Chapter 4 It’s soft, isn’t it?
The very next second, Dante hauled Anya over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She let out a squeal, her fists immediately pounding against his back.
“Put me down! I haven’t finished!” she cried, wriggling like a furious kitten. “I have to prove I’m not a liar! You’re ruining my reputation, Dante! Those three gods will never believe me now! I won’t get into heaven if they think I'm a liar!”
Dante didn’t say a word.
He just stormed out of the lounge, ignoring her protests while the rest of the table keeled over in fits of laughter.
A loud smack landed right on her butt cheek, making her wince and cry out, “Ow!”
Dante’s grip tightened. She struggled, kicking and writhing in his hold, but he didn’t let her go. Instead of taking her out of the bar, he stepped into the elevator and hit the button for the top floor.
This wasn’t his first time here—he had a permanent suite upstairs. It was easier to crash there than go home, especially after long nights of meetings or parties. And with Anya this drunk, there was no way he was taking her anywhere else.
He unlocked the suite door and walked straight to the bed.
The suite was massive—easily the size of a small house. Clean lines, dark walls, and soft, warm lighting gave the space a rich, modern feel. One entire wall was made of glass, overlooking the city skyline, with sheer motorized curtains half-pulled to the sides. A sleek, oversized bed sat in the middle of the room, low to the ground, covered in crisp white sheets, plush pillows, and a black quilted throw. The headboard stretched across the entire wall behind it—matte black, with hidden lights glowing softly around the edges.
On the left side of the room stood a full-sized bar, sharp and glossy with a black marble top. Rows of rare liquor bottles sat on glass shelves behind it, lit by cool LED strips. A mirrored wall behind the bar reflected the rest of the room, doubling the space visually.
In one corner, a large sectional sofa faced a floating fireplace built into a concrete wall. A few designer chairs, clean and minimal, were scattered around a matte coffee table. The floors were smooth grey stone, and the entire suite smelled faintly of cedar and something expensive she couldn’t place.
As he leaned down to lay her on the mattress, she suddenly wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, clinging to him like her life depended on it.
Dante exhaled sharply, lifting his head to meet her hazy gaze.
Their eyes locked.
“Grandpa asked me to keep an eye on you,” she mumbled seriously, her words slurred. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Before he could even process what she’d said, her fingers tightened around his collar. She yanked him close, her face rising off the bed as her lips pressed against his in a sudden, soft kiss.
Startled, Dante froze—his entire body stiffening.
He had never had a girlfriend. Never even kissed a woman before.
And her lips… they moved over his like a whisper, gentle and slow, like petals brushing against him. It was tender. So tender, he didn’t dare pull away.
His heart pounded wildly, breaking through every barrier inside him, his breathing uneven, raw.
After a few seconds, she pulled back and blinked slowly, lips still parted, staring at him.
Then came his voice—low and sharp, and agitated. “Who do you think I am?”
The idea of her being this drunk—so drunk she might be mistaking him for another man—set his chest on fire. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her to kiss him. He just couldn’t stand the thought that she might not even know it was him .
That thought pushed him to the edge.
“It’s just a kiss,” Anya mumbled, a small frown appearing between her brows. “Why are you reacting like this? Why is there a crease on your forehead?”
Her fingers reached up, brushing over the tight line etched there, trying to smooth it out with a gentle, almost playful touch. “I can kiss you again… Do you want me to kiss you better?” she asked, her voice soft, teasing, her lips curling faintly.
Before he could respond, she leaned in and pressed her lips softly against his. “There. It’s soft, isn’t it?”
Dante froze. Every muscle in his body went tight, locking down the storm that raged inside him. One second. Two. And then the control he’d barely managed to hold snapped like brittle glass.
His hand shot to the back of her head, fingers twisting in her hair as he pulled her in hard. His breath came out in a heated rush against her lips, his voice a low growl.
“Remember this—you started it, Anya.”
The next second, Dante’s lips crashed onto Anya’s, hungry and fierce. He captured her lower lip between his teeth, tugging it into his mouth with a low groan that vibrated through her. Then he moved upward, teasing her upper lip with slow, demanding kisses before plunging deeper, swallowing her breath as their mouths fought for dominance.
His lips left hers and traced a scorching path down her neck. Just behind her ear, he pressed soft, wet kisses that burned like fire. Then his tongue flicked out, sliding over the tender skin in slow, tantalizing strokes that made Anya shiver.
“Mmmhhmm…” she moaned softly, the sound barely a whisper but enough to make Dante’s body tighten. That quiet moan was pure addiction, and he needed more—needed to hear her lose herself in him.
His mouth found her ear again, sucking and swirling his tongue over her earlobe. His hand moved urgently to the buttons of her blouse, fingers fumbling with a raw impatience, desperate to bare her skin.
But before he could undo the last button, Anya pushed him back and sat up, chest heaving with ragged breaths. Her eyes flashed with a fire that matched his own. With a frustrated growl, she yanked the blouse off her shoulders, the fabric falling to the floor in a soft whisper. Her fingers slipped to the side of her waist, gripping the zipper of her skirt.
Dante’s hand was faster. He clenched the waistband and yanked the skirt down in one hard pull. It slid over her hips and thighs, pooling at her feet.
Anya didn’t wait. Her hands ripped open his shirt, the buttons popping off like fireworks, scattering around them. She pressed her mouth to his throat, tongue tracing the line of his Adam’s apple with a possessive hunger that made Dante groan low in his throat.
His fingers dug into her waist, anchoring himself to her as his eyes fluttered closed, trembling beneath her touch. A slow smile played on her lips as she trailed her tongue down to his collarbone, savoring every inch of his heated skin.
His jaw clenched tight, the tension building until he couldn’t hold back any longer.
In a swift motion, Dante shoved her down onto the bed. A soft gasp escaped her lips as she landed on the mattress, the cool sheets a sharp contrast to the fire between them.
His mouth immediately found the valley between her breasts, tongue teasing along the curves and over the swell of her throat. He licked her neckline in long, slow strokes, then sucked gently on the skin just above her heart.
Anya whimpered, and the sound sent a fresh surge of need rushing through Dante’s veins.
His hands slid up her back to the clasp of her bra. With a practiced flick, he unhooked it and tore it off, tossing it aside without looking.
Her eyes locked on his, breath hitching as she took in the raw hunger etched on his face.
She slid her fingers into his hair, pulling him closer, and he didn’t hesitate. His mouth latched onto her breast, lips sucking hard before his tongue flicked over her nipple with a rough greed.
“Ahh—” she gasped, arching her back as pleasure roared through her veins. Her hand tangled in his hair, pulling him tighter just as his tongue circled the swollen bud, slow and teasing.
Her body trembled beneath him, raw and exposed.
His other hand reached up, fingers rolling the other nipple between them, pinching and stroking until she was breathless.
“Dante…” she moaned, voice trembling.
He lifted his head and looked at her, eyes dark and heavy-lidded. Hair spilled across the pillow, neck stretched back in surrender.
That sight made his rod twitch painfully inside his pants. The hunger was unbearable.
Her hands slid down to his belt, fumbling to undo it, but he caught her wrists and pinned them above her head.
Her eyes widened in surprise.
His voice dropped low, rough with command. “Don’t move. You started this—I’ll finish it my way.”
Without breaking eye contact, he grabbed the tie lying on the bed and wrapped it tightly around her wrists, fastening her to the headboard.
Then he stood, fingers flicking the zipper of his pants. The fabric hit the floor, quickly followed by his boxers, revealing his full, hard length.
His hand slid down her body, hooking the waistband of her panties. With one swift tug, he dragged them down her thighs and threw them aside.
Anya looked down, and met his fierce gaze.
There was nothing soft in his eyes. Only dark, intense possession.
She licked her lips, eyes drifting from his face to the strong lines of his neck, then down to his broad chest—muscles tight, skin warm under her gaze.
His breath grew heavy, and she bit her lower lip, anticipation building.
Her eyes traveled lower, lingering on the thick, heavy length between his thighs.
When her gaze flicked back up, she froze. He had been watching her the entire time—those dark eyes burning with a fierce, unfiltered hunger that made her skin prickle. The moment their eyes locked, something inside him snapped.
The next second, he dropped his mouth to the hard bud of her breast, lips wrapping around it, sucking softly at first, then deeper, more possessive. One hand slid to her palm, fingers ghosting over her skin—down her wrist, along the tender curve of her arm, grazing the hollow under her arm, tracing the side of her breast, then skimming the soft line of her waist.
A shiver ran through her. A breathy moan escaped. “Tickles…” she whispered, voice trembling.
He paused, lips twitching in a dark smile she couldn’t see, then his palm moved lower, pressing against her stomach, spreading warmth with slow, rough strokes. His tongue followed, tracing a fiery path across her belly, licking and sucking, tasting every inch with a hunger that made her pulse race.
Then his lips returned to the other breast—the one he hadn’t touched yet. He enveloped it, tongue flicking over the swollen nipple before he sucked hard, deep enough to make her gasp and arch into him, skin hot and taut beneath his mouth.
His fingers drifted down lower, finding the wet heat between her thighs. With gentle force, he parted her folds, thumb brushing her clit with teasing, feather-light flicks.
“Oh God…” she whimpered, legs instinctively trying to shut, but his body was a barrier, knees pressed into the mattress, holding her open, exposing her completely.
Slowly, torturously, his mouth traced lower—her scent wrapping around him like a drug, raw and intoxicating. He parted her folds further with his tongue, sliding in, tasting her wetness, savoring the salt and sweetness that was only hers.
His lips closed over her clit, sucking it into his mouth—soft and slow at first, then with a growing, desperate hunger that sent sparks racing through her.
“Ahh…” her moan was torn from deep inside, eyes clamping shut as pleasure ignited like wildfire, scorching and fierce.
Her wrists strained against the tight binds, her back arched so sharply it lifted from the bed. But he didn’t ease up. His fingers gripped her thighs, holding her still as his mouth worshipped every inch of her.
His breaths came ragged, eyes shut tight as he lost himself in the taste and feel of her, worshipping her with relentless devotion.
She writhed beneath him, hips lifting in an instinctive, desperate rhythm—but he pinned her firmly down, mouth angled perfectly as his tongue circled, flicked, then dipped lower before returning to that precious spot.
“Ahhh…” she cried out, voice breaking, trembling with need.
Still, he didn’t relent. The hunger in his mouth grew fiercer, more demanding, sucking harder as her body trembled violently beneath him.
“Please…” her voice cracked, tears pricking the corners of her eyes, the flood of sensation overwhelming.
Then, she shattered.
The wave of orgasm crashed through her, shaking her to the core. Her legs quaked, hips bucked wildly—but he held her, worshipping her release with fierce, maddening precision, sucking and flicking her swollen bud until she was nothing but trembling, broken fire beneath him.
“Dante…” she whimpered, her body arching again, wrists tugging desperately against the ties, trying to escape the overwhelming flood of pleasure. But he was relentless.
His tongue flicked her clit again and again, hungry and insistent, while his hands locked her thighs open, holding her captive in the fire he was stoking.
She came again—her back arching, every muscle pulsing, her cries ragged and breathless. But he didn’t ease up.
“Dante, please…” she begged, voice trembling, tears slipping down her cheeks as a third orgasm crashed over her before the second had even faded.
A sob broke free, legs shaking uncontrollably, one of them wrapping weakly around his back, as if to anchor herself against the storm inside her. But there was no running—not from him, not when he was starving for her, his mouth claiming her as if she was the only thing that could ever satisfy his hunger.
Her lips parted, tongue flicking over them nervously, gaze drifting from his fierce face down to the defined line of his throat—then lower, to the sculpted muscles of his chest and the powerful frame stretched out beside her.
His breathing was heavy, uneven. She bit her bottom lip as her eyes flicked down, catching the sight of his hard length resting heavily against the bed. Her breath hitched.
When she dared to meet his eyes again, the realization hit her—he had been watching her all along. Every glance she had thrown his way, every flicker of heat in her gaze, mirrored in his own dark, intense, utterly shameless eyes.
Without hesitation, he dipped his head back down to her chest, lips capturing the peak of her breast with a slow, aching pull. A soft cry escaped her lips as his mouth worked her over, tongue circling and teasing, while his rough, warm fingers trailed down her arms.
They slipped from her palms, gliding along her wrist, tracing the curve of her side until they reached her waist. Her body trembled under his touch, anticipation coiling tighter until her breath came in short, shallow gasps.
Then his hand shifted lower, fingers spreading across her stomach, stroking slow and reverent. His mouth followed, trailing heat down her torso until his lips pressed a gentle kiss to the soft skin of her belly. Each flick of his tongue sent shivers rippling through her, making her arch helplessly.
She trembled beneath him, wrists straining, breath hitching as he looked up, watching her unravel under his touch. His body moved over hers with a low, growling hunger in his throat.
He reached down, gripping himself—thick, hard, pulsing in his palm. A strained breath escaped as he guided himself between her thighs, dragging his tip slowly along her slick folds.
Her breath caught—eyes wide, lashes fluttering—as he leaned in, lips brushing hers in a soft, claiming kiss. Then—
He pushed inside.
A sharp gasp tore from her mouth as her back arched, legs instinctively tightening around his hips. He groaned low and deep, heat flooding through him as her warmth wrapped him, drawing him in inch by inch until he was buried completely.
“Dante…” she breathed, voice breaking, every fiber of her surrendering to him.
“Shh,” he whispered against her lips, his hand cupping her face gently yet possessively. “I’ve got you.”
He pulled back just enough before thrusting forward again—slow, controlled, deep. Her head fell back against the pillow, body tightening as waves of pleasure crashed over her with every movement. He moved over her like he was claiming every inch, hips grinding deeper with growing urgency.
Her moans spilled out. Soft, breathless, desperate.
“Look at me,” he growled, voice rough and low. She opened her eyes, locking into his burning gaze. “I want to see you when you fall apart.”