17. Dante
Chapter 17
Dante
M ontecroce is as stunning as I remember. I still know every alley, every twist and turn, like the back of my hand, even though I haven’t bothered to visit since we arrived.
I breathe in the familiar scent of fresh pastries mixed with the earthy undertones of old stone, and there’s a small, smug part of me that takes great pleasure in being the one to show my old home to Carmen.
She walks beside me, her smile blooming as she takes in everything around her. It’s clear she’s soaking up every inch of the town.
The sunlight dances across her face, lighting up the curves of her cheekbone. It makes her skin glow like something otherworldly. I can’t help but glance at her a little more than I should.
“So, what do you think?” I ask.
She doesn’t look at me immediately, but when she does, there’s that mischievous glint in her eyes. “I thought you said Montecroce was boring.”
I smirk. “It was. Back then, anyway.”
“What’s changed?” she teases. “Please don’t tell me it’s the company.”
I raise an eyebrow, a smirk playing on my lips. “You wouldn’t be wrong.”
“That’s so cheesy,” she says, eyes scanning the intricate details of a nearby building. “I thought maybe you’d be slightly less insufferable now, but I guess that’s on me.”
I chuckle, nudging her shoulder with mine. “And here I thought I was being romantic.”
She looks at me out of the corner of her eye, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “You’re not as charming as you think, Grasso.”
I lean in slightly, lowering my voice so only she can hear. “That’s a shame. I thought I was your type.”
Her lips quirk again. “You’re not, but I’m starting to think you’re growing on me.”
The words strike something deep inside me. I try to ignore the feeling, focusing instead on the town, steering us through the narrow streets.
“So,” she says, catching my attention. “What was this place like when you were a kid?”
“You’re asking me to take a stroll down memory lane, huh?”
“You’re the one that invited me out, remember?”
“All Right,” I say with a sigh, leading her down a small, winding street that’s lined with vines crawling up the side of tall stone walls. “Well, for starters, these streets were a lot emptier. There weren’t so many tourists back then.”
“Easier for little Dante Grasso to cause havoc running through these streets, you mean?”
I let out a huff of laughter. “Why do you always assume the worst of me?”
“Because it’s nearly always the correct assumption,” she teases.
“Nearly always?”
Her gaze softens slightly as she bites her lip. “I suppose you seem to have some capacity to surprise me still.”
We stop at a small café tucked away in a corner of Montecroce, the kind of place where the espresso is rich, dark, and served with an unapologetic shot of Italian pride.
I push open the door and let the sharp, rich smell of espresso hit me. This place smells like home —the real kind of home, not the cold, forgotten castle I’ve been occupying lately.
I walk up to the counter and order in rapid-fire Italian, feeling the rhythmic pulse of the language slide smoothly off my tongue.
Carmen steps in behind me, looking around with wide eyes, like she’s stepping into a part of me I hadn’t shown her before. Her gaze drifts over the hand-painted tiles, the mismatched wooden tables, and the polished brass of the espresso machine.
“This is where you come for your fix, huh?” she asks, eyeing the counter, her voice soft but teasing.
I smirk. “There’s only one place I’ve ever found that rivals it. It’s in Brooklyn, funnily enough.”
Her brow arches in amusement. “Of course, you found a home away from home.”
I hand her a cup when the barista slides it toward me as I think about what she’s said. Montecroce, the Iron Castle…it was my home, wasn’t it?
“I’ll be sure to tell the owners of Caffè di Monteluna if we ever get back.”
She raises an eyebrow, looking like she’s about to say something sarcastic, but then she takes a sip of the espresso. Her eyes flutter closed as the warmth hits her tongue, and I can’t help but watch her with a satisfied grin.
“Okay, fine,” she admits after a beat, “this is better than the coffee at the castle.”
I chuckle, leaning back against the counter. “Told you.”
We spend a few minutes just standing there, sipping our drinks in silence. I can feel her attention shifting to the crowd outside.
I’d almost forgotten how familiar the people in Montecroce are with me. They nod as we pass, offering deep bows and the occasional polite hello. Each one of them knows my name, and the feeling of respect is as bright as the sun on the pavement.
A butcher, his arms thick with muscle, greets me loudly. A pair of elderly women wave frantically from their fruit stall, calling me by name. I smile politely, nodding, acknowledging their respect.
Guilt begins to flare within me again. I’d been ignoring all of this for so long, hadn’t I?
Carmen walks beside me, her presence suddenly softening my growing anxiety a bit. There’s still time to make this right.
“Must be nice, huh?” she says with a smirk.
I give a half-shrug, looking around the market. “It’s part of the job.”
We continue through the narrow streets, wandering past shops and bakeries, picking up little things as we go.
She’s a curious one, always asking about the history behind this building or the recipe for that pastry. And when she smiles—when she laughs —it feels like everything around me quiets down, even if only for a second.
“I thought you’d be the kind of guy who’d sit in a castle and have everything brought to him on a silver platter,” she says, tossing me a glance as we approach another market vendor.
“You think I’m that kind of asshole?” I reply with a laugh. “I’m not that bad.”
Her eyes twinkle as she picks up a small bundle of herbs, studying them carefully. “I didn’t say anything.”
After a little while, we make our way back to the castle. I’m in no rush to return, but I can’t deny the way my body starts to hum the closer we get to the iron gates.
She steps up beside me as we enter the castle’s courtyard, and there’s this strange sense of intimacy between us now.
There’s so much to talk about, to settle between us. What happened last night, what it means for us, for the Guild, the Cartel. It’s enough to make me want to lose all sanity.
But right now, as we have done all day, we seem to exist in a perfect little bubble. Just the two of us.
Neither of us seems eager to burst it.
She turns to me with a sly smile as we approach the doors. “I was thinking that I could use some company before bed.”
I pause for a second, my pulse picking up. I don’t need to be told twice. I swallow the desire threatening to spill out and look at her.
“Only if you’re sure,” I say, my voice a little rougher than I intended.
She smirks at me, stepping closer. “I’m sure.”
And as I follow her up the stairs to her room, all I can think about is how badly I want her. How badly I’ve wanted this, wanted her , since…fuck, maybe the moment I first laid eyes on her.
Unlike the night before, Carmen loses all hesitation the second we cross the threshold of her room.
She’s in my arms before the door even slams closed.
It’s more intense than before, likely because her confidence has increased. There’s a sureness to her lips, the way she delves her tongue into my mouth like she knows exactly what kind of pleasure she wishes to draw out.
There was a time for gentleness and reassurance.
Now, there’s an insatiable need for more.
“I want you to fuck me properly,” she murmurs between filthy, biting kisses. “I’ve been thinking about it all day.”
It’s so very amusing to think I once thought of her as a little virgin princess.
“And here I thought I was the perfect gentleman asking you on a date.”
“We both know your courting methods are more unorthodox than that.”
If only to prove her point, I spin her around, pulling her back flush to my chest with an arm tight around her waist. My other hand tangles in her curls and pulls her head to one side—exposing the beautiful expanse of her neck.
“Tell me where you want me,” I ravage the skin I find there, moaning as Carmen bucks backward into my hardening crotch.
It might have been an accident, but when she hears the sound, she does it again. And again. My princess is a quick study.
“I would have let you take me in that fucking cafe,” she breathes. “I would have let you bend me over the counter.”
“You’d let me show you off like that?” I ask as I unwind my arm from her waist to press into her abdomen, encouraging the movements of her hips, helping her find a rhythm as she grinds back onto me.
“I think you like to make a statement.”
Fuck. “And who says I have any intention of sharing you with anybody else?”
“I wouldn’t be anyone else's but yours.”
It’s like she knows exactly what to say to break down every ounce of my self-restraint.
With a low growl, I let my hands wander further down, shamelessly cupping her sex as she whines out her encouragement. It takes no time at all to slip under her skirt, to seek out her wetness.
She arches as I touch her there, her neck bending back against my shoulder and allowing me perfect access to her collarbone.
“Touch me, please. Touch me.” Her voice is delightfully breathless as I sink a finger inside of her, teasing her open for a moment before slipping in another—earning me an Italian curse that sounds more like a prayer.
The intense pressure of my jeans against my crotch threatens to steal my vision entirely as I realize she’s pressing back into my hand with reckless abandon.
“Fuck. Look at you, fucking yourself on my fingers. I could watch you do this all day.”
Carmen arches again, impossibly closer, lips grazing my ear. “I want more than your fingers.”
With a growl, I wrench my fingers out of her despite her mewling protests and spin her around to face me, wanting her closer, needing her closer.
Before, there was something so beautiful in unwrapping her slowly, in taking my time and letting our wants build and build. But now…now it’s urgent.
There is no time to undress her, only time to hoist up her skirt around her waist and push her back into the door. God, we hadn’t even made it into the room.
Hands fumble with my jeans as lips attack my mouth, and breath stutters across my skin while groans fill my ears like a song.
After one too-long moment, I release my grip on her to shed my jeans myself, briefs barely make their way down my thighs before I’m on her again, cock grinding shamelessly into the wetness between her thighs, coating myself.
She gasps as she keeps me there, pinched at the top of her legs, rutting against my length and coating it in her juices.
“I thought you wanted me to fuck you?” I tease with a nip to her earlobe.
Nothing coherent comes out of her mouth.
And God, if that’s not the best thing I’ve ever heard. That I’m the reason Carmen Rubio sounds like that. For all my teasing earlier, I want to bottle up the sound and keep it for myself so that no one else will ever get to hear it.
With one last devastating kiss, I spread her legs and readjust to sit myself at her entrance. The end of my cock presses into her teasing warmth.
“I want to hear everything,” I whisper to the now-shivering woman. “I want you to show me exactly how much you like this.”
“Dante…Dante… please.”
I can’t help the chuckle that escapes my mouth. “Oh, princess, if only I’d known sooner that this is all that it would take for you to become so agreeable.”
Unable to hold myself back a moment longer, I thrust into her. I’m rewarded with a sound I’ll be thinking about for weeks.
“Oh, fuck. ”
There’s a part of me that’s still conscious enough to know that I should be taking it slow. But Carmen’s grunts of frustration lead to her simply wrapping her legs around my waist and fucking herself against me all by herself, driving me deeper than I ever would have dared.
“You’re a fiend ,” I hiss against her biting mouth.
“I told you to fuck me.”
This time, when she lowers herself onto me, I meet her with my own frantic thrust.
The way she screams my name is the most sinful thing I’ve ever heard.
Her core strength immediately bottoms out, and I have to scramble to keep her attached to me.
The bed is, however, too far away.
“The desk,” she breathes as if sensing my predicament.
I don’t waste any time. Everything on the desk is swept carelessly to the floor as I set Carmen on it. She grunts in frustration once more and pushes me off her.
“What—”
She turns around and leans over the mahogany, face pressed into the unyielding wood as her legs spread.
I blink at the picture.
“Fuck.”
“DANTE.”
I scramble back to her and immediately sheath myself once more.
The angle is exquisite, the noises she makes more so. I grind into her, unable to maintain any semblance of control, guided only by her encouraging sounds and the slap of our skin.
My name is on her lips when she suddenly goes rigid. Her name is on mine as the pressure finally releases.
I slow to a steadier beat, too sensitive for much more, but too needy to relieve myself of her closeness. She looks entirely ruined, spread before me like this, entirely at my mercy.
I pull at her arms, lift her boneless body back to my chest, and press gentle, pretty kisses to her cheek. “You did so well.”
“You ruined me,” she pants right back.
“Oh princess,” I kiss her again because I can. Because she’s mine. “I’ve barely even started. ”