Page 36 of Ravaged Saints

“Did you enjoy it?” Dante’s voice cuts in, smooth and confident. Her gaze shifts to him, and the little vixen lets her eyes linger on his lips.

He smirks, and it’s the kind of smirk that promises sin. “Want to give me a try?” His tone is calm, almost teasing, but there’s an edge of dominance only Dante can pull off so effortlessly.

Aspen runs a finger across her lips, eyes locked on him, unblinking. Slowly, she reaches out, tracing that same finger over his mouth, pressing lightly until his lips part beneath her touch. She doesn’t stop. Her fingertip teases the curve of his lower lip, lingering, exploring, and when his tongue flicks out, tasting her skin, a slow, wicked smile tugs at her lips. Fucking vixen, she’s not as innocent as she made us believe!

Dante moves, one hand sliding behind her head, fingers tangling in her hair, tilting her just how he wants. The other drags down, curling around her waist, his splayed fingers pressing into the small of her back—holding her there, right against him. Even kneeling, Dante’s sheer size makes her look small.

She leans down, and I step back, letting the show play out in front of me.

Her head dips, and Dante moves up, claiming her mouth like he owns it, his grip on her head firm. He’s testing her—seeing how she handles the roughness, the demand.

“Dante,” she breathes against his lips, and that one word is enough to make him stand, rising to his full, towering six-five. Her neck arches, her body tilting to keep up with him, but she doesn’t pull away. She’s matching him, inch for inch, and it’s driving me insane.

Their tongues tangle, a battle for control, and then she moans—a sound so soft yet loud enough to make me want to grab her back. Her hands slide lower, skimming his jeans, dangerously close to grabbing his ass.

Fuck.

Dante’s hand tightens in her hair, angling her head; his other hand slides down, grabbing a fistful of her ass like it’s his for the taking, and she gasps into his mouth, the sound swallowed by the force of his kiss.

Dante pulls her head back, breaking the kiss with a deliberate slowness that feels more like a tease. His lips curve into a dangerous smile. “We need to stop, doll, or I won’t be able to fight the urge to fuck you.”

Aspen pushes him away, and he lets her, stepping back without resistance, even though the fire in his eyes hasn’t dimmed. “You both should leave,” she says, eyes heavy, but there isn’t any regret in her eyes.

Dante nods as he cracks his neck. “Eat,” he orders, gesturing to the tray.

Without another word, we step out of the room, locking the door into place behind us.

“Fuck, Grit!” I exhale sharply, the tension in my body coiled so tight it hurts, and my cock is throbbing, screaming for release behind my zipper, but I have to ignore it.

Dante chuckles, low and dark. “That went better than I expected.” He licks his lips slowly, savoring the taste of her, and I know it’s still there, just like it’s still on mine.

“Knox is going to enjoy this new development,” I say, half joking but fully aware of how this is about to unravel.

Dante smirks, the devil in his expression as we head upstairs, leaving the temptation locked behind that door.

For now.

Aspen

I’m pacing the room like a damn lunatic, my mind racing with questions I can’t answer. Did I really just kiss Max and Dante? What the hell is wrong with me?

I need to get out of this room. My hands won’t stop shaking, my stomach keeps twisting, and my skin feels too hot, like I’ve been burned from the inside out.

I’ve kissed before. College make-outs in dark dorm rooms; they were sloppy, forgettable encounters that meant nothing. Butthis? What Max and Dante did to me—that wasn’t just a kiss. That was something different, something… dangerous.

And the worst part? My bodywants more.

Groaning, I throw myself onto the mattress and bury my face in the covers. Those damn magazines are getting to me, putting ideas in my head; stupid, ridiculous ideas. I should’ve stuck to the boring car ones, or maybe the guns. At least those wouldn’t make me feel like I’m suffocating under the weight of… whateverthisis.

I lift my head, glaring at the closet. The magazines are still in there, stacked neatly like they’re mocking me. I should ignore them. Pretend they don’t exist, but instead, I feel that familiar pull, that stupid urge to grab another one.

With a sigh, I drag myself off the bed, my resolve crumbling as I snatch the next magazine from the stack.

Oh, this is going to be bad.

I flip it open and skim the page, my eyes catching on the first bold heading.

A laugh slips out before I can stop it. Right.Protectiveandnurturing? That’s about as far from this group as it gets. I can’t picture any of them holding someone close and murmuring sweet nothings.

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