Page 24 of Enforcer

“Minaccia,” he answers.

I nip his lower lip. “Stop with that.”

He flips us, thrusting into me so powerfully that a guttural grunt that’s very unbecoming spills from my throat. “I’ll stop when you stop being a fucking menace.”

I grin as he fucks me with a brutal pace, his hand moving between us to rub my clit.

“Oh God.” My revelation has him smiling, pride welling on his features.

He leans down, cocking a leg up to fuck me deeper, closer.

The world becomes a dull shade around us, compared to us, and I’m crying out more than breathing, and dizzying by the second.

His lips skim my ear, parting to taunt me. “Come for me, minaccia. So that I can come all over those perfect tits.”

His words, while crass, have me wild to heed his demands. I want to see him stroking himself over me, looking down at me when he comes.

Having the attention of a powerful man makes me feel powerful. The taste of power is addictive. It drives men wild with greed and makes women chase men they should steer clear of.

Power makes people crazy.

The way Dante Ricci fucks proves that fact to me.

“Dante!” I cry as I shatter around him.

He lasts a few more thrusts before scrambling over me on the bed, straddling my chest as he jacks his dick in his hand.

The heated look in his eyes as he looks down at me fills me with a false sense of safety when it should do the opposite.

He’s dangerous to a woman like me. He makes me vulnerable.

“Fuck, minaccia!” His cum covers me in thick ropes, warm on contact as I arch into him. Like a muse posing to be painted.

When he’s done, and we’ve both steadied our breathing, he gets a warm cloth and cleans us both off, hovering over me as hecleans my breasts with a look in his eyes that says a lot is going on in his mind.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I was spewing all that about my boundaries and stepped over one of yours. I didn’t think about it at the moment. I took what I wanted and didn’t consider you, Dante. I apologize.”

He’s taken aback but says nothing as he tosses the rag into the laundry basket and returns to bed beside me.

It’s time for me to exit, but I don’t. The tension in the room is so thick and burning that it has me rooted to the bed like a hostage.

I don’t want to leave and be perceived as being callous.

“I want to kiss you, Alyssa. I wouldn’t have kissed you back if I didn’t. If left to my own devices, I would’ve waited longer. But I want your kiss,” he says.

“Then, why did you say…”

He sighs, and it has my heart in my throat.

“I haven’t kissed anyone since my wife died.”

His admission cracks my soul and sinks my heart to my toes. I roll onto my side and into him, splaying my hand on his chest in comfort.

The soft, dark hair there tickles my palm as I work my nails over his skin absently—something I don’t often do, but yet, I’m comfortable doing it withhim.

“Dante, I’m so sorry to hear that. I’m sorry for your loss.”

He stares at the ceiling, nodding. “Thank you. It’s been years, but it doesn’t seem like it. It feels so fresh.”

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