Page 12 of The Hitman's Forbidden Obsession

He pulls back with a smile.

“We’re just getting started,” he says, sliding an arm under my knees and lifting me off my feet.

My breath catches. His muscles bunch under my hands, and then we’re moving. He carries me effortlessly, despite the fact that I’m not exactly a lightweight. I bury my face in his neck, breathing him in, letting his warmth seep into me.

It doesn’t take long before we’re stepping into his bedroom. I only catch a glimpse of the dark wood and black bedding before I’m laid down gently on the sheets. He’s on top of me a second later, his big body pinning mine to the mattress, his mouth finding my neck.

I wrap my arms around him, letting him nip and suck, reveling in the sensation of his weight bearing down on me.

He’s got a hand up my dress again, and then his thumb is tracing slow circles over my clit while he kisses down my neck, over the tops of my breasts, along the edge of my dress. I can’t help arching up into his touch, gasping at the sensation, and then his hands are on the zipper at the side of my dress, working it down.

He’s tugging the fabric off, baring me inch by inch, and he’s so focused on the task that I have to fight the urge to cover myself with my hands. He’s undressing me like it’s a privilege, not a chore. Like he can’t wait to see all of me.

By the time the dress is tossed away, I’m trembling.

I’ve always been self-conscious of my body. Too curvy. Too much everywhere. My stomach is soft, my thighs full and thick. There are stretch marks on my hips and my breasts. I know men aren’t interested in that.

I’ve never had a guy see me this way. Not completely bare and vulnerable.

“Christ,” Dante says, staring down at me. His voice is thick and his eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them.

Heat surges through me. He doesn’t seem to mind. Not the curves, or the marks, or the imperfections.

In fact, he looks hungry. Starved.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says, voice rough with emotion.

“I...”

He shakes his head, cutting off my words. “No. Don’t even try to argue with me, Avery.”

Then his lips are back on my skin, kissing a path down over the curve of my stomach, along the insides of my thighs, and I’m squirming against him, unsure how much more I can take.

His eyes flick up, finding mine. Holding them.

“You’re going to come on my tongue,” he says, and it’s not a request.

He peels my panties off, sliding them down my legs before discarding them on the floor. Then his mouth is on me a second later, hot and insistent, licking and sucking, and I’m lost. I fall back against the pillows, fingers tangling in his hair, hips rocking, chasing the feeling. He makes a low noise of approval, and the vibration makes my toes curl.

He licks and teases, making me writhe and whimper, his hands gripping my thighs hard, keeping me spread open. It’s so filthy, and so hot, and so good. And the whole time, he keeps watching me, those dark eyes drinking in every sound and every reaction.

Like I’m the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen.

“Dante,” I gasp, the word falling from my lips.

He groans, his mouth working faster, tongue lashing over my clit, and I’m arching off the bed, so close to the edge, my breath coming in shallow pants.

“Come for me, angel,” he says, voice muffled.

And then he’s licking me, faster and harder, his grip tightening on my thighs, and oh, God, I’m falling. I’m flying. I’m lost somewhere in a storm of pleasure, and his mouth is relentless, working me through it, only slowing when the aftershocks are finally done.

“You taste like fucking heaven,” he says, his lips curving.

His mouth is wet with my release. My face is burning. My whole body is trembling and languid and sated, and yet, somehow, I still want more.

He moves up the bed, settling over me again, his lips finding mine.

“So sweet,” he whispers. “I could get addicted.”

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