Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Marina
His touch is light. Barely there.
But I feel it everywhere.
My skin burns where his fingers rest. My heart pounds so hard I'm sure he can hear it.
I lean closer.
Dante doesn't hesitate.
His hand slides from my cheek to the back of my neck. He pulls me toward him. His mouth finds mine.
And the world stops.
His lips are warm. Firm. He kisses me like he's been waiting his whole life for this moment.
I haven't kissed anyone in... God, I can't even remember. Some forgettable guy at a bar in Chicago, before everything happened.
This isn't like any of those kisses.
This is fire.
This is drowning and burning at the same time.
His tongue sweeps against my lower lip and I open for him without thinking.
A sound escapes my throat. Something between a moan and a whimper.
Dante's grip tightens on my neck.
He angles my head. Deepens the kiss. Takes control in a way that makes my entire body go liquid.
I grab his shoulders. Pull myself closer. The blanket falls away and I don't care. Nothing matters except his mouth on mine and his hands in my hair and the heat building low in my belly.
If he keeps kissing me like this, I'm going to climb into his lap.
Right now.
I don't care about his wound. I don't care about the cartel. I don't care about anything except getting closer to him.
My fingers dig into his bare shoulders. His skin is hot under my palms. I can feel the muscles shifting as he moves, as he pulls me tighter against him.
I want—
He stops.
Just like that.
He pulls back.
The spell shatters.
Cold air rushes between us. My lips are swollen. My breath comes in ragged gasps. My whole body trembles with want.
Dante watches me.
His eyes are dark. Hungry. His chest heaves with each breath.
But he doesn't move.
"Marina."
His voice is rough. Wrecked.
"You don't have to do this."
I blink.
"What?"
"You have every right not to want me." He swallows hard. "You don't have to kiss me because you feel sorry for me. Because of what I told you about my past."
I stare at him.
Is he serious right now?
"You think I kissed you out of pity?"
"I think you're kind," he says.
"Shut the fuck up."
The words come out sharp. Angry.
Dante's eyes flash.
His expression changes. The vulnerability disappears. He looks angry.
He moves fast.
His hand shoots out. Grabs my chin. Tilts my face up toward his.
"Careful," he says. His voice drops low. Dangerous. "I'm going to make you regret talking to me like that."
My heart slams against my ribs.
I should be scared.
I'm not.
"Make me," I whisper.
His grip tightens on my chin.
For one heartbeat, he just looks at me. His eyes burn into mine. Dark and intense and full of something I can't name.
Then he kisses me again.
His mouth claims mine. Demands. Takes. His teeth catch my lower lip and I gasp. He swallows the sound. His tongue sweeps into my mouth and I melt against him.
I can't think.
I can't breathe.
I can only feel.
His hand moves from my chin to my jaw. His thumb presses against my pulse point. He can feel how fast my heart is racing. He knows exactly what he's doing to me.
I grab his hair. Pull him closer. Kiss him back with everything I have.
Everything else burns away.
There's only this.
Only him.
Only the heat of his mouth and the strength of his hands and the way my body fits against his like we were made for each other.
Dante
I could die right now.
Right here on this couch with her mouth on mine and her fingers in my hair.
I could die happy.
Well. Not entirely happy.
I'd die happy only after I'm buried inside her. Balls deep. Feeling her clench around me while she screams my name.
But I'm not going to tell her that.
Not yet.
Marina gasps against my mouth. The sound shoots straight to my cock. I'm already hard. Have been since she leaned her head on my shoulder during that fucking movie.
Now I'm ready to explode.
I shift on the couch. Try to adjust myself without being obvious about it.
Marina pulls back. Her eyes search my face.
"Are you in pain?"
Christ.
She thinks I'm hurting from the wound.
"No," I say. My voice comes out rough. Strained. "But the guy down there is."
Her gaze drops to my lap.
To the obvious bulge straining against my sweatpants.
"You should stop now." I force the words out. "Before it's too late."
Marina looks back up at me.
And she laughs.
The sound is bright. Unexpected. It hits me somewhere deep in my chest.
"When you had that shower," she says. Her cheeks flush pink. "Were you... masturbating?"
I don't look away.
"Every time I thought about you," I tell her. "I jerked off like I was a teenager again. Like I was fifteen and I'd just seen a girl I liked and couldn't stop thinking about her."
Marina's breath catches.
"For two years?"
"For two years."
She's quiet for a moment. Processing.
Then she says something that nearly stops my heart.
"I want you to do it again." Her voice is barely above a whisper. "In front of me."
I stare at her.
"No."
"No?"
"I'm not going to jerk off while you're sitting right here." I shake my head. "I need to be inside you."
Marina's eyes widen.
"I don't have condoms."
"We don't need them."
"Dante—"
"I'm clean. I get tested regularly. And I haven't been with anyone in..." I pause. Think about it. "Over a year."
She bites her lip.
"That's not the only concern."
"I'll pull out."
"That's not—" She shakes her head. "No. We need protection."
I watch her.
She wants this. I can see it in her eyes. In the way her chest rises and falls with each rapid breath. In the flush spreading down her neck.
But she's scared.
Not of me.
Of losing control.
I smile.
"Okay."
Marina blinks. "Okay?"
"We'll do it your way." I lean back against the couch cushions. "I'm curious to see how long you can resist."
Her eyes narrow.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Instead of answering, I stand up.
The movement pulls at my wound. Pain flares through my side. I ignore it.
Marina watches me.
Her gaze tracks down my body. Over my bare chest. The sweatpants hanging low on my hips.
I hook my thumbs into the waistband.
"What are you doing?" Her voice comes out breathless.
"Getting comfortable."
I push the sweatpants down.
They pool at my feet.
I'm not wearing anything underneath.
Marina's eyes go wide.
Marina
Holy shit.
I can't look away.
But I have never seen this.
His cock stands thick and heavy between his thighs. Long. So long that my brain short-circuits trying to process the size of it. The shaft is veined and hard, curving slightly upward toward his stomach. The head is flushed dark, already glistening at the tip.
I swallow hard.
There's no way.
No possible way that thing is going inside me.
I've always been tight. Every guy I've been with has commented on it. Some liked it. Some complained. But none of them were anywhere close to this size.
And I haven't had sex in over two years.
He'll split me in half.
Dante takes a step toward me.
Then another.
His cock bobs with each movement. Getting closer. Closer.
Until it's right there.
Inches from my face.
I'm still sitting on the couch. He's standing in front of me. The position puts me at eye level with his... with him.
Dante reaches down.
His fingers slide under my chin. Tilt my face up.
"You can touch," he says. His voice is low. Rough. "If you want."
I meet his eyes.
And I smile.
"You have a big opinion of yourself."
"No," he says. "I just have a big dick."
A laugh escapes me.
Then I stop laughing.
Because I'm reaching for him.
My fingers wrap around his shaft.
He's hot. Burning hot. The skin is smooth over the hardness underneath. I can feel his pulse throbbing against my palm.
I don't put my mouth on him.
Not yet.
I just stroke.
Slow. From base to tip. Learning the feel of him. The weight. The way his cock twitches in my grip when I squeeze.
Dante's head falls back.
"Fuck."
The word comes out strangled. Desperate.
I stroke him again. Twist my wrist at the top. Run my thumb over the wet slit.
His hips jerk forward.
"Cazzo," he hisses. "Marina."
He groans.
I keep stroking. Slow and steady. Watching his reactions. The way his abs clench. The way his hands curl into fists at his sides. The way his jaw tightens like he's fighting for control.
I've never felt this powerful.
Never felt like I could bring a man to his knees with just my hand.
But Dante looks like he's about to shatter.
"Stop," he says suddenly.
My hand freezes.
"Stand up."
The way he says it makes me obey without thinking. I release his cock and rise from the couch.
Dante sits down in the spot I just vacated.
His wound must hurt. He doesn't show it.
He reaches for me.
His fingers find the hem of my shirt. He pulls it up slowly. Over my stomach. My ribs. My breasts.
I lift my arms and let him take it off.
The cool air hits my skin. My nipples harden instantly.
Dante stares at me.
Then he leans forward and presses his lips to my stomach.
I gasp.
His mouth is hot. Soft. He kisses a path across my belly. Up to my ribs. Down to my hip bone.
His hands work at my pants. Unbuttoning. Unzipping. Pushing them down my thighs until they pool at my ankles.
I step out of them.
Now I'm standing in front of him in nothing but my underwear.
Plain cotton. Nothing sexy.
Dante doesn't seem to care.
He hooks his fingers into the waistband and pulls them down too.
I'm naked.
Completely naked.
Standing in front of a man I told myself I hated.
Dante's hands slide up my thighs. His mouth follows. Kissing. Tasting. Learning every inch of my skin.
He kisses my hip. The curve of my waist. The underside of my breast.
His tongue flicks over my nipple.
I moan.
My hands find his shoulders. Grip tight. Hold on.
He sucks my nipple into his mouth. Rolls it between his teeth. Releases it with a wet pop before moving to the other one.
"Turn around," he says against my skin.
I hesitate.
"Marina." His voice drops lower. "Turn around."
I turn.
My back is to him now. I can feel his eyes on me. Burning into my skin.
His hands find my ass.
He grabs both cheeks. Squeezes hard.
I gasp.
His fingers dig into my flesh. Kneading. Spreading me open.
"You have no idea," he says, "how many times I've thought about this."
Before I can respond, his hand slides between my thighs.
His fingers find my entrance.
I'm wet. Soaked from kissing him. From touching him. From watching him stand naked in front of me.
Dante groans.
"So fucking wet," he murmurs. "All for me."
Then he pushes two fingers inside.
I cry out.
My hands fly forward, bracing against the wall. My back arches. My hips push back against his hand.
He starts moving.
In and out. Slow at first. Then faster.
His fingers curl inside me. Find that spot. The one that makes my vision blur.
"Dante—"
"That's it," he says. "Say my name."
He adds a third finger.
I'm so tight. So impossibly tight. But he doesn't stop. He works me open. Stretches me. Prepares me.
His other hand grips my hip. Holds me in place while he fucks me with his fingers.