Chapter 26
ROMI
The moment Dante closes in on my space, I know I can’t shoot him. In fact, I already did that, and it seemed he liked it. I’ve never been much of a coward. I’ve always fought everything head-on, and when it comes to Dante, I’ve thrown every piece of shrapnel I can to keep him at a distance.
It was only ever meant to be sex.
He was only ever meant to please me.
Yet, somehow, he’s carved himself into me—psychotically so.
I shouldn’t want a killer for a lover, but he’s become a toxic need.
I shouldn’t desire a madman who always shows up, even when he’s not invited. But that’s who Dante is. Filling a void in some fucked-up fairy tale, telling me to get on my knees in a puddle of mud so he can fuck me.
And yet, I find myself doing exactly that. Because for the first time, I’m seeing all of Dante, the man who claims in earnest he wants me. And I believe him.
It’s cold and wet, my hair is drenched and stuck to my face, my denim skirt is pushed up over my hips, and the gun lies beside me, still within reach, adding a dangerous element as I submit and come to eye level with his bleeding leg.
I could’ve gone for his chest. I’m a pretty good shot, but the thought of ending this man, no matter how often I threaten it, is diabolical, and I don’t know when or how he started to gain this hold over me.
The tips of his cold fingers trail across my chin and then around the back of my head. He circles me approvingly. My heart rate picks up, for the first time with him, I’m not in control. It thrills me as much as it scares me.
His leather jacket hits the ground, and the sight of one of his scalpels in his hand has me sucking in my breath as he stops in front of me.
A shiver of fear mixed with anticipation runs through me as he cuts down the front of my shirt, splitting it in two, revealing my cold, hard nipples.
He reaches behind me to pull the garment off.
A guttural noise escapes him as he flips the scalpel and offers it to me by the handle.
“What do you want me to do with this?” I ask as I take it.
“Ordinarily, I’d ask you to cut me open with it and leave your mark, but maybe not tonight since you’ve already shot me. I’m going to need some blood left for the way I’m going to fuck you in this mud.”
I take in a harsh breath. Not one ounce of him is joking. Dante is well and truly unhinged. My pussy begins throbbing eagerly, waiting for his next command. It’s fucked-up, and yet I can’t pull away from him. Don’t want to anymore.
He removes his shirt, the rain trailing over his tatted stomach and chest, then he moves on to his pants.
I’m mostly naked, left with only my panties intact.
He places his leather jacket in front of me, commanding, "Hands and knees, Cattivella.
" He studies me for a moment, radiating masculinity, his other scalpel glinting in his hand.
It’s fucking freezing, yet my body is on fire as he steps behind me and kneels.
I look over my shoulder, watching him with bewilderment as he moves in close, the length of his cock pressing against my underwear as he rubs himself back and forth at my entrance.
I push back slightly, begging for what’s to come.
But instead, he roughly grabs the back of my hair, arching my throat so painfully I can barely breathe.
“You’ve turned me insane,” he growls.
“You were already there,” I whisper.
His cold, cruel smile widens, creating that perfect single dimple. “You have no idea the things you’ve done to me or what I’m capable of, Cattivella.”
I feel the chill of the scalpel's blade slip between my panties and my skin, and I'm mesmerized by the way he so elegantly slices down the material. He rips the underwear from my body, leaving me bare as he rubs his cock against my lips.
“Do you know how fucking wet you are for me, Cattivella?” he asks rhetorically, with a carnal edge in his gaze.
There's an obvious need to stake his claim as he brings the hand with my underwear to my face. It’s cold and wet from the rain, but my nostrils flare.
“I want you to smell yourself. Know how you smell and taste to me. I’ve been a starved man these weeks while you've kept yourself from me,” he says as he shoves my head into the leather jacket, the rain still falling around me.
“You understand now, don’t you? Where you run, I will always chase.
I will never stop. Not until you’re ready to put that bullet between my eyes. ”
“You’re…” Hot. Ridiculous. On a whole different level? I don’t know how to explain Dante with rational words. All I know is my body continues pushing back into him, wanting this. Wanting him. And although he’s given me a blade, I couldn’t imagine using it against him.
“Yours. I’m yours, Cattivella. And I’ll remind you over and fucking over again,” he says as he slams into me all the way to the hilt. I buck under the size of him, adjusting around him after weeks without knowing his pleasure. Fuck, how I’ve wanted this since I kicked him out of the apartment.
How, even if I might hate the words he speaks, I know fundamentally they’re his truth, and no matter how much I try to push him away, he’s like a freight train plowing through my defenses.
Dante pulls out and thrusts back in, and I choke on my breath as he takes me from behind, so animalistically that I have no choice but to bend to his will and be fucked within an inch of my life.
This is Dante, in all his glory; fierce, voracious, and unapologetic.
He continues pounding into me, and noises escape me, guttural sounds I’ve never made before being yanked out of me from whatever beast is within him.
I'm his.
The thought is recurring, no matter how much I might defy him or deny saying it out loud.
Right now, I’m his. Entirely.
He grabs my hands and pins them behind my back, giving me no choice but for my face to be shoved farther into my underwear, an erotic smell perfuming my nostrils. Mud splashes as he plows into me as a man possessed, and I’ve learned my lesson. I cannot run away from Dante Moretti.
Nor do I want to. My pussy clenches hard, creating further friction, as a throaty growl escapes him as my reward.
I push back farther into him, my arms almost at breaking point. But I don’t care. I want all of Dante. I want to be claimed by him wholly, because he’s the only man I know who can handle all of me.
“Dante,” I cry out as the pleasurable climb begins. Fuck, I’m going to come.
His pace quickens as he plows into me, nearly tearing off my arms.
“Dante!” I scream as he drives home once more, jerking and groaning as he rocks back and forth into me while wave after pleasurable wave washes over me.
Suddenly, it feels like everything stops, a moment of serenity and pure, maddening bliss.
The moment the wave recedes, he flips me onto my back and begins eating out my pussy.
“Oh fuck!” I'm hypersensitive to his every touch and lick. Within seconds, he's moving up my body until we're face-to-face. Then he kisses me. I taste myself, the heated pleasure fueling him as I groan at the way he somehow steals more from me than I ever bargained for.
Then he’s back inside me, fucking me hard. I’m sore, I’m cold, I’m transfixed, and I’m connected.
For the first time in God knows how long, I feel alive, connecting with something else other than my depression and grief. And it’s a maddening pleasure that I know will never go away.
Because Dante will never leave.
And that’s as terrifying as it is reassuring.