm.

---