Page 74 of Made for Saints

Dante’s hand remained on my thigh, his fingers a warm, steady presence that made it impossible to think straight. My pulse thrummed in my ears, drowning out the sound of the TV and the faint hum of the air conditioning. The room felt smaller, the air thicker, as if the world had shrunk to just the two of us and the space between us that was rapidly disappearing.

I should have said something—anything. A sharp retort, a sarcastic quip, a demand for him to leave. But the words caught in my throat, tangled with the heat that spread through my body like wildfire. Instead, I stared at him, my breath shallow, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it.

“Are you always this jumpy?” Dante asked, his voice lowand teasing, his thumb brushing against my leg in a way that felt far too intimate for someone who had just barged into my house uninvited.

“Dante,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Hmm?” he murmured, his fingers tracing small, deliberate circles against my thigh

“What are you doing?” I asked, though the question sounded weak even to my own ears.

“Getting comfortable,” he said, his voice low and smooth, his gaze fixed on mine. “Is that a problem?”

Yes. No. Maybe. I didn’t know anymore. All I knew was that his touch was setting my skin on fire, and the way he was looking at me—like I was the only thing in the room that mattered—was making it impossible to think straight.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” I said finally, though my voice lacked conviction.

Dante’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. “Probably not,” he agreed, his hand sliding just a fraction lower. “But since when do you care about good ideas, princess?”

Before I could respond, his fingers brushed against the bare skin just a fraction away from my core, and my breath hitched. The tension between us crackled like a live wire, and I knew, in that moment, that I was in over my head.

The heat between us was palpable, a storm brewing in the air. His caress set my body on fire, igniting a craving that I never knew existed. As he traced his fingers along my skin, my resistance crumbled like sand against the tide.

I couldn't control my own body, and I knew that. So, why was I letting him do this to me? It didn't make any sense.

The show faded into the background, replaced by the sound of our heavy breathing and the soft rustle of fabric as we moved closer together. The taste of cereal lingering on my tongue mixed with a new, more potent flavor—anxiety and desire tangling in my mouth.

Dante leaned in closer, his lips just a whisper away from mine, and I felt the ground shift beneath me. Nothing hadprepared me for this—the intensity of his gaze, the way he made me feel like I was the only person in the world who mattered.

My heart pounded in my chest as he brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, his hand grazing the side of my neck before tracing a path down to my collarbone. My skin erupted into goosebumps at his touch, and I closed my eyes, lost in the sensation.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" he murmured against my skin, his voice low and raspy.

Something inside me snapped. I didn't know what he was doing or why he was here or how it would all end, but I wanted it anyway.

"Yes," I whispered back, opening my eyes to meet his gaze. "Please."

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching mine for some answer that I couldn't give him. And then he kissed me—a slow, intense press of lips against lips that stole my breath and left me reeling. He tasted like sugar and sin and something so bitter-sweet that it made my head spin. And then he was pulling me closer to him, his fingers curling around my hips, dragging me onto his lap.

I arched against him, my body responding instinctively to his touch, to the hunger that blazed in his eyes. His hands roamed over my skin, igniting a fire that consumed all rational thought. The world around us faded away, leaving only the two of us locked in a dance of desire and need.

His fingers found their way beneath the fabric of my shirt, sending shivers down my spine as he explored every inch of me. Each touch was like a lightning strike, jolting me with pleasure as I surrendered to the intoxicating pull between us.

I gasped as his lips left mine to trail hot kisses along my jawline, down my neck, setting my skin ablaze with each feather-light caress. The room spun around us, a whirlwind of sensation and want that threatened to consume us both.

His hand slipped lower, teasingly close to where I ached forhis touch the most. I whimpered softly, unable to contain the desperate need that I felt welling up inside me. He chuckled, low and wicked, before pressing his fingers against me through my yoga pants, igniting a flame that spread through my core. I cried out, unable to help myself, as he pushed me closer to the edge of pleasure. I couldn't help but press myself deeper against his hand, willing the fabric of my pants to evaporate and bring us closer.

"Such a greedy girl," he groaned, his voice thick with lust. I bucked against his hand, desperate for more, my body arching into him in a futile attempt to ease the ache that was building deep within me.

“More,” I pleaded.

He smirked, his eyes glinting with wicked intent as he pulled back slightly, slipping the waistband of my pants down. I gasped at the cool air that met my skin as he slid them down my hips, leaving me exposed and vulnerable in his grasp.

He leaned in close, his breath hot against my ear as he whispered, "No panties...how very naughty." His fingers traced the edge of my exposed skin, sending shivers up my spine with each stroke.

My heart raced in my chest as I savored the intimacy of this moment: his skin on my skin, his body pressed close to mine. It was a feeling I had never experienced before, this intense longing for another person's touch. But I didn't care about anything else. Right now, all that mattered was the warmth of his body, our breaths in sync, and the way he made me feel alive like never before.

Just the ghost of his fingertips brush over my swollen, pulsing nub, and I almost screamed from the frustration of it. But then—fuck—he pressed harder, circling me with a rhythm so slow and deliberate it felt like torture. My hips bucked again instinctively, grinding into his hand, but he pulled back, chuckling darkly like the sadistic bastard he is.

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