Page 15 of Dangerous Vows

There is no fear in her. Not of me, not of this world. That should be dangerous for someone like her. Yet, she moves through life with reckless grace, unafraid to challenge, speak, or demand. I should resent it.

Instead, I’m captivated.

I gently move her hair from her face. I run my hand down her back and hold her until her breathing steadies, and she falls asleep against me.

Hours later, I shift slightly, being mindful not to wake her. I drift in and out of sleep, and I replay the night in my mind—her wit is sharp enough to slice me, her laughter—a weapon as potent as any blade.

I expected the usual dance, the push and pull, and the game of dominance I had played a thousand times before. But she did not yield or cower. She met me head-on, unafraid of the storm I am. And I laughed for the first time in longer than I could remember—caught in a battle of words that I had no intention of winning.

She stirs, murmuring something in her sleep, her fingers curling slightly against my chest. I don’t want to let her go. The thought unsettles me because I’m not one to become attached. I do not linger. Women are temporary.

Yet here I am, lying in the aftermath of her fire and consumed by the embers she stirred inside me. She is dangerous in ways she cannot possibly understand. Not because she is reckless or because she speaks her mind without hesitation. But because she makes me want to keep her.

And I do not keep things.

I watch her for a moment longer before closing my eyes, knowing that when morning comes, she will challenge me again.

And God help me, I will look forward to it.

Somewhere in the wee hours of the morning, I wake with a hard-on that hurts. Her body is entwined with mine. Her shapely leg lies possessively over my hip. I slide out from under her and bury my head in her pussy. Her hips move, inviting me in.

“I think you want something,” I murmur.

She moans.

“Use your words, sweetheart. I want to hear you say you’re mine.”

I move a hand to her breast and grab her hard. She moans, and it’s mixed with a wince of desire as her back arches off the mattress.

“Who do you belong to?”

“You,” she breathes as her body twists with desire under me.

“Good girl. I’m fucking your tight pussy again, and I want to hear you scream my name. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she softly murmurs.

I’m filled with the excitement of a five-year-old on Christmas day as I spread her legs. I lean over her, stroking myself twice before I guide my veined cock into her warm, wet pussy.

She’s putty in my hands, and I love how I make her writhe under my touch. I penetrate her, and her fingernails dig into my shoulders as I pump her so hard that her body shimmies up on the bed.

She glides her hand over my chest, fingers threading through thehair before she gives it a gentle tug, firm enough to hurt, soft enough to make me feel wanted.

I grin into the darkness. My little bird loves to give as good as she gets.

“Come for me, Princess. Say my name.” I thrust into her again, slow and deliberate, my thumb finding her clit and working it in tight, knowing circles. She swells beneath my touch, her body straining toward mine, aching not just with need but for me.

Her breathing is ragged as her orgasm crests. “Pietro!” Her voice pierces the night with an intensity that is sure to make the walls buckle.

She has a death grip on me, and her nails rip into my back. I roar as the pain adds to my euphoria. My body convulses as I come. I shoot my hot cum inside her, and afterward, I slump beside her, falling onto my back because my cock is still hard and stands like a tower.

She moves down my body, and I feel her warm lips warp around my cock. I fear I will be the first person to die of unmitigated pleasure. She sucks me hard as her hand moves up and down my shaft. I’m filled with ecstasy, and son of bitch—she makes me come again.

That’s a first.

I pull her to me before I fall into a deep sleep.

Fuck me, she gives as good as she gets.

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