Page 34 of Ruthless Silence
I catch her face in my hands, forcing her to look at me, making it clear with every part of me: I don't care about contracts.
The dismissal makes her pupils blow wide with lust. Then I'm kissing down her throat, finding her pulse point and sucking hard enough to leave a dark mark. Mine. Let everyone see she's mine.
She gasps, hands fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer even as she trembles. I work the buttons of her blouse with fingers that shake slightly, not from nerves but from need barely leashed. Simple cotton bra beneath, practical white that somehow makes my cock throb harder than any lace could. Her nipples are already hard, straining against the fabric.
She moves to cover herself, sudden shyness breaking through her anger. I catch her hands gently but firmly, placing them on the desk beside her hips.
"Trust me," I sign, then wait.
The war plays across her face: desire battling with fear, need fighting against vulnerability. Finally, she nods, just once, leaving herself exposed to my gaze.
"Beautiful," I sign, then add with possessive certainty: "Mine."
I unhook her bra with one hand, revealing perfect breasts topped with pink nipples that beg for my mouth. The first touch of my tongue to her nipple makes her cry out, back arching off the desk. I suck hard, then gentle, learning what makes her squirm. Her other breast gets the same attention while my hand works the first nipple, rolling and pinching until she's gasping my name.
My hands slide up her thighs, pushing her skirt higher. The fabric bunches around her waist, leaving her in just simple white cotton panties that are already soaked through. The sight makesmy cock leak precum, desperate to be inside her. But not tonight. Tonight is about her.
She tenses as I hook my fingers in her underwear. I pause, waiting for permission I won't take without.
"Please," she whispers, lifting her hips.
I slide the cotton down her legs slowly, revealing her pussy to my hungry gaze. She's perfect: pink and glistening with arousal, completely bare except for a small patch of dark curls. My mouth actually waters at the sight.
I drop to my knees between her spread thighs, and her eyes go wide with understanding. A don's enforcer on his knees. If my enemies could see me now. But I don't care about anything except the woman trembling above me.
"Dante," she whispers, the first time she's said my name soft like that.
I press kisses to her inner thigh, gentle now, patient. She's shaking, not from fear but from anticipation. Her hands hover uncertainly before finding my hair, fingers threading through the strands but not pulling. Not yet.
The first touch of my tongue to her pussy makes her cry out, hips bucking off the desk. She's already so wet, arousal coating my tongue as I lick from her entrance to her clit in one long stroke. The taste of her makes me groan silently. I'm addicted already. Salt and sweet and uniquely her.
"Oh God," she gasps, thighs trembling on either side of my head.
I work her with my tongue, learning what makes her gasp, what makes her moan. Circles around her clit make her hips rock. Direct pressure makes her pull my hair. I catalog every response, storing it away for later. When I suck her clit into my mouth, she nearly comes off the desk entirely.
I slide one finger carefully inside her, feeling how tight she is. Virgin tight. The thought makes my cock throb painfully. Sheclenches around my finger immediately, pussy gripping me like a vise.
"Please," she gasps, not even knowing what she's begging for.
I add a second finger, stretching her carefully, curling forward to find her G-spot. The first brush against it makes her eyes roll back, a stream of Italian curses falling from her lips. I work that spot relentlessly while my tongue circles her clit, building her higher.
Her thighs start to shake, her pussy clenching rhythmically around my fingers. She's close, fighting the building pleasure, scared of the intensity.
I pull back just enough to catch her eyes, signing with my free hand: "Let go. I have you."
Then I seal my mouth over her clit and suck hard while my fingers press that spot inside her. She breaks immediately, back arching off the desk as her first orgasm crashes through her. Her pussy clamps down on my fingers, pulsing as waves of pleasure wrack her body. She's crying out something that might be my name, might be God's, might be both.
I work her through it, gentling my touch as she becomes sensitive, until she's pushing weakly at my shoulders. But I'm not done. Before she can fully come down, I dive back in, tongue replacing my fingers at her entrance. I fuck her with my tongue, tasting her orgasm, feeling her walls flutter.
"I can't," she gasps, but her hips are already moving against my face, chasing something she doesn't understand yet.
My thumb finds her clit, still swollen and sensitive, and I circle it gently while my tongue works inside her. The combination has her climbing again impossibly fast. This time when she comes, she screams, thighs clamping around my head as her whole body convulses.
I keep going, addicted to her taste, to her sounds, to the way she falls apart for me. A third orgasm builds before the second fully ends, and she's sobbing now, overwhelmed by sensation.
"Dante, please, I can't."
But she can. I know she can. I slide three fingers inside her, stretching her more, preparing her for what will come another day. My tongue on her clit is relentless now, and when I curl my fingers just right, she shatters completely. This orgasm is different, deeper, longer, her whole body locking up as she gushes around my fingers, wetness coating my hand and chin.
