Page 65 of Christmas Vows with the Devil

“Are you all right?”

I nod, but there’s no hiding the anxiety building in my chest. “It’s just…a lot. All of this.”

He reaches out to brush a loose strand of hair from my face. His touch is gentle, a quiet comfort. “We’ll get through it, Gia.”

But there’s a hesitation in his eyes, and I know he’s worried, too. About Matteo. About his father. About the lengths we’re all willing to go to tomorrow.

We fall silent, neither of us wanting to say what we’re truly thinking. There’s a chance, a very real one, that tomorrow could go wrong. That either of us could end up hurt or worse.

But Dante pulls me closer, his hand resting at the small of my back as though grounding himself. He leans down, his forehead resting against mine. “You’re all I care about, Gia. You and Matteo. That’s it.”

The sincerity in his voice sends a shiver through me. I take a shaky breath, feeling the weight of his words, the promise there. We’re standing on the edge of something.

I want to tell him everything I feel, how much he means to me, but the words stick in my throat. Instead, I tip my face up to his and steal a light kiss. We’ve been so busy running, plotting, and worrying that we haven’t even faced whatever this is—whatever we are now.

Dante scoops me up and sits me on his desk, brushing away maps and photographs. He’s standing between my thighs and we are staring at each other—memorizing every tiny detail. His thumbs gently stroke across my eyebrows, down to my cheekbones, and skirt over my lips.

The breath I’ve been holding threatens to escape my lips, but he kisses me, stealing it. I run my fingers through his wild darkcurls, pulling him closer. And then we’re lost in each other, in the feeling of familiar hands and lips meeting. Of memories of the past and visions of the future.

He traces the curve of my breast over my thin sweater, stretching the collar to cover my neck with soft kisses.He’s being too gentle, like I’m fragile. Like I’m about to break.

“Stop.”

He freezes, his breath coming in hard, his eyes glazed over. “I’m sorry Gia, I couldn’t help myself.”

“No,” I say, frustration creeping into my voice. “Stop treating me like I’m made of glass.”

He’s confused, his hand still stroking my hair softly. “I…I don’t think that…”

I lean in closer, pressing my forehead against his eyes. My eyes are on fire, my body too. I squirm on the desk, my pussy soaked and desperate for him.

“Fuck me, Dante,” I beg, throwing any ladylike decorum aside. “And not like I’m about to shatter. I want to feel it. I can handle it.”

His hand stills in my hair, his breath catching in his throat. Those chocolate pools of fire staring at me go up in flames as he trails his gaze from my eyes to my mouth. A devilish smile plays on his lips and he chuckles.

“Be careful what you ask for, Gia.”

Slowly, he peels my sweater off, tossing it casually across the room. My leggings follow and I’m naked in the soft moonlight, sitting on Dante’s desk. He paces quietly in front of me like a wolf, his hungry gaze setting me on fire.

I almost pass out from anticipation when he kneels before me, spreading my thighs, and gazes up at me. I lean down, pressing a kiss on his forehead, and slip my fingers into his hair. The moon casts shadows across his face, making him look both sinister and handsome.

He licks his lips and gently pushes me down, spreading me across his desk. My hips fly up the second I feel a rough bite on my inner thigh and I know I’m done for. Dante’s going to tease the fuck out of me.

He continues up my right thigh, licking, biting, kissing. I feel his breath ghost over my pussy, and I thrust up, so desperate for his tongue but he smirks and moves to my left thigh, licking, biting, and kissing down to my knee.

I huff in frustration, narrowing my eyes at him.

“Oh, did I miss something?”

“Dante, I swear…”

“Why don’t you tell me exactly what you want?” he says, rising and slowly unbuttoning his shirt. I gaze in reverence as his tattooed arms glow in the moonlight. He unzips his pants, letting them fall to the floor.

“I want you…” I falter.

“How?”

“I don’t know.” Desperation and frustration make my voice climb higher. I’ve always been shy when it came to giving him instructions. He used to revel in my shyness, trying to coax me out of it, to be explicit.

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