Page 12 of Claimed By the Don

Summoning my maidenly poise, I flutter my lashes at Dante innocently and slip out of his embrace. "Hold that thought for later, tiger. I need to go powder my nose."

I start to saunter towards the arched entrance across the ballroom when a big, warm hand clamps around my wrist, tugging me to a stop. I look back over my shoulder to see Dante staring at me with hooded eyes, a muscle ticking in his chiseled jaw.

"Don't be long," he says, his deep voice a low command. It thrums through me, dark and full of promise. "Or I might have to come find you."

My breath hitches at the threat...or is it a promise? Electricity crackles between us, taut and heady. Goosebumps skitter down my arms despite the balmy air.

I lick my suddenly dry lips, feeling brazen. Reckless. "Promises, promises," I breathe.

Then I'm slipping free of his grasp and gliding away, his frustrated groan chasing my steps.

The wine I downed earlier for courage buzzes through my system as I navigate the crush of glamorous bodies with a strange sense of unreality. I feel untethered from myself, from the shy, studious Ginetta who's more comfortable in a library than a ballroom. But something about being with Dante tonight, claimed and shown off and wanted so blatantly...it's intoxicating. Empowering.

Oh, I don't doubt people are whispering about us behind their manicured hands. Speculating about what a man like Dante Russo, with his money and his power and his undeniable magnetism, is doing with a relative nobody like me. I'm sure I fit neatly into their narrow worldview - the poor little seduced maiden, in over my head with a notorious playboy.

If only they knew the truth. That this thing between Dante and me is so much more than a simple seduction. That the way he touches me, looks at me, unravels me...it feels a lot like falling. Like the ground crumbling beneath my feet, exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure.

But God, what a way to go.

I'm so lost in my whirling thoughts that I don't immediately register the dark alcove I'm passing until a strong arm shoots out and bands around my waist. I barely have time to gasp before I'm yanked sideways, the curtain swishing shut behind me.

"Dante, what the..."

But then his mouth is on mine, hot and urgent, swallowing my surprised squeak. He walks me backwards until I'm pressed against the wall, the solid heat of him blanketing me from chest to thigh. I feel the rasp of his stubble, the slick slide of his tongue over my bottom lip, seeking entrance. Begging me to open for him.

I moan, my hands coming up to fist in his dark hair as he licks into my mouth. He tastes like the Scotch he was nursing earlier, smoky and rich. I'm drowning in the scent of him, the feel of him straining against me. He's already hard, his arousal a thick ridge against my belly. The knowledge that I affect him so viscerally sends a fresh surge of desire pulsing through me.

"I couldn't wait any longer," he rasps against my lips, those big hands roaming greedily over my curves. "Watching you float around the room in this dress, seeing all those bastards strip you with their eyes...it's been torture, tesoro."

His palm splays over my lower back, pressing me impossibly closer. I feel the twitch of his cock through our clothes at the increased contact and I whimper, my head falling back against the wall.

"I'm dying to get my hands on you," Dante continues, lowering his head to nuzzle into the crook of my neck. His breath is damp and feverish on my skin as he places wet, open-mouthed kisses along my throat. "To feel your tight little pussy squeezing my fingers as I make you come. Christ, I can smell how wet you are for me. So fucking sweet."

"Oh, God," I pant, arching shamelessly into him. My blood feels carbonated, every nerve ending sparking to life under his skillful mouth. "Dante, we can't...not here..."

But even as I protest, my treacherous legs splay wider of their own volition. Dante groans his approval, his hand diving beneath the hem of my gown to glide up the inside of my thigh. I gasp at the first brush of his fingers over my lace panties, a featherlight tease.

"That's it, baby," he coaxes, rubbing slow circles over my cloth-covered slit. I'm already drenched, my arousal soaking through the delicate lace. "Let me give you what you need. I can feel how badly this pretty pussy wants me."

I mewl, my hips canting into his touch wantonly. I should push him away, insist we rejoin the party before we're missed. Before someone discovers us rutting like animals, a hairsbreadth away from hundreds of prying eyes.

But I can't muster up an ounce of protest. Not when Dante is stroking me just right, his fingers dipping beneath my panties to paint my slick folds. I feel fevered with need, my skin too tight for my bones. I'm so close already, my body growing taut as a bowstring.

"That's my girl," Dante croons, slipping one thick digit into my clenching channel. "Christ, you're so fucking tight. I bet you'll clamp down like a vice when I get my cock in you later, milk me dry."

His filthy words only stoke the inferno building at the base of my spine. I ride his hand shamelessly, too far gone to care about propriety or restraint. Let them hear me, a wildfire voice in my mind urges. Let them know who makes me fall apart, who owns this body.

When Dante's thumb finds my clit, circling roughly, I detonate. The orgasm rips through me like a hurricane, my inner muscles clamping down on his thrusting fingers as I drench his palm with my release. Dante swallows my broken cries with his lips, groaning into my mouth as I spasm in his arms.

"Fuck, just like that," he encourages hoarsely, working me through the aftershocks. "Soak my fucking hand, amore. Give me everything."

Dimly, I'm aware of the muted swell of music and chatter mere feet away. The shocking public depravity of it all sends a forbidden thrill zinging through me even as the last tremors of my high recede.

When I finally collapse back against the wall, boneless and sated, Dante slips his fingers free of my body. Our eyes lock as he brings the glistening digits to his mouth, sucking my essence from each one with an appreciative hum.

"Delicious," he declares with a final lick, his gaze scorching. "I could feast on your nectar all night, Ginetta."

My exhausted body clenches weakly at the husky promise. I'm utterly wrecked, mascara no doubt smudged and hair in wild disarray. Dante looks equally debauched, a telling wet patch marring the front of his pressed gray slacks.

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