Chapter 42
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Marina
The penthouse windows frame Chicago's skyline, city lights scattered like diamonds against black velvet. Dante's bedroom is nothing like the sparse safe house in Denver. Dark wood, clean lines, a bed that could fit four people. Everything screams money and power.
But I'm not looking at the view.
I'm looking at the box Dante placed on the bed.
"Open it."
His voice comes from behind me, low and rough. I feel the heat of him before his hands settle on my hips, pulling my back against his chest.
I reach for the box. Black velvet. My fingers tremble as I lift the lid.
Inside, nestled in silk, is a vibrator. Rose gold. Curved. Clearly designed for one specific purpose.
"Dante—"
"I want to watch you use it." His lips brush my ear. "While I'm inside you."
My breath catches. We've been together for weeks now, but he still finds ways to surprise me. To push me past every boundary I thought I had.
He pulls the fabric over my head and tosses it aside. His fingers find the clasp of my bra, and it joins the shirt on the floor. Cool air hits my skin, making my nipples harden.
"Turn around."
I obey. His eyes rake over me, dark and hungry. He's still fully dressed—black shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, forearms corded with muscle. The contrast makes me feel exposed. Vulnerable.
Exactly how he wants me.
"Take off the rest."
My hands shake as I unbutton my jeans. I push them down along with my underwear, stepping out of both. Naked before him while he watches like I'm something precious. Something he's been starving for.
"Get on the bed."
I climb onto the mattress, the sheets cool against my heated skin. Dante follows, finally pulling his shirt over his head.
He positions me on my back, spreading my thighs with his hands. His gaze drops between my legs, and I watch his jaw clench.
"Already wet." He drags a finger through my folds, and I gasp. "Good girl."
He reaches for the box and removes the vibrator, pressing it into my palm. The weight of it feels foreign. Intimate.
"Show me how you touch yourself."
"Dante—"
"Marina." His voice drops. "Show me."
I've never done this in front of anyone. The toys in my Denver apartment were private. Secret. Something I used alone in the dark when I couldn't sleep.
But Dante has already seen those. He went through my drawer while recovering from a bullet wound and made me fall on top of him. Nothing about us has ever been normal.
I press the button, and the vibrator hums to life. The sound fills the quiet room.
Dante watches as I bring it between my legs. The moment it touches my clit, my hips jerk.
"That's it." His voice is gravel. "Keep going."
I circle the toy against myself, pleasure building in slow waves. Dante's hands work his belt, his zipper. He frees himself, already hard, and strokes once.
"Don't stop."
He positions himself at my entrance. I feel the blunt pressure of him, the stretch as he pushes inside. My back arches off the bed.
"Keep using it." He bottoms out, filling me completely. "I want to feel you come around my cock while you play with yourself."
The combination is overwhelming. The vibrator against my clit, Dante buried deep inside me. He starts to move, slow at first, watching my face for every reaction.
"Faster." He grips my hip with one hand. "Move it faster."
I increase the speed on the toy. The vibrations intensify, and I moan.
"Louder."
"Dante—"
"I said louder." He thrusts harder, punctuating the command. "I want to hear you."
I cry out as he hits something deep inside me. The pleasure spirals, building toward something I can't control.
"That's it." His voice is wrecked. "Fuck, you're beautiful like this. Using that toy while I fuck you. Do you know how long I've thought about this?"
I can barely form words. The sensations are too much—his cock stretching me, the vibrator buzzing against my most sensitive spot, his eyes burning into mine.
"Two years." He drives into me harder. "Two years of imagining you spread out for me. Touching yourself. Coming apart."
"Dante—" My voice breaks.
"Scream for me."
He changes the angle, and I shatter. The orgasm rips through me, violent and consuming. I scream his name, my body convulsing around him as wave after wave crashes over me.
"Louder." He doesn't stop moving. "Let everyone in this building hear who you belong to."
I scream again, the sound raw and desperate. The vibrator slips from my fingers as my hand loses all coordination. Dante catches it, pressing it back against my clit.
"Again."
"I can't—"
"You can." He fucks me harder, relentless. "Give me one more."
The second orgasm builds impossibly fast, stacking on top of the first. I'm sobbing now, tears streaming down my face from the intensity.
"That's my girl." His rhythm turns brutal. "Come for me. Now."
I break apart completely. The scream that tears from my throat doesn't sound human. My vision whites out, my body seizing around him as pleasure obliterates everything else.
Dante groans, his hips stuttering. He buries himself deep and follows me over the edge, my name falling from his lips like a prayer.
The vibrator finally stops. Dante must have turned it off. I can't feel my legs. Can't feel anything except the aftershocks still rippling through me.
He collapses beside me, pulling me against his chest. His heart pounds against my ear, matching the frantic rhythm of my own.
"Christ." His voice is hoarse. "You're going to kill me."
I laugh weakly. "Says the man who just—"
"Made you scream loud enough for the entire building to hear?" He presses a kiss to my hair. "Worth it."
Dante
The car idles at the curb. Engine running. Heat blasting. Neither of us moves.
Marina's childhood home sits twenty feet away. White siding. Blue shutters. A porch swing that probably creaks in the summer breeze. Christmas lights still hang from the gutters even though it's February. The kind of house that belongs on a greeting card.
The kind of house where men like me don't belong.
"We should go in." Marina's voice cuts through my thoughts.
I don't move. My hands stay locked on the steering wheel, knuckles white.
"Dante."
"Give me a minute."
She laughs. Actually laughs. "Are you nervous?"
"No."
"Liar."
I turn to look at her. She's wearing a soft blue sweater that matches her eyes. Hair down. Lip gloss that I want to kiss off. She looks like she belongs here, in this quiet Ohio neighborhood with its manicured lawns and American flags.
I look like I belong in a police lineup.
"They won't like me."
Marina's eyebrows rise. "You don't know that."
"I do know that." I release the steering wheel and flex my fingers. "They didn't like me when I was at the hospital. Your father looked at me like I was something he scraped off his shoe."
"You were covered in blood and hadn't slept in three days."
"I was sitting at his daughter's bedside. Most fathers would appreciate that."
"Most fathers don't have strange men appearing out of nowhere to watch over their unconscious daughters." She reaches over and takes my hand. "You scared them. You scared me too, if we're being honest."
I remember those days. The beeping machines. Marina pale and still in that hospital bed while I sat in the corner like a gargoyle, refusing to leave. Her parents had arrived on the second day. Her mother cried. Her father demanded to know who I was.
I told them I was nobody.
They believed me.
"They're going to ask questions," I say. "About what I do. About the family. About why their daughter is with a man who—"
"Who saved my life?" Marina squeezes my hand. "Who sat at my bedside for days? Who tracked me across the country because he couldn't stop thinking about me?"
"When you say it like that, I sound like a stalker."
"You were a stalker." She grins. "A very dedicated one."
I don't smile. Can't. The weight of what we're about to do presses down on my chest. Meeting parents. Normal couple things. Except nothing about us is normal, and her parents know it.
"They'll love you," Marina says.
"You don't know that."
"I do." She shifts in her seat to face me fully. "My mother especially."
I frown. "Why your mother especially?"
"She likes good-looking men for her daughter." Marina's eyes sparkle with mischief. "And rich ones. She's been dropping hints about my love life for two years. When she sees you pull up in this car, wearing that watch, looking like you stepped out of a magazine—"
"I'm not—"
"She'll be planning the wedding before we finish dinner."
I stare at her. "You're joking."
"I'm completely serious." Marina leans closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "In fact, I should probably confess something."
My jaw tightens. "What?"
"I'm only with you for your money."
The tension in my chest cracks. Just a little. "Is that so?"
"Absolutely." She nods solemnly. "The penthouse. The private jets. The designer clothes you keep buying me these days even though I tell you to stop. I'm a gold digger, Dante. You should know this about me."
"A gold digger."
"The worst kind." She sighs dramatically. "I saw your bank account and thought, 'This is the man for me.' The abs were just a bonus."
Something shifts in my chest. The fear doesn't disappear, but it loosens. Makes room for something else. Something that feels dangerously close to hope.
I reach across the console and wrap my hand around the back of her neck. Her breath catches. I pull her toward me, until our faces are inches apart.
"You can have it all."
Her eyes widen. "Dante—"
"Every penny. Every property. Every car and watch and piece of art." I brush my thumb along her jaw. "As long as you're mine, you can have my soul if you want it."
Marina's expression softens. The teasing fades, replaced by something raw. Real.
"I love you," she whispers.
The words hit me like a bullet.
She loves me.
"I love your dick too," she adds.
I choke on a laugh.
"What? It's true." She grins, the mischief returning. "I'm a woman of simple pleasures. Money and good sex. You provide both."
"Don't tease me right now. We're about to meet your parents, and if you keep talking about my dick, I'm going to have a problem."
"What kind of problem?"
I pull her closer, letting her feel exactly what kind of problem. Her cheeks flush.
"Oh."
"Yeah. Oh." I release her neck and sit back. "So unless you want me to walk into your parents' house with a visible erection, I suggest you behave."
Marina bites her lip, clearly fighting a smile. "Fine. I'll behave."
"Thank you."
"For now."
I close my eyes and count to ten. This woman is going to be the death of me. Not bullets. Not cartels. Not twenty years of violence and bloodshed. Marina Reeves and her smart mouth and her blue-green eyes.
"Ready?" she asks.
I look at the house again. The porch light is on. A shadow moves behind the curtain in the front window. Someone's watching.
"No."
Marina opens her door. "Too bad. We're doing this anyway."
She climbs out of the car before I can protest. I watch her walk around to my side, her boots crunching on the gravel driveway. She opens my door and stands there, hand extended.
"Come on, tough guy. Time to meet the parents."
I take her hand and let her pull me out of the car. The cold Ohio air hits my face. Marina threads her fingers through mine and squeezes.
"They're going to love you," she says again.
I don't believe her. But I follow her anyway.