22. TWENTY-TWO #3
I can feel my heartbeat pounding in my face as he looks down at me, unnervingly patient despite that glaze of lust darkening his eyes. I’d be anxious with even the most average fellow, but Dante is above average in many ways—height included. And now, seeing all of him…
“No, it’s just—I’m…” I swallow hard, voice dropping. “Will it…fit?”
The corner of his mouth lifts, but it’s not quite a smirk. He shifts to one arm, tucking a few unruly strands of soot-black hair off my face.
“It will fit, but it may hurt for a moment,” he says.
I search his face, then nod. Any pain will be my penance.
Dante fills me slowly. I’m wet enough that he slides in with little resistance—apart from my own body clenching up. I gasp and whimper at the brief, sharp sting that follows when my muscles stretch and tense around his width.
“Shhh, relax,” Dante purrs soothing words over me. I do my best to obey, acutely aware of each inch of progress he makes. “Breathe, that’s it. That’s it. Good girl.”
Through the haze, a bleary mantra surfaces in my mind: yes, I deserve this. I deserve this—and Dante is worthy to be my punisher and my sweetness.
“Oh God,” I gasp out, shrill and hoarse.
In a few seconds, the pain ebbs, replaced with an overwhelming fullness, heightened sensations flickering through every fiber of me. Our heavy breathing mingles as he moves skillfully, his tempo gradually rising.
“Fuck… This pussy,” Dante groans through his teeth like he’s having a religious experience, punctuated by a thrust that nearly shoves me up the bed. “So fucking tight—” Thrust. “And wet.”
I feel a thread forge between us as I cling to him, exertion beading like dew on our skin. I see every chance he’s had to kill me—all discarded. Every moment he’s protected me, even in his own twisted way. How he had comforted me. How he never asked to be the creature he’d become.
I kiss him again, shattering every rule I’d ever held dear.
Dante scans my face when we break apart, the faintest crease between his brows.
“Are you still—” he starts.
I cut him off, squeezing him roughly. “Harder. Please.”
His half-lidded gaze gleams, a dark smile flickering. I can take this. I need this.
He seizes my left arm and pins it over my head.
I fight back a little, testing his strength.
The sting of his grip solidifies to keep me where he’s put me while his thrusts turn punishing, eliciting an ache where his fingers close around my wrist. A sharp, breathless laugh escapes me when I catch the smirk that crosses his face—both of us pulled by the urge to prove ourselves a victor, even now, like the memories of sparring were never far from mind.
I can’t keep quiet now, moans spilling out of me.
I can only be grateful for a brief, convenient clap of thunder outside that masks my strangled voice.
At one point, Dante nearly folds me in half, with my knees tucked up by his shoulders.
It’s hard not to feel like a plaything for a moment, a tool for pleasure—but the way he’s looking at me is nothing short of worshiping.
I’m powerless and a goddess all at once; both revered and defiled. I don’t feel used. I’m claiming a piece of him every bit as much as Dante is taking me.
“Will you think of me, the next time you touch yourself?” Dante asks breathlessly.
My response catches in my throat as he slams into me. I can feel his rhythm becoming more urgent, my walls tightening around him again. Everything inside me is building, building—
“Yes,” I cry, a confession readily shared. I’d say anything he wanted to hear right now, anyway. I’m putty in his hands, my head spinning. “Yes, Dante.”
He growls roughly when I say his name, and I’m present enough to be touched by the sentiment. I’ve never seen him like this—so starved for someone’s touch, someone’s voice.
Starved for me.
I can only pray that a lifetime of saving others and devotion to Corvus’ mission might grant me forgiveness for this delicious sin.
I spill over the edge with a strangled gasp, my eyes fluttering as the orgasm ripples through me. Dante’s face is buried in my neck and I cling to him, pulling his hair as waves of ecstasy crash again and again.
No, I’m definitely going to hell, I think as my head slowly begins to clear.
He’s still pumping inside me, but I feel a shift, catch his eyes roll toward the ceiling. It dawns on me that he’s about to finish, too.
Dante pulls out of me with urgency, and I can only gape blearily as he fists his cock and cums on my stomach, long shoots of it ribboning over my bare skin.
He freezes, knees still locked around my thighs, shoulders rising and falling with labored breaths.
“Sorry, I…” He pants, trailing off as I drag a finger through a line of it and bring it to my mouth, tasting him. Saltiness and musk wash over my tongue.
I let my finger hover there against my parted lips, smiling nervously as I gauge his expression—have I done something wrong? Dante’s mouth opens and shuts, blinking as lust evidently crashes into him all over again.
“My filthy angel,” he breathes, all but tackling me in his urgency to cradle my face in his hands, crushing his lips to mine.
I shriek with laughter as he rolls on his side, pulling me with him.