Page 65 of Slay Me

Dante’s hands cover my breasts as he continues to pound into me. I come undone a second time, still pulling at the restraints on my wrists, to no avail. Dante pulls out and pumps his dick once before warm spray covers my belly.

I don’t tear my gaze from his face as he comes, wanting to see his expression at the moment of release. Eyes closed, he’s arched back, chest gleaming with sweat, hand wrapped around his dick.

When he drops his gaze to me, his eyes are burning like twin flames. Power glints along his flesh. Scales shimmer into place along both of his massive biceps, but they’re only visible for a fraction of a second before they’re gone.

His gaze drops to my belly. “Fuck, sorry.”

Before I can respond, he leaves the room and rushes toward the bathroom. How do I tell him that I don’t care? That him coming on me might as well have been a brand that I gratefully accept?

Washcloth in hand, he cleans my belly then returns it to the bathroom and re-emerges with a fresh one. “Spread your legs,” he orders.

I do as he asks, keeping my gaze on him as he finishes cleaning me up. Once he’s done, he takes the cloth back to the bathroom and returns to untie me. Hand on the restraints, he leans down and captures my lips.

I lift my face, tilting up into the tender kiss. My wrists are freed while his lips are still on mine, so I thread my fingers through his hair and pull him closer. The bed dips with his weight as he climbs onto the mattress, not breaking the kiss.

Strong fingers trace my jaw with a tenderness I never would have attributed to a man I’ve always known as a murderer.

A murderer who I just let fuck me into tomorrow.

And already, I want to do it again.

“That was incredible,” I say as soon as he pulls away and nestles onto the mattress beside me. “As in, life-changing, altering, fucking magic. And I destroyed your apartment. I’ve never felt magic like that.” I laugh nervously. “I’ll help fix it, I—”

Dante stills beside me, so I roll to face him. He’s staring up at the ceiling, his breathing sharp.

“What is it?” I sit up. Was it not what he’d been hoping for? Am I not enough? All of my old insecurities slam into me one after the other until all I can hear is Ernesto laughing as he ‘showed me’ what he wanted in a woman. “Maybe I should—” I start to roll off the bed, and Dante pins me to the mattress so quickly he’s little more than a blur of movement.

“Don’t leave,” he chokes out, tone strained.

“What’s going on with you?”

He closes his eyes, and a shiver runs through his body. “I’m struggling to keep—you need to know something.” Releasing me, he climbs off the bed. Dante doesn’t meet my gaze, doesn’t even bother looking straight at me.

“What the hell is going on?” I demand.

“When I touch you—” he starts and then trails off and shakes his head. “My dragon yearns to possess you.”

“Um, I’m not—”

“Not like that,” he snaps. Then, he drops to his knees beside the bed and stares up at me. “I don’t think you realize what you mean to me.”

I swallow hard. “I—” But I don’t finish the thought. Telling the man on his knees in front of me that I like him seems like a massive understatement. But I don’t know the words. It’s not love. Affection is far too tame a word. What I feel for Dante is pure, carnal, and as exciting as it is terrifying.

“You don’t need to say anything,” he replies. “But you need to understand that what’s between us, I don’t take it lightly. And while we’re together, you’re with no one else. Am I clear?”

“Crystal. And I expect the same from you.”

Dante smiles up at me. “No other could ever come close to you, Liv. Not now. Not ever.”

Chapter21

Liv

I’m a dead woman.

Blood drips from my busted lip and a gash on my forehead. I’m pretty damn sure my wrist is broken, though I don’t stop. The adrenaline pulsating through my veins keeps the pain manageable, but I know that it’s only temporary. Eventually, the pain will catch up to me. And if I haven’t found safety—refuge—by then, my attackers will catch up, and then it’ll be lights out for me.

Blood trickles into my eyes, momentarily blocking my vision. I rapidly wipe it away with the back of my uninjured hand and continue limping through the alley, cradling my busted arm against my chest as I do. Each move is agony. Each breath a chore.

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