Page 51 of The Sound of Us

Dante squeezed and toyed with one breast and then the other until my nipples were hard, and I was aching with need. Using his weight to hold me in place against the door, he yanked open my jeans and slid his hand into my panties. His fingers grazed over my sensitive clit and then down to my center.

“You’re soaked.”

I shuddered when he slid a finger inside me. If I hadn’t had his weight, his heat and strength behind me, I might have collapsed from the sheer intensity of the sensation.

“Such a good girl.” His lips nudged my ear, his breath hot on my skin as he replaced one finger with two, moving them rhythmicallyuntil I was rocking against his palm for the friction I needed for release.

The whisper of cool air on my skin as he eased my jeans over my hips with his free hand yanked me back to my senses and the imminent exposure of my scars. What would it feel like to show him everything? To be enough just by being me? To be free of the fear and shame?

“I need to touch you, Dante.”

He released me and I spun to face him, wild hands tearing off his shirt, roaming over skin slicked from heat. I pressed my lips to the inked designs on his pecs and felt the steady rhythm of his heart beating in his chest.

“I want you.” I shifted my weight, unable to ease the ache between my thighs.

“I want you, too, but I want to do it right this time. You deserve more than basement rooms and closets and hallways.”

It was my out. I could end this now and he’d never see my scars. I wouldn’t have to deal with his revulsion or horror or sympathy or whatever was going to show on his face when I stripped myself bare. There would be no awkward silences. No pain in my heart. No regrets.

No Dante.

“This is right.” I kissed him hard, grinding my hips against his hard length. “I like you like this. I like the sense of danger. I like breaking the rules. I want to feel you lose control.”

I craved him—his smell, his taste, the power that rippled beneath his skin—with a primal hunger that wouldn’t be sated by soft blankets and clean sheets. I wanted to be taken, possessed. I didn’t want to be enough. I wanted to be everything.

“I can’t lose control.” His voice cracked, broke. “I don’t want to hurt you. Look what happened tonight.”

“You won’t hurt me.” I was so wet I wanted to sob. Empty and aching, my self-control hanging by a thread. “I won’t let you.”

His hands slid under my ass, and he lifted me to his hips, easily carrying me to the lounge with my legs wrapped around him. Heshut the door and flicked on the light before pinning me against the wall.

“You want it like this?” He fisted my hair and tugged my head back.

My breath left me in a rush. “Yes.”

He yanked off my bra and shirt, powerful hands squeezing my breasts until everything inside me started to melt. I fell back against the wall when I felt the sharp edge of his teeth on my nipples and begged for more.

Dante lowered my feet to the floor and tugged my jeans over my hips. I grabbed his hand before he went too far.

“There’s something you need to know.” I swallowed hard, my body tensing. “My legs were crushed in the accident. The left one was injured so badly they basically had to rebuild it. I have… a lot of scars. Not just on my leg but all over my body. You wouldn’t have seen them in the dark.”

For a moment, there was only silence between us, and then he took my hand and pressed it over the ink on his shoulder. “I have scars, too.” He squeezed my hand, then pointed to various other places on his shoulders and arms that were covered by intricate designs. “I had them inked so I didn’t have to look at the constant reminder about how my dad preferred me to an ashtray.”

My heart squeezed in my chest as I traced over the circular designs that marked the places he’d touched. “You’ve turned them into something beautiful.”

He kneeled before me, trailing soft kisses over my belly and then down as he lowered my clothing over my hips. For a long moment—too long—he just looked at the V between my legs, his gaze burning into me until my clit throbbed, desperate for the attention of his talented mouth.

But his lips didn’t go where I wanted them to go. Instead, he worked his way down my damaged leg, kissing each and every scar. His tongue traced one mark, then the other, until my skin began to anticipate every gentle touch. He teased me with a rush of heat when his lips touched unbroken skin, and moments oflonging when he kissed the long silvery lines and patches that had no nerves left to feel. So soft. So tender. So unlike the man who had pinned me to the door only moments ago.

A whirlwind of sensations exploded inside me. Except for my mom and the healthcare workers, no one had ever seen my scars. Not even me, because I’d stopped looking when the bandages came off. In my world of pretend, I was still whole.

My hands fisted against the wall, every muscle tensing as he trailed gentle kisses along my calf to the sensitive skin behind my knee. A sound escaped my lips. I didn’t know if it was arousal or fear.

Dante looked up, his eyes darkening with pleasure. “Do you know what I see?”

I shook my head, my heart pounding so hard I could barely hear for the rush of blood in my ears.

“I see a survivor.” He kissed the delicate skin of my inner thigh, “I see courage. I see someone much stronger than me, someone who doesn’t hide.”

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