Page 76 of Ruthless Desire

My feet carry me to him, the heat of his gaze a physical caress against my skin. His fingers curl around my wrist, searing, branding me with his touch.

"Sweet Natalie," Dante murmurs, "still fighting, even now. Don't you know you were made for this, for me?"

"I was made for no one," I bite out, but the words ring hollow even to my own ears. Because the truth, the vicious, tearing truth, is that I crave this.

Crave him with a ferocity that frightens me.

Dante chuckles darkly, the sound vibrating through me like the toll of a funeral bell.

"Don’t tell lies, little raven," he breathes, drawing me into the cage of his arms. "Your body sings a different song. Shall I make it confess the depths of its need? After all, actions speak louder than words…"

I open my mouth to protest, but he silences me with a kiss, brutal, and always claiming. I whimper against his lips, even as I surrender to the onslaught, my own mouth moving with his in a dance I’ve come to know too well.

Dante walks me back until I'm flush against the tree, the rough bark snagging my hair, digging into my skin. A distant part of me recoils, aghast at my own wantonness. But it's drowned out by the thunder of my blood, the drugging heat of his touch as it maps a trail down my throat.

"I could take you right here," he rasps against the hammering pulse point below my jaw. "Hitch up this pretty little dress and fuck you until the only words you remember are ‘I’m yours’."

A fractured moan escapes me, lust and loathing twisting serpentine in my gut. I should be repulsed, should be clawing away from this monster wearing a man's face. But my treacherous body reacts on instinct, back arching, hips rolling against his in blatant invitation.

Dante moans, a sound edged with both hunger and triumph.

Those clever, cruel fingers dance along the hem of my dress, dipping beneath to skim the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. I suck in a sharp breath, thighs parting like the Red Sea, eager for him to desecrate my holy land.

"So ready for me, aren't you, solnyshko?" His touch inches higher, grazing the damp proof of my shame. "I barely have to crook my finger and you're dripping, desperate for what only I can give you."

It's agony, exquisite and excruciating. The aching emptiness inside me howls and rages, demanding to be filled, to be stretched and taken and branded in the most primal way imaginable.

But I can't give in, can't let him win.

Not again. Not like this.

"Please, Dante…" I manage in a pathetic whimper against his smirking mouth. "Not here. Someone could see."

He laughs, nipping sharply at my bottom lip. "And why should that stop me? You're mine, moy voron. To do with as I please, whenever and wherever I please."

The worst part is, I can't even deny it. No matter how much my mind rebels, my heart, my body, my very soul belongs to this beautiful nightmare.

"Dante," I try again, desperation leaking into my tone. "I’m not into this—I'm not an exhibitionist- "

"Shh," he cuts me off, his free hand coming up to wrap around my throat, a possessive squeeze that sends a thrill of dark delight zinging down my spine. "No more lies, moy voron. No more fighting what we both know to be inevitable."

His touch grows firmer between my legs, two fingers spearing into my pulsing pussy without preamble. I keen, high and wounded, hips bucking helplessly into the sudden fullness.

Dante pumps in and out, each thrust a lewd squelch in the twilight quiet.

"Do you feel that, Natalie?" His breath is hot against my ear, the words dripping with sadistic promise. "How your greedy little cunt clings to me, begging to be stretched and filled and fucked into oblivion?"

A broken sob is his only response, blocked by too much denial and furious assent.

I do feel it, with every fiber of my being. The way my very flesh and sinew cry out for him, for the blinding ecstasy and searing degradation only he can provide.

"You can't deny it," he goes on, a third finger joining the fray, working me open with ruthless precision. "Can't escape me, or the dark carnality we create in chaos. Stop trying to run from your true nature and embrace it."

I’m free falling from each flick as his calloused thumb finds my clit, deft strokes sending me hurtling towards the edge. Dante latches onto the column of my throat, sucking a deep purple bruise into my pale skin and I toss my head back, a nymphette in the throes of pagan ecstasy.

Marking me as his own.

I shatter with a ragged cry, my release flooding over his fingers in hot, slick pulses. He strokes me through it, murmuring filthy praise in Italian against my fevered flesh.

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