7. Dante
seven
Dante
Iknew the moment I thought I'd lost Margot that this was no longer about finishing a job. Seeing her now? I can barely keep my thoughts in order.
All I want to do is coax her over to me and stop holding myself back.
While I do still need to talk to her about her past, that's only an excuse I'd thrown together to get her alone.
Margot wouldn't allow herself to act naturally if her sister was in the background.
"Come here," I say, my voice betraying me by cracking at the edges.
As easily as she could coast over to one of the other chairs to have a proper conversation, she doesn't. Instead, she nudges closer to me. So close, the smell of chlorine fills my lungs.
Does she realize the tip of her nose and cheeks have been burned? I should've gotten sunscreen, but I overlooked such a detail. Just like I overlooked buying towels meant for these waters. Bathing suits. Anything related to this damn pool.
The towel wrapped around her body is barely big enough to cover her damp skin. She might be gripping the flaps at her chest, but the fabric parts toward her thighs, giving me a closer view of what I'd seen only minutes ago.
I want to open up the towel and see everything. My fingers curl against the arms of the chair as I fight the urge to discover how soft her skin is.
"What did you want to talk about?" She tilts her head, those blonde strands running like thick tendrils down her shoulders.
I open my mouth to answer—to say literally anything to bring sanity back into this space—but the words die in my throat. She shifts. It’s a tiny nudge in my direction, but suddenly she is there, her warmth radiating through the small gap between us.
My eyes scramble, entirely useless. Do I look at the damp skin of her collarbone? The heavy pulse at her throat? Or the way the towel is slipping dangerously low on her thighs?
Fuck, do I even have enough control to choose?
"Can I ask you something first?" Her voice wavers and her hold on the towel tightens. "I've been really curious about something."
Lifting my gaze, I try to prepare for whatever she has to ask. It's impossible when I notice her cheeks have flooded completely pink, clashing with the red burn.
"What is it?"
She bites her bottom lip and inhales slowly. "It's clear how you see my sister. That bit is obvious. But what I really want to know... How do you see me?"
Her question throws me off, and an opportunity presents itself to me on a silver platter. This is the perfect time to draw a line and avoid anything that could risk making everything messy.
But it's her wide-eyed look, one that's all too vulnerable, that makes such a task impossible.
My hands tighten on the arms before I'm shifting. Leaning forward, my hands move to my knees. That much closer to her, my nails scrape denim.
"How do I see you?" Repeating her question, a pained laugh leaves me. "As something that shouldn't exist. A weakness." I swallow heavily as the truth is too thick to get down. "Temptation put in my path to test everything I've ever known."
Her next breath catches, but she doesn't pull away. It's a mistake on both of our parts.
I don't realize I'm moving until the cotton of her towel is pinched between my fingers. Barely lifted enough to catch a glimpse of her inner thigh, my thoughts spiral.
"Margot," I groan, scowling at the one thing hiding her from me. "We can talk later. Go join your sister before I do something you won't like."
Her body goes still, disobeying my order. I don't miss the way her toes curl against the concrete, surrounded by drops of water.
"How do you know I won't like it?"
The question throws me off, and I look at her with surprise. Her blush has spread to her ears, but there's no hesitance, just heat.
"You'll regret it, then." Trying to talk sense into her while I still have the ability to speak, she takes that much away from me when her grip on the towel loosens enough to cascade down to her ankles.
"I don't know why, but I really like how it feels when you look at me."
Seeing her in the pool had been enough to almost knock me on my ass, but seeing her up close? I'm glad I'm sitting in a chair.
I want to touch her.
Fuck, I want to taste her.
She lets out a squeak when my hands find her hips, and I pull her forward, taking up the last few inches of space between us. Suddenly, I can feel her everywhere. Her legs brush my thighs, and her hands steady themselves on my shoulders.
Leaning in, I breathe in the smells of the pool clinging to her skin.
"Push me away," I plead with her.
She doesn't, too occupied by attempting to keep her breathing even. We're both failing terribly.
How do I explain these feelings taking over?
When it comes to women, I've never wasted time getting close to them. Sex has never been at the top of my list—not like the rest of Steelwood. To me, it’s a physical maintenance requirement, nothing more than a mechanical release of steam.
I knew exactly what it was—a temporary, mindless exchange of pleasure.
My position draws plenty of attention, so finding a willing partner to handle that utility has always been easy.
But Margot completely breaks my routine. I don't want a mindless release. I feel this agonizing need to bargain with her, to negotiate for every inch of her skin. To ask her to let me have her. Hell, to beg her to feed this starvation that has been building up within me for days now.
The distance I've purposely put between us hasn't aided me in the slightest. If anything, it's made me long for her even more.
She lets out a shaky breath as I press my face against her stomach, only finding little solace in what the contact brings me.
It feels wrong to let my mouth graze her flawless skin. I'm damaged goods, have been since I entered this lifestyle, and that's not something I can hide. Hell, I've got this mark on my face to remind everyone that I've been through plenty.
Lifting my gaze, I recall Margot's grimace when she saw the real me for the first time. It almost cools the blood running through my veins.
But then I see it, the clouded daze in her eyes. She's watching me with heavy lids, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as her chest swells with each breath.
Fuck, she's turned on.
Dragging my fingers down her sides, I hook my fingers in the band of her underwear.
Pausing long enough to give her time to tell me to stop, I internally curse when she doesn't. Pulling them down, my fingers graze the trail of goosebumps rising on her skin before I release the fabric, watching it fall to her ankles.
Just when I think she can't get any prettier, I notice her blush has spread.
"Someone could see..." Whispering her concern, she doesn't reach down to pull them back up. She's stiff, nervous.
"I won't allow it," I say, hardly recognizing my voice as my hands move back to her hips. "This is a view meant only for my eyes."
I stop myself from telling her the truth, that I'd take a man's eyes for looking at her while she's in such a vulnerable state. I'd do worse if anyone thought about taking her from me.
Tugging her impossibly closer until her shins lock against the edge of my chair, my arms slide around her waist. I slide my palms down, my hands completely capping the soft, bare curves of her ass.
A heavy, shared groan tears through the quiet air as I squeeze her, my fingers sinking deep into her plush skin.
She is so hyper-sensitive that just the firm, heavy weight of my grip has her legs trembling. Her body reacts the way I need it to—melting, shivering, and arching into my calloused touch as if my hands are burning her alive.
It takes strength and discipline not to release her so I can give my growing arousal a much-needed squeeze.
"Has anyone ever touched you like this, Margot?" I mutter, my voice a rough, scraped whisper against her stomach as my thumbs sweep up the sensitive crease of her thighs. My thumbs are so close, I can feel the heat rolling off of her.
She shakes her head, her breath hitching as her knees bump each other.
Fuck. Am I really the first?
An immediate possessiveness fills my chest, instantly drowning out the cold, logical man I usually am. I don't deserve to claim a purity like hers, but feeling her tremble against my hands, I'm too far gone to care about being good.
"Spread your legs for me.”
I try to soften the words, to coax her instead of demand, but I'm not a gentle man. The attempt fails completely, leaving my lips as a direct order against her skin.
A whimper leaves her, but it's not enough to scare her off. She does as she's told, and I reach my limit. Unable to go another minute without knowing how her wet heat feels against my fingers, my touch shifts. While one hand grips her hip to hold her still, the other moves to cup her pussy.
My thoughts fizzle out completely the moment my fingers slide over her swollen, slick folds. She’s burning hot between her thighs, and when my middle finger slips inside her wet heat, she lets out a whine that makes my cock twitch.
Her pussy sucks me in straight away, and I immediately coax in another finger just so I can explore the unknown. One curl of my fingers has her eyes sliding closed as she experiences the friction. When her hips roll, I realize she’s as lost to this as I am.
I’m the one doing the touching, but my chest is heaving as if I'm the one being undone. I’m losing my mind as I focus entirely on the tight, desperate friction of the heel of my hand against her clit, driving her faster, harder, desperate to hear her reach such pleasurable bliss.
While I’m completely lost in the sauce, Margot shifts. Her trembling hands move from my shoulders to my jaw, her small fingers tilting my head back.
Before I can even process the movement, her lips press against mine.
The kiss is shy, unpracticed, and a little messy, but it destroys me. The sheer, innocent vulnerability of it hits my chest like a freight train. It’s not until she’s parting her lips, letting my tongue delve in such sweet heat, that her breathing begins to grow quicker.
I want to add a third finger, to stretch her to her limit to be able to handle my cock, but I’m forced to remind myself that this isn’t about me. It’s about her.
I want Margot to feel good. When I fill her mind, I want her to remember this.
“Dante…” Moaning my name in a whimper, she pulls back, only to rest her forehead against my shoulder. “I’m…I’m going to—
My fingers hitch inside her, curling deep, and the sudden, intense pressure pushes her straight over the edge.
Margot hits her limit. Her pussy spasms around my fingers, clenching tight as she comes.
Her moan is muffled by my cut, her knees buckling completely.
With her legs turned to jelly, she collapses forward, burying her face into my neck and leaning all her dead weight against my chest just to stay upright.
Jesus Christ. I’m gone. Completely gone to the point of being beyond recognition.
While she’s hiding against my shoulder, blindly fighting to collect her breath, the dark, selfish beast in my chest takes total command. I can’t breathe. I can’t survive another second trapped in this denim.
Releasing her hip, my hand flies to my waistband. I tear frantically at the buttons of my jeans, the fabric of my boxers catching as I shove them down just enough to free my aching, throbbing cock into the cool air.
I don't give her time to think, time to regret, or time to pull away. I cup the back of her neck, my fingers burying into her damp hair, and drag her mouth back to mine in a bruising kiss.
Fisting my hand tight around my length, I give myself four hard, desperate strokes right against her skin.
On the fourth, I blow.
My hips jerk forward as I come, the release so intense it makes my vision go blurry. I know she’s been hit by the thick, hot mess of it because a tiny, startled whimper vibrates against my lips.
Slowly, our mouths separate, both of us panting in the ringing silence of the roof.
My gaze drifts down, my chest heaving as I take in the sight. My white seed is painted across her stomach, slowly running down into the patch of damp blonde hair hiding her folds.
The damage is done. There is no rewriting this, no cleaning it up, and absolutely no going back. Looking at her marked by me, a cold, terrifying certainty settles deep into my bones.
This woman needs to be mine. All of her.