Page 88 of Ruthless Desire

I look at Dante, his eyes locked on mine, the intensity in them pulling me in, deeper and deeper until there’s nothing else. I should be terrified, but all I can feel is the pull—the dark, irresistible pull of him, of us, of this moment that feels like it’s been building forever.

My breath hitches as I rise up on my toes, closing the distance between us. My lips find his, soft at first, testing the waters. It’s the first time I’ve taken this step, the first time I’ve reached out to him with something more than fear or defiance. It’s a choice, and that realization sends a jolt through me.

The kiss is gentle, almost hesitant, but the undercurrent of tension is electric, buzzing between us like a live wire. I feel Dante freeze for just a heartbeat, caught off guard by my sudden boldness, but then his hands are on me, pulling me closer, grounding me in his overwhelming presence.

And just like that, the fear evaporates, replaced by something fierce and hungry. I deepen the kiss, my fingers tangling in his hair as I press myself against him. There’s no going back now. Not after this. Not after I’ve tasted the darkness on his lips and found that I crave it.

I bite down on his lower lip, hard enough to taste the sharp tang of blood. The metallic flavor spreads across my tongue, sending a shiver of satisfaction through me. Dante growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating against my mouth, and I feel his grip on me tighten, his control slipping as he surrenders to the moment.

The air between us crackles with tension, with the sheer force of the connection that’s finally broken free. I can feel him hardening against me, the heat of his arousal matching my own. The painting, the blood, everything fades away until there’s only this—only us.

Dante breaks the kiss, his breathing ragged, his eyes burning with a fire that matches the one raging inside me. “Natalie,” he breathes, his voice rough, like he’s struggling to hold on to the last threads of his control.

But I don’t want him to hold back. Not anymore. I want to see him undone, to watch him lose himself in me the way I’m losing myself in him.

“Dante,” I whisper back, my voice barely more than a breath. It’s an invitation, a challenge, and I see the way it ignites something primal in him.

Without a word, he lifts me off the ground, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carries me across the room. His movements are swift, purposeful, driven by the same urgency that’s thrumming through my veins. But there’s a care in his touch, a tenderness that I didn’t expect but that leaves me aching for more.

He pushes open the door to the nearest bathroom, and I’m hit by the cool, damp air. The sound of water echoes off the tiled walls, the floor slick with puddles that reflect the dim light. It’s far from romantic, far from perfect, but in this moment, it’s exactly what I need.

Dante sets me down on the counter, the cold surface a stark contrast to the heat burning between us. His hands are on me in an instant, peeling away the blood-soaked remnants of my clothes with a care that sends a shiver down my spine. Each touch is a promise, each brush of his fingers against my skin a vow that only we understand.

The water’s already running, filling the space with steam, but all I can focus on is the way Dante looks at me, like I’m something precious, something to be revered even in my brokenness. He strips off his own clothes, his movements deliberate, unhurried, giving me time to take in every inch of him, to memorize the way the light catches on the scars and hard lines of his body.

He steps into the shower first, pulling me in after him, and the warmth of the water is a relief, washing away the blood and grime that clings to my skin. But it’s his touch that truly cleanses me, that strips me down to the core of who I am, of what we are together.

He kisses me again, slow and deep, his hands moving over my body with a gentleness that contrasts sharply with the violence we’ve just shared. There’s no rush now, no urgency—just the two of us, lost in the moment, in each other. His lips travel down my neck, over my collarbone, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, and I can’t hold back the soft moan that escapes me.

Dante’s hands slide down to my hips, lifting me just enough to position himself, and the wait is almost unbearable. When he finally enters me, it’s slow, deliberate, every inch of him filling me with a deep, aching pleasure that’s as overwhelming as it is intoxicating.

I gasp, my fingers digging into his shoulders as he moves within me, each thrust slow and sensual, each movement a reminder that this isn’t just about desire. It’s about control, about surrender, about the power we hold over each other. It’s about the darkness that we’ve both embraced, that’s become a part of us.

The water cascades over us, washing away everything but the intensity of this connection, this raw, unfiltered need that binds us together. I feel like I’m drowning in it, in him, and I don’t want to come up for air. Not now. Not ever.

Dante’s pace quickens, his hands gripping my hips tighter as he pulls me closer, deeper, until there’s nothing left between us but the heat of our bodies and the rhythm of our breaths. I can feel the edge of release building, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter until I can’t hold on anymore.

I come with a soft cry, my body arching against his as the pleasure crashes over me, pulling me under. Dante follows me over the edge, his grip on me unyielding as he shudders, his breath hot against my neck.

But he’s not done. Not yet.

Even as the last waves of our climax fade, Dante’s hands continue to move over my body, his touch soft, reverent, as he cleanses me with the water. It’s a ritual, a way of grounding us both after the storm we’ve just weathered, and I let myself relax into it. Into him.

And then, with a glint of something wicked in his eyes, he drops to his knees before me. His hands slide up my thighs, parting them with a deliberate, confident touch that sends a fresh wave of anticipation coursing through me.

I barely have time to catch my breath before his mouth is on me, his tongue finding that sensitive spot with the ease of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing. The sensation is overwhelming, sharp and intense, and I can’t help the gasp that escapes me, my fingers tangling in his hair as I try to hold on to something—anything.

Dante holds me steady, his hands firm on my hips as he devours me with a skill that leaves me breathless. It’s too much, too fast, and yet I can’t bring myself to pull away. I’m too far gone, too lost in the darkness that he’s pulled me into, and all I can do is surrender to it, to him.

The pleasure builds again, quicker this time, more intense, and I’m helpless against it. I feel like I’m on the edge of something vast and terrifying, something that I can’t control, and it’s exhilarating.

When I finally come again, it’s with a cry that echoes off the tiled walls, my body trembling as the pleasure tears through me. Dante doesn’t stop, doesn’t relent, until I’m a quivering mess, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my mind blissfully blank.

He stands slowly, and leans in to kiss me, I taste myself on his lips, mingled with the coppery tang of his own blood, and it feels like a promise—a bond that’s been forged in the heat of this sin and sealed with every touch, every sensual breath.

We stay like that for a moment, lost in each other, in the connection that has only grown stronger, deeper. And as I look into Dante’s eyes, I know that I’ve finally succumbed to the darkness, that I’ve embraced it fully, and that there’s no turning back.

This is who I am now. This is who we are.

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