Page 27 of Dante
"So many," she whispers, fingers gently tracing a particularly vicious scar that runs along my ribs.
"Occupational hazards," I say lightly, not wanting to dwell on the violence of my past, not now when she's half-naked and willing before me.
She looks up, something determined flashing in her eyes.
"Show me," she says, backing toward the bed, pulling me with her. "Show me that not everything in your world is about violence and control."
I follow her down onto the bed, covering her body with mine, slowly to keep most of my weight on my forearms. Her skin is hot against mine, her breasts pressing against my chest as I capture her mouth again.
"I'm going to taste every inch of you," I promise against her lips. "Make you come so hard you forget your own name."
"Big talk," she breathes, arching against me as I trail kisses down her neck. "Let's see if you can deliver."
I chuckle against her skin. Even now, she challenges me. Fights back. It's intoxicating.
I make my way down her body, taking my time, savoring her responses. The soft gasp when I nip at her collarbone. The way her back arches when I take a lace-covered nipple into my mouth, teasing it through the fabric before pushing the bra aside to taste her properly. The tremble that runs through her thighs when I settle between them, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin.
By the time I hook my fingers into the waistband of her panties, she's writhing beneath me, her composure shattered. I pull the lace down slowly, revealing her to my hungry gaze.
"Dante," she moans, half plea, half demand.
"Patience," I murmur, spreading her thighs wider, positioning myself between them. "Good things come to those who wait."
"I've been waiting all night," she counters, propping herself up on her elbows to watch me.
I lower my mouth to her pussy, giving her one long, slow lick that makes her collapse back onto the bed with a strangled cry. I take my time, learning what makes her gasp, what makes her moan, what makes her hands fist in the sheets.
When I slip two fingers inside her while sucking gently on her clit, she comes apart with a broken cry of my name, her body clenching around my fingers. I work her through it, not letting up until she's pushing at my shoulders, oversensitive.
I move up her body, kissing my way back to her mouth, letting her taste herself on my lips. She responds with enthusiasm, her hands working at my belt, then my zipper.
Chapter 10 - Elena
I can't believe what's happening as my hands work frantically at his belt and zipper. My body is still humming from the orgasm he just gave me.
The most intense I've ever experienced, and I'm desperate for more. His mouth, his fingers, the way he seems to know exactly how to touch me... it's like he's crawled under my skin, igniting every nerve ending.
Dante Veneziano. My family's enemy, a dangerous man who hours ago I watched incapacitate armed attackers without breaking a sweat, just made me come with his mouth, and I'm already craving more. What the fuck is happening to me?
He helps me push down his pants and briefs, kicking them aside with impatient movements. When his cock springs free, I can't help the small gasp that escapes me. It's magnificent—thick, flushed, the head already glistening with precum. It juts proudly from a nest of dark hair, heavy and imposing like everything else about him.
"See something you like?" he asks, that infuriating smirk playing at his lips.
"Your cock should be in my gallery," I breathe, unable to filter my thoughts. "It's a fucking work of art."
He chuckles. "High praise from a curator of your caliber."
I don't care anymore if I'll regret this in an hour or in twenty-four. This moment belongs to us and the night. I spread my legs wider, reaching down to run my fingers through my own wetness, putting on a show for him.
"I need you inside me," I tell him, watching his eyes darken as he follows the movement of my fingers. "Now."
He doesn't make me wait, positioning himself between my thighs, the head of his cock nudging at my entrance. I'm so wet he slides in easily, filling me completely.
"Fuck," he groans, holding still for a moment as if savoring the sensation. "You're perfect."
He begins to move, setting a steady rhythm that has me gasping with each thrust. His arms bracket me, muscles flexing with the effort of holding himself above me. His eyes never leave mine, watching every reaction, every flicker of pleasure that crosses my face. And that goddamn smirk is still there, self-satisfied and knowing.
"Do you," I gasp between thrusts, "always smirk this much?"
