12. Dante #2
I don’t let up—mouth and fingers working in a brutal and steady rhythm, tuned to every gasp, every twitch of her hips like I’ve mapped her body in my sleep.
Her thighs start to tremble around my head.
Her fingers twist in my hair, desperate, her spine arching clean off the counter like she’s coming undone from the inside out.
“Let go, baby,” I growl against her, voice rough with want. “Fall apart for me.”
And she does.
God—she shatters.
Her body seizes under my hands, thighs quaking, breath catching, those filthy, breathless curses slipping from her mouth like a prayer gone wrong. Her whole body bows, shakes, and clenches until I feel her come apart on my fingers—wrecked, ruined, beautiful.
But I don’t stop. I ride the aftershocks, dragging her higher, licking her through the unraveling until she’s pushing weakly at my shoulders, whimpering like she can’t take another second.
I lift my head, her taste still on my lips, her eyes glassy and wide.
“Yeah,” I rasp, voice low, dangerous. “We’re not done yet.”
Only then do I stand, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, savoring the taste of her still clinging to my lips. She’s sprawled across my kitchen counter like the most dangerous woman in the world.
I’d sell my soul to please her.
I drag my gaze down the length of her parted legs, messy hair, and heaving chest—and my cock’s already pressing hard behind my zipper like it’s got a death wish.
“Take off your dress.”
She swallows, eyes darting to mine, pulse jumping at her throat. Her hands shake as she pushes herself upright, fingers fumbling at the hem.
Slow. She peels it up inch by inch, revealing smooth thighs, the curve of her hips, and soft, flushed skin that makes my palms itch. Her breathing’s uneven now, matching mine, like we’re both circling the edge of something dangerous.
The dress hits the floor.
Her bra follows—black lace, delicate as sin. I grip the strap, rough and impatient, and it tears like paper under my fingers. She gasps, but there’s no protest, only heat in those eyes, dark and heavy as they lock onto mine.
“Good girl,” I murmur.
She’s naked for me now—completely, sinfully, maddeningly naked. Her skin flushed, breasts rising and falling with every jagged breath, soft curves all laid out across my counter like she’s some goddamn sculpture built to ruin men.
And hell, I’m already ruined.
My eyes drag over every inch of her—the swell of her lips, the peaks of those perfect breasts, the way her thighs shift just slightly like she knows exactly how undone I am.
My heart’s racing like I’ve got minutes left to live, and this? This is the only way I’m spending them. Watching her, wrecking her, reminding both of us who the hell she belongs to.
I run my hands up her sides, over her ribs, and cup her breasts in my palms. They fit perfectly, like they were meant to fit. I brush my thumbs over her pebbled nipples, watching her squirm.
“Beautiful. Fucking perfect.”
Her fingers fist in my shirt, tugging, frantic now, like she’s seconds from losing her mind if I don’t get my act together.
“Off,” she commands. Her hands are on me before I can speak—shoving at my shirt, yanking it up over my head, nails dragging down my ribs.
She’s breathless, flushed, grabbing at my belt, my jeans, frantic like we’ll combust if there’s space between us.
Clothes scatter across the counter, her legs wrap around my waist, and I grip her thighs, heart pounding like a war drum. No patience. No slowing down.
I step between her legs again and line myself up with her entrance. Her eyes flicker to my cock, and she bites her lower lip with a nasty, dirty little smile. “Fuck,” she whispers, her eyes meeting mine.
She’s soaking wet, still pulsing from her orgasm, and when I push just the head of my cock inside, we both groan.
Her body clenches around me the second I push inside, tight, hot, still fluttering from that orgasm I just wrung out of her with my mouth. Her head falls back as she lets out a little breathless moan.
“Fuck, Cass,” I rasp, my hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. “You make me forget my own damn name.”
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it? Your name isn’t what I need right now.” She groans as she clenches her pussy around my cock.
“Fuck, you little tease,” I growl as her legs lock around my waist, pulling me deeper like she’s starved for this—starved for me.
I roll my hips slowly, savoring the stretch, the slick heat wrapping around me, every nerve ending firing off like gunshots under my skin.
“You’ve been lying,” I grit out, thrusting deeper, watching her eyes go wide, her back arching off the counter. “Telling everyone you’re fine… pretending you don’t think about this… about me.”
Her breath catches, nails biting into my skin, hips shifting, chasing every inch I give her like she can’t stand the space between us.
I slam in harder this time, the counter jolting beneath us, and her gasp rips through the room like we’re filming a fucking porno.
“Say it,” I growl, my voice sharp, filthy, and possessive. “Say you still want me.”
Her eyes flutter closed, lashes trembling, her lip caught between her teeth, but it’s her hips that answer first, rolling up to meet every brutal snap of mine.
“Dante…” My name’s a wrecked whisper, soaked in need.
I drag my hand up her ribs, over those perfect, flushed breasts, my thumb brushing the peak of one tight nipple as I thrust again—harder, rougher, until the only sounds filling the kitchen are skin meeting skin and those pretty little gasps spilling from her mouth.
“You were mine, always,” I snarl, my hand fisting in her hair, tilting her face to mine. “And now? You’re sure as hell not walking away from me again.”
Her body tightens, pulsing around me, the heat of her pulling me under, unraveling what little control I’ve got left.
I slam her down on her back, both hands gripping her thighs wide, pinning her there, and I drive into her, every thrust rougher, deeper, until her body’s jolting with every movement, the marble beneath us trembling like the whole damn house might come apart.
She’s gasping, wrecked, trembling under my hands, her body arching, chasing the high I’m dragging her toward, and I’m not stopping—not until I’ve burned every memory of every other man from her skin.
“Mine,” I grit out, my voice low and ragged, as her walls clench around me, pulling me deeper, tighter.
Her body arches under me, wild and wrecked, those gorgeous curves rolling up to meet every brutal thrust like she’s chasing the end of the world—and hell, I’m giving it to her.
Her breasts bounce with every slam of my hips, flushed and perfect, soft peaks begging for my hands. I lean down, mouth closing over one, biting just enough to make her moan that filthy, broken sound that wrecks my last thread of control.
“Look at you,” I rasp, dragging my hand up her ribs, gripping her hip, holding her down when she tries to lurch off the counter from how deep I’m driving into her. “Fucking falling apart for me.”
The marble shudders beneath us, the whole counter rattling like the damn house might give out—but I don’t stop.
“You were made for this,” I grind out, pace brutal now, hips pistoning like every thrust’s got my name branded on it. “Made for me.”
She tries to answer, but all that comes out is a wrecked sob of my name—broken, breathless, dripping with need.
Her body clenches tighter, that sweet, sinful heat wrapping around me, her thighs trembling where they lock around my waist. I know that look—know the way her lashes flutter, the way her nails scrape down my spine. She’s close—so close she can barely breathe.
“Come for me,” I demand, voice sharp, rough, possessive as hell. “Wanna feel you lose it, Cass.”
And she does—God, she does. Her body seizes under mine, thighs quaking, back arching clean off the counter, those filthy little curses tumbling from her mouth, breath jagged, eyes glazed as she falls apart completely for me.
The sight of her breaking, the sound of my name on her lips? It wrecks me. I slam into her one final time, deep, hard, brutal—and I lose it, my release hitting like a freight train, hips stuttering as I bury myself to the hilt, groaning low.
We stay like that—tangled, breathless, wrecked.
Finally, I straighten and ease out of her gently. Her eyes are dazed, her lips swollen from kissing, her hair a mess. She’s never looked more beautiful.
I cup a cheek in my hand, press a softer kiss to her lips. “You okay?”
She nods, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Then it fades, replaced by something more serious.
“I wish I could tell you everything,” she whispers, her eyes searching mine.
I brush my thumb over her cheekbone, feeling something heavy settle in my chest. “Me too.”