Chapter 13 Katana #2
Heat pools low in my belly, sharp and demanding. I shift under him, my legs brushing his thighs, and the growl that rumbles out of him is savage and primal.
His hand slides down my stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of my sweats. He moves so damn slow it’s torture, every second stretching until I think I’ll scream. Then his fingers slip between my thighs, stroking light at first, teasing.
A choked moan escapes me before I can stop it.
“I’ve got you,” he soothes, kissing me again, his lips swallowing every sound I make.
His fingers press deeper, finding me already wet and trembling.
He curses into my mouth, his voice as wrecked as I feel.
I buck against him, chasing more. The ache in my side is still there, but it’s nothing compared to the fire he’s building.
Every stroke of his hand unravels me further, until I’m panting into his mouth, hips moving helpless against his rhythm.
“Tell me what you want,” he growls against my lips.
“You,” I gasp. “Just you.”
That’s all he needs. His hand works me harder, steady, relentless, until the coil in my gut snaps. My whole body bows up, my release ripping through me so hard it steals my breath. I cling to him like I’ll drown if he lets go.
He kisses me through it, soft now, grounding. When I finally collapse back, trembling, he pulls his fingers away and I immediately miss his touch.
His jaw clenches, like restraint’s the only thing holding him together. Then he strips his shirt off in one sharp motion, muscles taut, chest heaving. The scars and ink across his chest look like battle lines, carved into him, owned only by me in this moment.
He eases my sweats off, kissing every inch of skin he uncovers.
By the time he slides them away completely, and removes his own, I’m shaking with need.
When he finally presses inside me, it’s slow, deep, filling me until my eyes squeeze shut from the stretch.
We groan together, the sound tangled in the space between our mouths.
He holds still, forehead pressed to mine, chest heaving. “Tell me if I hurt you.”
“I’ll be fine,” I whisper, nails digging into his back.
He starts to move, careful at first, each thrust deliberate.
Every push grinds against me, but he braces himself above me, hands spread wide, keeping most of his weight off so he doesn’t crush me.
His palm steadies my ribs, protective, adjusting every time my breath hitches.
The awareness of the injury makes each shift sharper, more electric.
The rhythm builds slowly, his mouth never leaving mine, like he needs the kiss as much as I do.
When I arch up, pain lances my ribs, but it only makes me cling harder.
He curses, broken and raw, like he can’t decide if he should stop or fuck me harder.
His growl answers the movement, ragged, like he hates the thought of hurting me but loves that I won’t stop fighting for more.
Every stroke grinds against something raw inside me, pulling gasps and moans I can’t hold back.
“I thought I lost you,” he confesses into my mouth, thrusts growing harder.
My gasp tangles with his, my body breaking apart around him. I yank at his hair, dragging his mouth back to mine, making it clear this isn’t him taking, it’s me demanding. Choosing him. Even like this.
I wrap my legs around him, meeting him stroke for stroke, too far gone to respond in any other way, too far gone to pretend I don’t want every bit of him.
The pace builds, relentless, until my whole body shakes with it. The ache in my ribs is drowned in the rush of pleasure tearing through me. Heat coils low again, sharper, until it snaps. I cry out, clutching at him as another climax rips through me.
He groans deep, rhythm breaking, face buried in my neck as he spills into me, his body shuddering with release.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. We stay tangled together, breathless, his weight heavy but careful, his hand still braced protectively against my ribs like he’s holding me together.
And when he finally looks down, his eyes catch mine. Ragged, unspoken truths burn between us. Fear, hunger, relief but neither of us says a word. We’re still tangled, breathless, his weight heavy but careful on mine when the sharp buzz of his phone cuts through the quiet.
Dante curses under his breath, forehead pressed to mine like he can will the world away.
The vibration doesn’t stop. It keeps rattling against the nightstand where he must have left it, insistent, demanding.
He finally drags his hand from my ribs and reaches for it.
The name flashing across the screen makes his jaw clench, his whole body going rigid.
“Who is it?” My voice is hoarse, raw.
“Business,” he mutters, already swinging his legs off the bed. His tone is clipped, darker now, the warmth from moments ago shuttered behind iron.
I push up on my elbows, pain tearing through my side, but he doesn’t look back.
The cool air hits my skin where his weight was, and I watch as he snatches up the clothes scattered across the floor.
His shirt is still streaked with dried blood, the black fabric stiff where it clung to me hours ago.
He shoves his legs back into his slacks, the zipper rasping loud in the quiet, then yanks the shirt over his head like he doesn’t care that it’s ruined.
He doesn’t bother with the tie, doesn’t fix the cuffs.
Just buttons enough to pass for decent, jaw locked tight, shoulders rigid.
“Dante?”
“Get some rest. I’ll handle it.” His voice leaves no room for argument, but his eyes, when they finally meet mine, are full of worry.
The door slams behind him, leaving me with nothing but the echo of his absence, the smell of him still clinging to the sheets, and the hollow churn in my chest. Whoever was on the other end of that call didn’t just drag him away. They pulled us both back to reality.