4. Dante
DANTE
S he doesn’t move when I lower myself to my knees, but I feel the tension spike through her thighs, tight, proud, resisting the way she’s been wound up since the moment I walked in.
She’s so used to controlling the room that she doesn’t know what to do when someone controls her .
Good.
That’s what I came here for.
I press my hands to her knees and drag them apart, slow enough to make her burn.
Her breath hitches as the crimson silk slips further up her thighs, pooling like spilled wine around her hips.
With two fingers, I draw her panties down, then toss them aside, with no complaint from her.
"You’re wet," I murmur, voice low and pleased. "And we haven’t even started yet."
Her fingers tighten on the edge of the desk, but she doesn’t look down or answer.
She’s still pretending this doesn’t affect her.
Still pretending that sitting spread open on a Salvatore’s desk, with his mouth inches from her cunt, is just another move in a long game of power and survival.
I let my breath ghost over her.
Just enough heat to make her clench.
"You’re going to beg for it, Gianna," I say, eyes fixed on the flushed seam between her thighs. "Eventually."
Her thighs twitch.
I don’t let her close them.
I grip one and hook it over my shoulder, the other over the opposite side.
She’s mine now, bracketed, open, straining.
I nudge forward, close enough to inhale her, to savor the scent of clean skin and arousal already cresting high.
I drag my tongue up her slit, slow and deliberate, savoring the sharp inhale she tries to muffle.
She tastes like heat and salt and control cracking apart one tremble at a time.
"You like being watched, don’t you?" I whisper against her. "Even if it’s just by me."
Her head tips back, lips parting, but she still hasn’t spoken.
Stubborn girl.
Fine.
Let’s see how long that lasts.
I lick her again, this time circling her clit without touching it.
She shifts, almost unconsciously, chasing the pressure.
I don’t give it to her.
"Say something."
"Go to hell."
I grin, licking her inner thigh instead, slow and lazy.
"Already been. Found it boring. But you?—"
Another lick.
Closer to the center now.
"You taste like a sin I’d commit twice."
She jerks when I graze her clit at last, just a flick.
I suck it into my mouth for a heartbeat, then let go.
Her hips twitch.
I hold them down with both hands.
"No moving unless I say."
"You think you can?—"
I interrupt her with a firm suck, slow and deep, then withdraw entirely.
She gasps, half in frustration, half in shock.
"Every time you talk back, I stop," I say mildly. "Every time you sass me, I pull away."
Her nails scrape the desk.
I can feel her heartbeat now, pounding beneath the thin skin of her thighs, hear it in the little hitches of breath she can’t quite hide.
I lick her again, but this time I don’t stop.
I flatten my tongue and drag it from the bottom of her entrance to the tip of her clit, then trace soft, maddening circles.
Not pressure.
Not release.
Just tease .
"I bet no one’s ever made you beg," I whisper, breath hot as I speak against her. "Bet they were all too busy being afraid of your mouth to see what it looked like when you moaned."
Her breath catches.
Her legs tense against my shoulders.
I glance up and see her eyes shut tight, her hands clutching the desk edge like it’s a lifeline.
"Open your eyes."
She doesn’t.
I bite her inner thigh.
Lightly.
Enough.
Her eyes fly open, furious and aroused, and I give her what she wants—briefly.
I suck her clit between my lips and flick my tongue in fast, slow pulses, just enough to make her hips buck.
I press her flat to the desk with one arm, holding her down, while my other hand trails up her stomach, slow and possessive.
"You’re going to come on my mouth," I say between licks. "And then I’m going to make you say thank you for it."
She lets out a sound that’s almost a growl.
Half-defiant, half-broken.
Good.
Let her hate that she likes this.
Let her come undone on a desk built for control.
My tongue moves faster now, lips wrapping her clit, pulling soft, wet gasps from her lips.
Her legs start to shake, and I know she’s close.
So close. I stop, and she chokes on a noise, lifting her head, eyes wild.
"No," she snaps. "Don’t you?—"
I lean back, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, and grin.
"Ask nicely."
Her chest rises and falls.
Her mouth trembles.
But her eyes—those fierce, furious eyes—finally give in. "Please."
I grab her hips and dive back in.
This time, I don’t stop.
I suck and lick, tease and torment, working her clit until she’s trembling all over, until her moans are punched from her lungs in gasps she can’t control.
I slide one finger inside her, then two, curling them to hit the spot that makes her buck.
Her whole body draws tight, spine arching off the desk, and when she comes, it’s a silent scream, her mouth open, her nails digging into the wood hard enough to scar it.
She doesn’t speak when I rise, though her breath comes hard and shallow, chest lifting in trembling waves beneath the crimson silk still bunched around her waist.
Her legs are spread, thighs slick and glistening, her whole body braced against the polished wood as if it’s the only thing keeping her tethered.
I don’t let her gather herself.
I don’t give her space to reclaim control.
I reach for her waist and draw her back slightly, just enough that her ass meets the edge of the desk, legs parted wide enough now for me to step between them.
Her dress is rucked up on her hips, the silk twisted and gathered like it’s been torn from its dignity, the lace of her bra still clinging to her chest, though one strap has fallen down her arm.
She looks drunk on sex, and I haven’t even fucked her yet.
My belt comes undone in one low snap.
Her eyes flick down, then back up to mine, and there it is again—that flicker of pride she tries to wear like armor.
I let her see me stroke myself, the head of my cock glistening with precum, thick and already aching for her.
She doesn’t look away.
Her fingers grip the edge of the table.
But her body leans into me, giving me the consent I need.
I don’t tease this time.
I guide myself between her legs and push in, slow, controlled, making sure she feels every inch as I fill her.
Her head falls back.
Her mouth parts in a gasp that breaks halfway.
She is so fucking tight, still pulsing from the orgasm I pulled from her with my tongue, and the heat of her wraps around me like a velvet vice.
"Goddamn," I murmur against her throat, holding her steady as I bury myself deeper.
She shudders, and I feel it where we’re joined, feel it ripple through her like surrender and defiance caught in the same breath.
I pull out partway, then thrust back in harder, the desk creaking beneath her.
Her hands brace on the wood, knuckles white, her head turned to the side as I start to move—long strokes that build and build and build, pressing deeper each time, claiming her in every way she won’t ask for.
The sound of skin meeting skin fills the space between our breaths.
Her moans are quiet, tightly held, like she’s still trying to prove she can take it without giving me the satisfaction.
I can fix that.
I grip her thigh and hoist one leg higher, locking it around my hip.
The shift in angle makes her gasp, sharp and sudden, and I smile against her cheek.
"That’s it," I growl into her ear, fucking her harder now. "Let me hear it."
She bites her lip, still resisting, and I reward that stubbornness with another thrust that knocks the breath from her lungs.
Her whole body clenches, her hands scrambling for purchase on the desk.
Her pussy squeezes me like she’s trying to milk every inch I give her.
It’s too good.
I could spend hours like this—driving into her until her legs stop working, until she can’t remember who started this war in the first place.
But I want more.
I want to see the moment her pride fractures entirely.
Her breathing is ragged now, uneven and open, the kind of sound that only comes from being pulled apart and remade with nothing but touch and intention.
I pull out and slide my hands along the curve of her hips and lift her effortlessly.
She’s pliant, still trembling, and I take my time repositioning her.
One hand settles on the small of her back, the other on her shoulder as I slowly turn her around and press her forward.
"Lean down," I murmur, my mouth brushing her ear. "Hands flat. Stay just like that."
She obeys, spine arching, hair falling like black silk over the polished walnut.
The muscles in her back shift beneath crimson silk, her ass bare and glinting faintly under the overhead lights.
I run my palm over the curve, as if reacquainting myself with a favorite weapon.
She doesn’t speak, but her breath catches again when I kneel just slightly behind her, adjusting her legs, spreading her open the way I want her.
Her submission here isn’t passive.
It’s chosen.
She offers it with her head high, her mouth taut with defiance, even as her body begs for more.
And that does something to me.
Twists something sharp and electric through my chest.
My hand slides down her thigh again, anchoring both of us.
The other moves to her hip, gripping tight as I guide myself against her entrance, the tip thick and ready, dragging along her slick folds as she shifts back instinctively to meet me.
I make her wait.
Just for a second.
Long enough to remind her who decides the rhythm.
Then I thrust in, slow and deep.
She gasps, one hand flying to the edge of the table as I fill her all the way, the stretch sudden and overwhelming.
Her body clenches around me, impossibly tight, and I hold there for a breath, savoring the feeling of her adjusting to every inch.
"Still with me?" I ask, my voice thick.
She nods, barely able to respond. I smile, dark and slow, then pull back and drive in again, setting a rhythm that builds not in speed but in intensity.