Page 47 of Savage Vows
I kiss her hard, swallowing the sound, my hand sliding under her dress, fingers finding her panties soaked through. Christ, she’s drenched.
I push the lace aside, my cock throbbing at the heat pouring off her. I sink two fingers into her in one thrust, deep, my palm grinding against her clit as I fuck her with my hand. She jerks against me, her gasp muffled by my mouth, her thighs tightening around my waist.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” I growl, thrusting my fingers harder, curling them just right to make her shudder. “You’re gonna come all over my hand, aren’t you?”
Her nails rake my shoulders, her head hitting the wall with a soft thud as her hips roll against me, chasing every stroke. Her moans spill into my mouth, broken and desperate, the sound of them echoing down the hall.
It’s reckless. Anyone could round the corner and see her legs wrapped around me, my hand shoved under her dress, my fingers buried in her soaked pussy. The thought only makes me pump faster.
Her walls clamp down around my fingers, her body seizing as her moan breaks free, sharp and needy. “Dante!”
I press my palm harder against her clit, working her through it, watching her fall apart against me. She trembles in my arms, her pussy pulsing around my fingers as she comes, wetness slickingmy hand. I kiss her again, rough and claiming, until her moans soften into little whimpers, her body limp against me.
I pull my fingers free, soaked, and bring them to my mouth, sucking them clean with a low groan. Her eyes widen, cheeks flushed, chest heaving—and fuck, she’s never looked more beautiful.
I set her down gently, the hem of her dress falling back into place, books scattered across the floor at our feet.
My cock aches, hard and unrelieved, but I don’t care. Not when I just made her come undone against the wall where anyone could’ve seen.
And from the look in her eyes, she knows it too.
13
ADRIANA
What ishe doing to me?
My body is still trembling, my pussy still quivering around nothing, the aftershocks of release making it hard to breathe. I can feel the slickness between my thighs, proof of what he just did to me in the middle of the hallway, pressed against the wall like I belonged there.
And I let him.
I saw him kill a man. I watched the life drain out of someone’s eyes because of him, and now I surrender to his hands, his mouth, like I have no will of my own? What the hell is wrong with me?
Anger spikes, hot and sudden, enough to cut through the haze. I shove at his chest, harder than I mean to, but he stumbles back a step, surprise flickering in his eyes.
“Don’t,” I snap, though my voice shakes. I can still taste him, feel him, and it makes me furious at him, at myself.
I bend to gather my books, hands unsteady, heart still racing. My fingers close around the top one and my stomach clenches. I hope to God he didn’t see what I was reading.
The cover is half-hidden against my chest as I stack the rest. I don’t look at him. I can’t.
I straighten, clutching the pile to me like a shield, and start walking. My legs feel weak, but I force them to carry me forward, away from him, away from the heat still smoldering in my skin.
I don’t dare glance back to see if he’s watching me.
I slip into my room and close the door behind me. The quiet feels good. I set my books and bag on the bed, pull out my phone, and swipe to the photos Bella AirDropped earlier.
I scroll.
Dance floor—lights too bright, faces half-blurred.
Hallway—dark, “Staff Only” sign on a crooked door.
Back bar—bottles lined up like soldiers, a bouncer’s shoulder in the corner.
I go back and start again, slower. Zoom. Pan. On the third pass I see it.
A thin, light-blue paper band on a girl’s wrist. Another photo, different girl, same band. One more, in the hallway, and there it is again—tucked under a sleeve, the little notch where it fastens. I check the other guests. They have bands of a different color on their arms.
