Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Marina
Dante's eyes darken.
Something shifts in his expression. The tension in his jaw. The way his gaze drops to my mouth.
He kisses me.
Not gentle this time.
Not careful.
His mouth claims mine with a hunger that steals my breath. His tongue slides against mine, demanding, taking. I arch into him, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.
Heat floods through me.
Pools low in my belly.
Spreads between my thighs.
I want him.
God, I want him so badly it hurts.
Dante groans against my mouth. The sound vibrates through me, makes me desperate. I need more. Need to feel him. Need to be closer.
I push against his chest.
He pulls back, confusion flickering across his face.
"Marina—"
I don't let him finish.
I roll us.
Careful of his wound. Careful of the stitches. But I need to be on top. Need to feel in control of something after everything that's happened.
Dante lands on his back with a grunt.
I straddle his hips.
His hands find my thighs immediately. Grip hard. His eyes are black now, pupils blown wide, and he's looking at me like I'm something he wants to devour.
"Are you in pain?" I ask.
"No."
"Liar."
"I don't care about the pain."
I lean down.
Press my mouth to his.
He kisses me back with the same desperate hunger, his hands sliding up my thighs, over my hips, pulling me down against him. I feel him through the thin fabric of the sleep shorts Sophia gave me. Hard. Ready.
I gasp into his mouth.
Roll my hips.
Dante's fingers dig into my flesh.
"Careful," I whisper against his lips. "Your stitches—"
"Fuck my stitches."
He kisses me again.
Harder.
His tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming, possessing. I melt into him. Forget about being careful. Forget about everything except the heat building between us.
His hands slide around to my ass.
Grab.
Squeeze.
I moan.
Dante pulls back just enough to look at me. His eyes are wild. His breathing ragged.
"This ass," he says, voice rough. "Was made for my hands."
A laugh escapes me.
Unexpected.
"That's the worst line I've ever heard."
"It's not a line." He squeezes again, harder, and I gasp. "It's a fact."
I kiss him to shut him up.
He lets me.
For about three seconds.
Then his hands are moving again. Sliding under my shirt. Tracing up my spine. His fingers are rough. Calloused. They leave trails of fire across my skin.
"If you want to ride me like this," he murmurs against my mouth, "you need to take off your clothes."
My heart pounds.
We don't have condoms.
I know this.
I know we should stop. Should be responsible. Should think about consequences.
But I'm so tired of thinking.
So tired of being careful.
So tired of living in fear.
After everything—the shooting, the attack, the cartel, the constant threat of death—I'm still here. Still breathing. Still alive.
I've been living on borrowed time for two years.
Running out of luck should have happened a long time ago.
But it hasn't.
And right now, with Dante's hands on my body and his cock hard beneath me, I don't care about consequences. Don't care about risks. Don't care about anything except getting him inside me.
I need this.
Need him.
I sit up.
Dante's hands fall to my thighs.
He watches me with those dark eyes. Hungry. Patient. Waiting.
I grab the hem of my shirt.
Pull it over my head.
My nipples harden. Dante's gaze drops to my breasts, and his jaw clenches.
"Christ," he breathes.
I reach for his shirt next.
He helps me, sitting up just enough to pull it off. The movement makes him wince—his wound, I know—but he doesn't stop. Doesn't slow down.
The shirt hits the floor.
I look at him.
At the bandage wrapped around his torso. At the bruises mottling his ribs. At the scars scattered across his chest—old ones, faded white, and new ones still pink.
He's been hurt so many times.
Survived so much.
And he's still here.
Still fighting.
Still wanting me.
I trace my fingers over his chest. Feel his heart pounding beneath my palm. He's warm. Solid. Real.
"Marina."
His voice is strained.
I meet his eyes.
"I need you," I tell him.
Simple.
True.
Dante's hands find my hips.
"Then ride me."
I take off my remained clothes.
I lift my hips.
Position myself over him.
His cock presses against my entrance, thick and hot, and I freeze.
He's big.
I knew this. Saw it. Felt it. But knowing and experiencing are different things.
"Slow," Dante says.
His hands grip my hips. Steady. Guiding.
"Take your time."
I lower myself.
Just the tip.
My breath catches.
He stretches me. Fills me. Even this small amount feels like too much.
"That's it." His voice is rough. Strained. "Just like that."
I sink down another inch.
My thighs tremble.
"Dante—"
"I know." His thumbs stroke circles on my hips. "I know, cara. You're doing so good."
Another inch.
I gasp.
My walls clench around him, trying to adjust, trying to accommodate his size. It's overwhelming. Too much. Not enough.
"More," I whisper.
"Take what you need."
I lower myself further.
Slowly.
So slowly.
Each inch is a revelation. A stretch. A burn that edges toward pleasure.
Dante's jaw is clenched. His neck corded with tension. He's holding himself perfectly still, letting me set the pace, but I can see what it costs him. See the restraint in every line of his body.
"You feel incredible," he grits out. "So tight. So wet."
Heat floods my cheeks.
I sink down more.
"That's it." His fingers dig into my hips. "Take all of me."
I do.
Finally.
I'm seated fully on him, his cock buried deep inside me, and I can't breathe.
He's everywhere.
Filling me completely.
"Marina." His voice is wrecked. "Look at me."
I open my eyes.
Didn't realize I'd closed them.
Dante stares up at me with something raw in his expression. Something that makes my chest ache.
"You're perfect," he says. "Fucking perfect."
I roll my hips.
Experimental.
We both moan.
"Again," he demands.
I do it again.
Lift myself up.
Sink back down.
The friction is exquisite. Every nerve ending in my body lights up. I find a rhythm. Slow at first. Careful. His wound. His stitches. I can't forget.
But then his hands tighten on my hips.
"Faster."
I speed up.
Rise and fall.
Rise and fall.
"That's it." His voice drops lower. Darker. "Ride my cock like you own it."
A moan escapes me.
His words.
God, his words.
"You like that?" He thrusts up to meet me, and I cry out. "Like when I talk to you?"
"Yes."
The word comes out breathless.
Desperate.
"You're so wet for me." He pulls me down harder, drives himself deeper. "Can feel you dripping down my cock."
I whimper.
My pace increases.
I'm chasing something now. Something building low in my belly. Coiling tighter with every thrust.
"Been thinking about this for two years," Dante growls. "Thinking about what you'd feel like. What you'd sound like when I fucked you."
"Dante—"
"Reality's better." He slams up into me, and I scream. "So much fucking better."
I'm losing control.
Can feel it slipping away.
My movements become erratic. Desperate. I'm grinding down on him, taking him as deep as I can, chasing the pleasure building inside me.
"That's it." His thumb finds my clit. Presses. Circles. "Come for me."
I shatter.
The orgasm rips through me like lightning.
I scream.
Louder than before.
Louder than I've ever screamed in my life.
My walls clench around him, pulsing, squeezing. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me. I can't stop. Can't control it. Can't do anything except ride it out.
Dante watches me.
His eyes never leave my face.
"Again," he says.
I'm still trembling.
Still coming down.
"What?"
"I want to hear that again." He thrusts up into me, and I gasp. "Want to hear you scream my name."
"I can't—"
"You can."
He flips us.
Careful of his wound but fast. Efficient. Suddenly I'm on my back and he's above me, still buried inside me, and his eyes are wild.
"You can," he repeats. "And you will."
Dante
I flip us.
The movement sends fire through my side. My stitches scream. I don't care.
Marina's beneath me now. Hair spread across the pillow. Chest heaving. Eyes wide and dark with want.
She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"Dante, your wound—"
"Don't care."
I pull out slowly. Watch her face. Watch the way her lips part. The way her breath catches.
Then I thrust back in.
Hard.
She cries out.
"That's what I want to hear." I pull out again. Slam back in. "That sound. Your voice. Screaming for me."
Her nails dig into my shoulders.
"More."
Christ.
I want to fuck her the way I've imagined for two years. Want to pound into her until she forgets her own name. Until the only word she knows is mine.
But my body won't cooperate.
Every thrust sends pain radiating through my side.
I adjust my angle. Find a rhythm that doesn't tear me apart. It's slower than I want. More controlled. But the way Marina arches beneath me, the way she moans—it's enough.
"You feel so good." I bury myself deep. Hold there. "So fucking tight around my cock."
"Dante—"
"Say it again."
"Dante."
I pull out. Thrust back in.
"Louder."
"Dante!"
Better.
I set a pace. Steady. Deep. Each thrust hits something inside her that makes her whole body shake.
"Been dreaming about this." I lean down. Brush my lips against her ear. "About being inside you. About making you come on my cock."
She whimpers.
Her legs wrap around my waist. Pull me deeper.
"Touched myself thinking about you." I thrust harder. She gasps. "Every night for two years. Imagining this. Imagining you."
"God—"
"Not God." I bite her earlobe. "Just me."
Her walls clench around me.
I groan.
"You like that?" I pull back to look at her face. "Like knowing I've been obsessed with you? That I couldn't stop thinking about you?"
"Yes." The word comes out broken. "Yes, I like it."
I thrust deeper.
"Wanted to do this the first time I saw you." I grip her hip with one hand. Angle her up. "Wanted to throw you over my shoulder and take you somewhere no one would find us."
"Dante—"
"Wanted to bury myself inside you and never come out."
She moans.
Long and loud.
"More," she begs. "Please, more."
I give her more.
Increase my pace. Drive into her with everything I have. The pain in my side fades to background noise. All I can feel is her. Her heat. Her wetness. Her walls gripping me like she never wants to let go.
"You're so wet for me." I slide my hand between us. Find her clit. Press. "Dripping down my cock. Making a mess."
She arches off the bed.
"I can feel you getting close." I circle her clit with my thumb. "Feel you tightening around me."
"I'm—"
"I know." I thrust harder. "Come for me, Marina. Come on my cock."
She screams.
Her whole body convulses. Her walls clamp down on me so tight I see stars. She's shaking. Trembling. Coming apart beneath me.
I don't stop.
Can't stop.
I fuck her through it. Through every wave. Every aftershock. My thumb keeps working her clit even as she tries to push my hand away.
"Too much—"
"Not enough."
I thrust deeper.
She screams again.
"That's it." My voice is wrecked. Barely recognizable. "Give me another one."
"I can't—"
"You can."
I change my angle. Hit that spot inside her that made her scream before. Her eyes roll back.
"Dante!"
"There she is."
I pound into her. Relentless. My wound is definitely bleeding now. I can feel it soaking through the bandage. Don't care. Can't care. Not when she's looking at me like that. Not when she's making those sounds.
"You're mine." The words come out rough. Possessive. "Say it."
"I'm yours."
"Again."
"I'm yours, Dante."
Something breaks open in my chest.
I lean down. Capture her mouth. Kiss her deep and dirty while I fuck her. She moans against my lips. Her hands find my hair. Pull.
The pain mixes with pleasure.
I groan into her mouth.
"Want to feel you come again." I pull back just enough to speak. "Want to feel you squeeze my cock."
"Then make me."
Christ.
I sit back on my heels. Ignore the fire in my side. Grip her hips with both hands and pull her onto my cock.
The angle is deeper.
She screams.
"That's it." I thrust up into her. Watch her breasts bounce. Watch her face twist with pleasure. "Take it. Take all of me."
"More—"
I give her more.
Harder.
Faster.
My rhythm is brutal now. Punishing. Every thrust drives the air from her lungs. Every thrust makes her scream.
"Dante—"
"Louder."
"DANTE!"
I feel her tighten around me.
"That's it." I thrust harder. "Come for me. Come on my cock like a good girl."
She shatters.
Her scream echoes off the walls. Her body arches. Her walls clamp down on me so hard I nearly lose control.
But I don't stop.
I fuck her through it.
My own release builds at the base of my spine. Pressure. Heat. The desperate need to let go.
"Marina—" My voice is wrecked. "I'm going to—"
I pull out and grip my cock. Stroke once. Twice.
Then I come.
Hot ropes of cum paint her stomach. Her breasts. I groan through it. My whole body shakes. The pleasure is blinding.
I stroke myself through every pulse. Watch my release mark her skin.
Mine.
The word echoes in my head.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
When it's over, I collapse beside her. Careful of my wound. Careful of her.
We lie there.
Breathing hard.
The room smells like sex. Like sweat. Like us.
Marina turns her head. Looks at me. Her hair is a mess. Her lips are swollen. Her eyes are glazed.
She's never looked more beautiful.
"That—" She pauses. Catches her breath. "That was the best sex I've ever had."
I laugh.
The sound surprises me. I can't remember the last time I laughed. Really laughed.
"Cara." I roll onto my side. Ignore the fire in my wound. Reach out and brush a strand of hair from her face. "That was a sample."
Her eyes widen.
"A sample?"
"Mmm." I trace my finger down her cheek. Her jaw. Her throat. "I'm wounded. Operating at maybe sixty percent."
"That was sixty percent?"
"Maybe seventy." I lean in. Press a kiss to her shoulder. "When I'm healed, I'm going to fuck you properly."
She shivers.
"Define properly."
I smile against her skin.
"I'm going to take my time." I kiss her collarbone. "Worship every inch of you." I kiss the swell of her breast. "Make you come so many times you lose count."
"Dante—"
"I'm going to bend you over every surface." I look up at her. Hold her gaze. "The couch. The kitchen counter. The shower. Against the windows."
Her breath catches.
"You're trying to kill me."
"No." I lean up. Kiss her softly. "I'm trying to ruin you for anyone else."
"Mission accomplished."
The words hit me somewhere deep.
I pull back. Look at her. Really look at her.
She's covered in my cum.
Love this picture.