22. TWENTY-TWO
twenty-two
Time stands still. I pray to live in that moment for much longer than I deserve.
Yet the smallest whisper at the back of my mind begs for Dante to be the sane one—to push me away, to stop this. I resent that voice and try to silence it, fearing it will get its wish.
But a miracle happens. When time swings forward again, Dante kisses me back.
One of his arms clutches me round the waist, the other cradling my face as he leans in hungrily. I slide my arms around his neck, cementing us together. The soaring in my chest is like sunlight itself is clawing out of me, numbing the shock of blood—my blood—mingling with the taste of the kiss.
His affection is all-encompassing, unraveling me moment by moment. My hands travel down his shoulders, not to release him, but to find the laces of his tunic. I tear at the knot until it comes undone. As I tug at his shirt, his tongue swirls against mine—desperate and starved for more, more.
When we finally pause for breath, Dante chuckles. “That’s not a terrible look on you,” he says huskily.
Frowning, I touch my mouth and find that our kiss has smeared blood across the bottom of my face. His eyes glint upon the sight before he leans in and kisses the corner of my mouth. Lips parting, he drags his tongue over my skin, cleaning the blood with a low growl at the back of his throat.
As my pulse throbs in my dizzy temple, I am aware of another throb at my neck. I gingerly touch the wound, finding that the fang punctures have not quite healed over. The venom is working quickly to seal me back up, but I am desperate to give him more.
The moment his lips leave my jaw, I smear more blood upon his mouth tenderly. He stiffens, catching my hand and staring into my eyes, wild with delighted surprise.
He licks his lips, savoring the crimson smear, before slowly guiding my hand toward his mouth.
Dante’s thrilled hum rumbles against my skin as I offer my fingertips for him to suck the blood off.
One of his fangs grazes the side of my finger as I pull it out.
And then I surge forward and kiss him again, the coppery taste of my own blood blossoming over my tongue along with the taste of him.
A pleasant shiver travels up my thighs, making my hips bump against his. His hands squeeze my waist while I clench his open tunic. His smile turns searching, a question shining in his eyes. Are you sure this is what you want?
I nod impatiently. “Yes. Yes.”
A toothy grin spreads across his face. As though unleashed, his hands move with more confident urgency. He pulls me to my feet and begins undressing me at once. He tugs at my sleeves first, then rips at the laces of my bodice. The pressure eases from around my torso, excited breaths coming freely.
“This damn thing,” he mutters, followed by the rip of fabric. In his haste, he’s torn the bodice in two.
“Eager, aren’t we?” I say with a breathless giggle.
“That’s too small a word.”
Satisfied, he pulls the ruined bodice down my legs.
He settles on his knees and looks up at me slowly.
I wet my lips, searching for air. I never expected this—for him to gaze up at me like I’m some goddess he’s been awaiting.
He seems to have found the strength to test my patience now, unrushed as he slides the bodice down to my ankles.
He lifts my chemise skirt and caresses my leg—sliding his hands up my calves, my thighs—then presses a kiss tantalizingly close to the heat burning between my thighs.
Standing back to his full, towering height, he takes both my hands to hold me steady as I step out of the gown.
I spare a look at the destroyed puddle of fabric. “That was expensive, you know.”
He kicks the gown aside. “I’ll buy you hundreds more. Thousands.”
His eyes rove me up and down—and that is the only warning he gives before pouncing.
In only my sleeveless chemise, he scoops me into his arms and slams me up against the window.
The impact cracks the glass behind the curtains, delicious pain smarting through my back.
As I gasp from the sting of it, his lips crush against my open mouth.
I am weightless in his arms, my heart thundering a runaway rhythm.
I wind my thighs around his waist, which rocks firmly against me like he’s already imagining that he’s inside me.
I have never felt so desired, have never wished to be consumed and to consume in return. I am insatiable.
I lower shaking hands to the belt cinching the tunic around his waist, fumbling with the metal buckle between kisses.
“This is a bad idea,” I pant.
“Terrible,” he agrees with a wicked grin.
Releasing my legs, I slide the leather belt free and let it fall to the ground with a thump.
Before I can undress him further, he’s on me again.
He runs his hands up my arms, over my shoulders, savoring my bare skin—a foreign sensation that makes me teeter with pleasure.
One hand reaches all the way up my back to knot itself in my hair and pull.
The other hand cups my ass, giving it a squeeze.
Both sensations duel for my attention, make me squirm and whimper.
“You make the sweetest noises,” he murmurs. “So filthy coming from those innocent lips.” His half-lidded eyes search my face. “What sounds will you make, I wonder, when I push inside of you? I’ve imagined it. Being deprived of you has been agony.”
I sigh in agreement. “Please,” I whisper. “First let me—” I squirm out of his grasp and start to drop to my knees in front of him, fingertips skating down his sides—attempting to uphold a useless illusion that I know what I’m doing.
Dante gives a breathless chuckle. “I’m flattered, darling, but I’m not patient enough to wait a second longer.”
He bends to scoop me into his arms, and I only have time to gasp before he tosses me onto the mattress.
I prop myself up, watching as he peels off his tunic. Holding my breath, I drink in his bare torso without an ounce of shame. My stare lingers upon the bulge already pushing at his trousers.
My stomach flutters in anticipation. Tonight. Tonight I will know what it feels like.
I follow his lead and pull my chemise over my head, tossing aside my last bit of modesty over the side of the bed.
My braid is already disheveled from our enthusiastism—a loose mockery of the style I’d woven that morning.
I tug the ribbon free and work my fingers through my long hair, letting it rest in wild, tumbling locks just past my shoulders.
Dante’s breath catches when he sees my naked form, all his urgency coming to a momentary standstill.
His eyes darken as he observes me—hungrier still and carrying fathomless depths of lust. A shiver of uncertainty races through me.
Surely that look shouldn’t be reserved for the likes of me. Is he hiding disappointment?
But Dante leaves me no space to dwell on my question of adequacy.
He crawls over me on the bed with the grace of a prowling predator. He is upon me, dragging his mouth between my breasts before finding my lips again.
As he straddles me and I look up at his face, I can’t contain a soft burst of laughter. The last time I’d looked up at him like this, I’d been trying to drive a stake through his heart on the floor of my bedroom in the D’Agnosito villa.
“This view is familiar.”
He grins back. “Isn’t it?”
I hesitate, my breath slowing as my fingertips dance over his bare shoulders uncertainly. If we were locked in battle, I would have a dozen different ways to react—I wouldn’t even need to stop and think. But this…
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“I’m not sure how to…” My eyes flick to his, face flushing deeper.
Understanding floods his expression. “It’s alright. Touch me.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere you want.”
Feeling silly at first, I let my hands wander over his muscular chest, down his abs, then back up to his shoulders.
With more certainty, I squeeze the hard-earned muscle.
When his eyes go half-lidded, savoring my touch, I relax.
In return, his calloused hand palms my left breast and squeezes, massaging it.
I squeak as he plucks my nipple into a rigid bump.
His breathing turns ragged as he surveys his work, and then he ducks his head and sucks.
A sharp inhale tears out of me, my back arching like I’ve been pulled up by a thread. His tongue swirls over my nipple, hot and needy, teeth playing on the sensitive skin—all of it so fierce, I wonder if he won’t lose himself and really take a bite out of me somewhere.
The moment he surfaces with a little pop, I surge upward, gripping him tightly in unspoken desperation.
I kiss his chest, his shoulders—each press of my lips a moment of tender worship.
When I reach the base of his neck where a fluttering pulse should have lived, I pause, inhaling him.
The scent of his skin is drugging. I brush my lips down the strong column of his throat, savoring the way he leans into me.
Then, I bite down until I hear a hiss of pain from him.
“Vicious as ever,” Dante says, voice low and coarse. “When I could snap you in half.”
“Shut up,” I pant.
He buries me in another kiss, one hand sliding to my throat as he guides me into place. His fingers lock firmly, holding me down.
A shiver of pleasure seizes through my spine and tingles down my legs, making my hips buck. A gasp flies past my lips.
Dante freezes. “Oh.” Wickedness threads his voice, like a cat spying a mouse. “You like that?”
I nod, giving a strangled assent.
His teeth flash as he chuckles. “I shouldn’t be surprised, my little slayer. You don’t just want pleasure, do you? You want penance. You want to suffer for things you haven’t even done.”
He applies more pressure, and my airflow is significantly reduced. He leans in, lips brushing above my ear.
“Yes, you love being collared like this, don’t you?” His deep, husky voice makes my hands clench tighter on his shoulders. “You love belonging to me.”
All I can manage is a choked noise.