15. Cassie #2
“Eyes up, Cassie,” he rasps, dark and low. “If you’re gonna misbehave, at least look me in the eye while I take you apart.”
He lowers himself beside me, the heat of his body scorching against my skin like a goddamn furnace I can’t crawl out of. His hand slides down my stomach.
I can feel him—hard, heavy, throbbing against my hip—and it does nothing but make the ache between my legs worse.
His fingers dip lower, finding the slick heat already pooling there.
“Fuck, Cassie,” he groans, thumb circling my clit in slow, brutal strokes. “You’re dripping for me.”
Heat floods my cheeks, but I don’t look away. His hands are already working me open, teasing the edge of my sanity.
“Such a mess already,” he rasps, sliding one thick finger inside me, curling slowly. “And I haven’t even started.”
A whimper claws up my throat, hips rolling helplessly against his hand, chasing the pressure that builds like a ticking time bomb under my skin.
He adds a second finger, stretching me wider, teasing me deep, thumb grinding tight circles over my clit.
“Eyes on me,” he commands, voice rough enough to scrape bone.
It takes everything I’ve got, but I force my eyes open, locking onto his as he pumps his fingers deep, relentless, thumb still torturing me with slow, punishing circles.
It’s almost too much—the intensity in his gaze, the filthy possessiveness in every stroke, the way he watches me fall apart like he’s been starving for this.
“That’s it,” he urges, low and lethal, sliding in a third finger, stretching me wider, rougher, making me feel every inch of it. “Take it, baby. Take everything I give you.”
My back arches, hips rocking up to meet every brutal thrust of his fingers. The pressure builds, tight and unbearable, the kind that snatches the air right out of my lungs.
My hands grip the sheets, nails biting into the fabric, breath coming in ragged, broken gasps.
“I’m—” The words catch, tangled in the pleasure ripping through me. My body clenches, shuddering, chasing the edge so fast I can’t see straight.
“Come for me, Cassie,” he growls, thumb grinding harder, fingers pumping faster, relentless, merciless, his. “Now.”
And I do.
I splinter apart, the orgasm crashing through me like a damn wrecking ball, spine bowing off the bed, every muscle locking tight as the pleasure detonates under my skin.
His hand doesn’t stop—not until I’ve ridden out every last aftershock, until I’m trembling, wrecked, sprawled beneath him.
His eyes are dark, hungry, and dangerous as sin.
“We’re not done,” he promises, voice all rough edges and filthy intent.
Before I can recover, he’s moving, positioning me how he wants me. Flipping me onto my knees, guiding my hands to the headboard.
“Hold on.”
I grip the wooden railing, heart hammering, body still twitching from my orgasm. I feel him behind me, the heat of him, the curve of his cock.
His hand slides down my spine, a reverent touch that ends with a sharp smack to my ass. I gasp, the sting blooming into pleasure.
“You like that?” he asks, smacking the other cheek.
“Yes,” I breathe, pushing back against him. “God, yes.”
His hands grip my hips, positioning me exactly where he wants me. The blunt head of his cock nudges against my entrance, teasing me right at the edge of losing my damn mind.
And then—slowly, torturously—he pushes in.
The stretch burns. Sweet, sinful, toe-curling pressure that has me gasping, my fingers tightening around the bed railing like I might actually float right off the mattress.
“Fuck, Cass,” he hisses. He bottoms out inside me, stilling for half a second, my body stretched around him, full in a way that’s got every nerve ending firing like fireworks under my skin.
My mouth drops open, but words? Gone. I can only feel—the ache, the stretch, the heat blooming everywhere.
He pulls back, slow and controlled, but it doesn’t last. His hips snap forward, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the dark room.
One hand tangles in my hair, twisting at the roots, pulling just enough to arch my spine, angling me deeper onto him. The other grips my hip.
I brace myself as he pounds into me—hard, relentless, the rhythm brutal and addictive.
“God, you feel so good,” he growls, voice low and wrecked, his hips slamming against me, each thrust chasing the edge of control.
A whimper slips from my lips, high-pitched and desperate. The pressure builds fast, my legs shaking, thighs quivering with every punishing snap of his hips.
His hand slides around, fingers finding my clit, circling with filthy precision that sends my body spiraling straight into overload.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he rasps, breath hot in my ear. “I can feel you shaking. You’re close.”
I gasp with the pleasure ripping through me, his cock driving deep, his fingers working me higher.
My body clenches, thighs trembling, every muscle locking tight as the orgasm crashes over me, hard and hot and overwhelming. I come with a shout, clenching around him, pleasure tearing through me like lightning. I can barely keep myself on my knees. That’s how hard I shake.
But Dante’s giving Rocco Siffredi a run for his money tonight.
Before I’ve even come down, he’s flipping me over onto my back.
His eyes drag over me, like me naked in front of him is his undoing. His body cages mine, heat pouring off him, tension coiled tight beneath his skin.
“Need to see your face,” Dante rasps. “Need to watch you come apart for me.”
The words slither down my spine, shooting straight to my pussy.
His eyes lock with mine as he pushes back in. His grip tightens at my thigh, hiking my leg higher around his waist, angling deeper, his hips snapping against mine with a bruising rhythm.
Each thrust sends shockwaves through me, pressure building like I’m teetering on the edge of something dangerous. His mouth brushes my jaw, my neck, dragging hot, open-mouthed kisses across my skin, and I’m unraveling all over again.
“Dante,” I whimper, nails digging into his shoulders. “Please.”
“One more,” he demands, voice strained. “Give me one more, Cassie.”
His thumb finds my clit again, pressing, circling, and I’m lost. My vision whites out, my body bows and a scream catches in my throat as I come for the third time. This time, he follows, his rhythm faltering, a groan tearing from his chest as he pulses inside me.
He collapses beside me, both of us panting, slick with sweat. For a long moment, we just lay there, bodies humming with aftershocks.
Then, without a word, he pulls me to his chest. I go willingly, boneless, exhausted. My head finds the hollow of his shoulder, a perfect fit. His arms wrap around me, secure, safe.
And something in me breaks.
The tears come without warning, hot and silent, sliding down my cheeks to soak his skin. I don’t know why I’m crying—relief, fear, the weight of secrets, the reality of being held by him again after so long.
He doesn’t ask. Doesn’t try to fix it. Just holds me tighter, one hand stroking my hair, his lips pressed to my forehead. In time, he passes me my clothes, puts on his, only to gather me in his arms again.
We fall asleep like that, tangled in each other, my tears drying on his skin, his heartbeat steady under my ear.
I dream of nothing.
When I wake, the first pale light of dawn is filtering through the curtains. Dante’s still beside me, his arm a heavy weight across my waist, his breathing deep and even.
Then I hear it—the soft patter of tiny feet in the hallway.
My heart stops.
The door creaks open, and there she is. Aria, sleep-rumpled and innocent, rubbing her eyes with tiny fists. She doesn’t seem surprised to find me here, with him. Doesn’t hesitate.
She pads across the floor and climbs onto the bed with the confidence of a child who knows she’s loved. For a moment, she studies Dante’s sleeping face, head tilted like she’s piecing together a puzzle.
Then, with a small, contented sigh, she crawls into the space between us, curling up against his chest, her back to my stomach.
Dante’s eyes open, finding mine over her head. I see the moment he registers what’s happening—the shock, the wonder, the raw emotion that floods his face.
His arm shifts, curling around her small body, protective, possessive. His other hand finds mine, fingers lacing together over our daughter’s sleeping form.
We say nothing.
But the truth is crawling closer, inescapable now.
It doesn’t matter anyway because…
He knows.