Page 28 of Dante
His smirk transforms into a genuine smile, softening his features for a moment. "Only when I'm in control."
Before I can reply, he increases his pace, driving deeper, harder. Any clever retort dies in my throat, replaced by a desperate moan. The bed trembles beneath us, the headboard knocking against the wall in a rhythm that would be embarrassing if I had any capacity left for shame.
He is breathtaking above me: a few strands of dark hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, beads of sweat trickling down the defined planes of his chest. I can't look away from the flexing muscles of his abdomen, the way his biceps strain as he holds himself above me.
Dante slides a hand beneath my neck, lowering himself until his chest presses against my breasts, his lips at my ear. "You feel fucking incredible," he whispers, his voice rough with desire. "So tight, so wet for me."
I'm close again, a second orgasm building with surprising speed. But something in me rebels against giving him total control. I'mnot a pawn in whatever game is being played between him and my brother. I'm not just collateral damage in their war.
I tap his shoulder. "Dante."
He immediately slows, concern flashing across his features. "Are you alright?"
"I'm great," I assure him, running my hands down his sweat-slick back. "But I want to be on top."
His eyes darken with fresh desire. He wraps an arm around my waist and flips us, never breaking our connection. Suddenly I'm straddling him, his cock somehow deeper from this angle, hitting places inside me that make my vision blur.
I straighten, tossing my hair back, reveling in the way his eyes devour me. His hands grip my hips, guiding but not controlling my movements. I feel powerful like this, watching Dante Veneziano—feared mafia boss, dangerous predator—lying beneath me, looking at me like I'm something precious.
"You're goddamn gorgeous," he breathes, running his hands up to cup my breasts. "Worth dying for."
I shake my head, "If people find out about this, things are really going to get deadly."
"I don't care," he says with startling sincerity. "You're worth everything."
No one has ever spoken to me like this before, as if I'm valuable for who I am, not for my connections or usefulness. It makes me want to give him everything in return.
I begin to bounce, rising and falling on his cock with increasing urgency. My thighs burn with the effort, but the pleasure building inside me eclipses any discomfort. The sound of our bodies meeting is obscenely wet, my arousal making each thrust smoother than the last.
Dante guides my hips, helping me find the perfect angle, the perfect rhythm. His face is a study in passion—jaw clenched, eyes hooded but alert, watching me intently as I ride him.
"You're so beautiful like this," he murmurs, his voice strained. "Taking your pleasure. Taking what you want."
I can feel my orgasm approaching, a tightening deep inside that makes it hard to keep my eyes open. "I'm going to come," I warn him, movements becoming erratic.
In an instant, he pulls me down against his chest, one arm wrapped around my back. With a growl, he plants his feet on the bed and thrusts up into me, hard and fast, taking control again when my strength falters.
The change in angle is all it takes. My pussy tightens around his cock, milking him as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me. It's more intense than before, longer, deeper, stealing my breath and my thoughts.
But Dante doesn't stop. He keeps fucking me through my orgasm, prolonging it until I'm gasping, clutching at his shoulders, overwhelmed by sensation.
Just when I think I can't take any more, he sits up with me still impaled on his cock. I throw my head back as he grips my thighs, holding me in place as he thrusts up. His rhythm falters, becomes more erratic, and then I feel him pulse inside me, his cock jerking as he fills me with his release, a deep groan tearing from his throat.
The sensation of him coming inside me… Marking me, claiming me in the most primal way, sends a shudder through my entire body. No man has ever done that before, has ever made me feel so thoroughly possessed.
We stay joined for several moments, both catching our breath. Finally, I roll off him to lie beside him, one hand resting on his chest, feeling his heartbeat gradually slow.
Unlike me, still struggling to regulate my breathing, Dante seems to recover quickly. He's sweaty, his hair disheveled, but otherwise appears unfazed by what just happened between us. It's both impressive and slightly irritating.
"What now?" I ask, voicing the question that's already forming through the post-orgasmic haze.
He turns to look at me, expression thoughtful. "I have no idea," he admits, surprising me with his candor. "For a man who likes to plan ahead, I certainly never expected this." His hand comes up to brush a strand of hair from my face, the gesture unexpectedly tender. "But I do know one thing. You're mine now, and I'm not letting you go anywhere."
The possessiveness in his voice should frighten me or at least annoy me. Instead, it sends a thrill through my body. "I don't want to go anywhere," I confess, nestling closer to him.
He kisses my forehead gently. "Tomorrow, I'm telling your brother about us."
I pull back, startled. "What? Is that wise?"
