Chapter 16 Dante #2
I strip my jacket and shove the sleeves back, fingers already at my shirt buttons.
She steps in without a word, nimble, undoing them one by one while her eyes stay on my mouth.
The brush of her knuckles against my chest makes my cock throb.
I catch her wrist, kiss the inside of it, then let her finish; the shirt slides off my shoulders and hits the floor.
Her hands go to my belt. She bites her lip while she works the buckle, pulls the leather free, and I swear under my breath when her knuckles drag over the hard line of me. Zipper down. Heat up. I toe off my shoes.
“Come here,” I murmur.
I scoop her up—one arm under her thighs, the other at her back—and she gasps, arms flying around my neck as I carry her to the bed. She’s light, soft, warm everywhere I touch.
The red dress is the same one I tore earlier—zipper busted, one strap hanging, slit ripped high so I can see the pale flash of her thigh.
I set her in the center of the mattress and that’s when I catch it—the flicker of self-consciousness.
Her hands fly to the torn fabric like she’s about to tug it down, hide the skin the rip exposes.
“Hey.” I cover her fingers with mine, pinning them gently. “Eyes on me.” I kiss the corner of her mouth, slow, grounding. “You’re perfect. I want all of you.”
Color climbs her cheeks. She nods and lets her arms slide up over her head to the pillow.
I brace over her on one forearm and shove my pants and briefs down with the other hand. My cock springs free, heavy and aching; her gaze drops, pupils blowing wide, breath catching—and it nearly undoes me. I kick the clothes away, then drag the torn red dress higher over her hips.
The neckline’s already split; her tits spill free, nipples tight and begging for my mouth again. I palm one, then the other—sweet weight, perfect heat—and she arches like she can’t help herself. I can’t stop myself from getting enough of her.
“Beautiful,” I rasp, taking a nipple between my lips, tongue teasing until she whimpers. My hand slides down her belly, under the torn hem, and finds her clit again. She’s still soaked for me. I wish I could taste her on my tongue again, but I need to be inside her first.
She clenches around my fingers, a soft cry caught between her teeth.
“Look at me.” She does. I kiss her while I work her, lazy circles on her clit until her hips chase my hand. “Tell me you want it.”
“I want your cock,” she breathes.
I ease my fingers out and line up, the thick head nudging her entrance. I slowly enter her, her wet, tight cunt practically stealing my breath as I do.
Her breath hitches. Her fingers clamp on my shoulders. The stretch makes her brows knit, lips parting on a small, bitten-off sound. She looks…unsure. Uncomfortable.
I freeze, buried only an inch. “Hey.” My voice is low, steady. “Talk to me.”
She swallows, cheeks flushed. “It just…burns a little.”
Understanding hits me like a punch. I know the rumors, and frankly I didn’t give a damn. But now…knowing she belongs only to me gives birth to a wave of possessiveness.
I kiss her mouth, soft. “We go slow. We stop if you say stop.” I pull back a fraction, circle her clit with my thumb, lazy and sweet, easing the sting with pleasure. When she relaxes under me, I push a breath against her lips. “Breathe with me.”
She nods, eyes on mine. In, out. Her body softens by degrees.
I glide in another inch. She tenses; I still. My thumb never leaves her clit—gentle circles, patient, coaxing. I kiss her jaw, her cheek, the corner of her mouth, and whisper, “Good girl. That’s it. You’re doing perfect.”
Her grip loosens. A shaky exhale. “More,” she whispers.
I inch deeper, stopping each time her breath catches, waiting it out, stroking her clit until the tight ache blooms into heat.
The ripped red dress is bunched at her waist, her tits bare and flushed against my chest; I kiss one, suck lightly until her back arches and the pain melts into a needy little moan.
“Okay?” I ask, forehead to hers.
“Yes,” she says, surer now. “Keep going.”
I sink in the rest of the way, slow as prayer, until I’m seated fully inside her—held hot and tight, her pussy gripping me like a fist. We both groan. I don’t move. I just let her feel me while my thumb draws soft circles that make her hips start to tilt—testing, welcoming.
“God, you feel amazing,” I breathe, kissing her deep, letting her taste the truth in it.
“Move,” she whispers against my mouth.
I pull almost all the way out and then slide back in, a long, careful stroke. Another. Her breath turns from tight little catches into soft, broken sighs. The discomfort is gone. What’s left is heat and want and the slick, perfect drag of her body opening for me.
“Right there,” she gasps when I angle my hips. I keep it slow, sweet, spicy at the edges—thumb steady on her clit, cock stroking deep but gentle, every thrust a promise: I’ve got you.
She clutches me closer, eyes shining. “Don’t stop.”
“I won’t,” I murmur, kissing her as I move—patient, greedy, worshipful, and her tight little whimpers melt into the kind of sounds I’ll chase for the rest of my life.
I keep the rhythm unhurried, rolling my hips so she feels every inch and nothing that hurts. Her nails bite my shoulders, then soften, then clutch again when I angle just right.
“More,” she whispers, breath warm against my mouth. “I’m okay.”
“Yeah?” I kiss her. “Tell me if that changes.”
I slide a hand under her knee and hitch her leg higher over my hip. The shift lines us up and her gasp punches into my chest. I hit that spot again—slow, deep—and her thighs tense around me.
“Right there,” she breathes.
I grind there, steady, my thumb circling her clit, my cock dragging in that slick, tight heat that feels like a fist around me.
Her face opens—hesitation gone—eyes glossy, lips wet from my mouth.
I take a nipple between my lips and suck until her back bows, her tit pushed into my hand, and the little sound she makes is half sob, half need.
“Harder,” she whispers.
I keep my forehead to hers so she can see me, feel me, know I’m right here.
“You’re taking me so well,” I murmur. “So tight, baby.”
Her fingers slide into my hair and tug. “Don’t stop.”
I don’t. I keep the angle, keep my thumb snug on her clit, and her breath starts to stutter. The heat in my spine climbs, thick and inevitable, but I hold the pace for her—counting her little gasps, chasing the exact rhythm that makes her eyes roll back.
“Come for me,” I tell her, voice rough. “Soak my cock.”
She shatters—clenching down in hot, pulsing waves, a broken cry against my mouth as her body grips me hard.
I curl into it, stroking through her orgasm, slow and deep so she feels every second.
The squeeze drags a curse out of me; I bury to the hilt and spill inside her with a low, guttural groan, kissing her like I’m trying to breathe through her.
We stay there, locked, catching breath in ragged pulls. I don’t drop my weight—just enough pressure to keep her cocooned while the aftershocks twitch around me. I kiss the corner of her mouth, her cheek, the soft spot by her ear.
“You okay?” I ask, thumb idling lazy circles on her hip.
She nods, a small, dazed sound humming in her throat. “It…stopped hurting,” she whispers. “Now it’s just—” She swallows, blush blooming. “Warm.”
“Good.” I brush my nose to hers. “That’s how it should be.”
I ease out slowly; she soft-gasps, then relaxes. I tug the torn red dress a little lower just to keep her warm and press my palm between her thighs, holding her there for a beat like I can keep the heat inside her. Then I kiss her again—soft, grateful, greedy at the edges.
I fetch a warm cloth and clean her gently, careful with every touch. She watches me the whole time, eyes unreadable, cheeks still flushed. I toss the cloth, pull the sheet up over her hips, and sit on the edge of the bed.
She studies my face. “Is this weird for you?”
I huff a soft laugh, rub the back of my neck. “I normally don’t do this, but then again I never had a wife.”
She doesn’t reply.
I meet her eyes. “But I guess it’s a series of firsts for both of us.”
Again no reply—just the bloom of red climbing her cheeks as she looks away.
That blush on her cheeks, the way she won’t quite meet my eyes—it gives me all the confirmation I need. She wants this. Maybe not planned, maybe not spoken, but real.
She bites her lip. “I never meant to do this.”
I give her a wry half smile. “Neither did I.”
Before I can say anything else, voices echo up from downstairs—the front door slamming. The others have returned from the party.
She stiffens, clutching the sheet to her chest. “How long have we been…” She trails off, the words tangled between embarrassment and curiosity.
I grin, can’t help it. “Fucking?”
Her eyes flash wide. She swats my arm, mortified and maybe a little delighted, and for a second all the awkwardness softens into something warm and new between us.