10. Dante
Dante
Her soft weight presses against my spine. Her arm drapes over my side. Her hand rests flat against my chest, her fingers tracing the small, jagged scar just below my right collarbone.
The reinforced door is directly behind me. Seven engaged deadbolts secure the reinforced oak frame. My back is exposed to it.
For twenty years, a blind spot meant death. My tactical armor demanded a clear line of sight to every exit. My hypervigilance kept my brothers breathing. I lived inside the cold paranoia of a war that stole my family. I was the guard dog. I was the unblinking sentry.
Not tonight.
Tonight, the perimeter does not exist. The war is a thousand miles away. The only thing that matters is anchored to my skin.
The warm scent of her skin fills the room. The cold focus is gone. Only the man remains, driven by a raw need for her.
I roll.
The mattress groans under my weight. The movement is sudden. Gemma gasps as I pin her beneath my frame. Soft, warm curves slide against rigid muscle. My thighs bracket her hips, pinning her in place. My hands frame her face.
She blinks up at me in the dim light cutting through the drapes.
Her lips part. A sassy, fearless smile spreads across her mouth.
"You finally done clearing the corners, Costa?" she whispers.
"Corners are clear," I rasp. "You're the only target left."
My mouth crashes down on hers.
There is no hesitation. No gentle teasing.
I am a starving man at a feast. My tongue forces past her lips, sweeping her mouth, tasting the perfection of her.
She tastes like basil and garlic, a lingering note from the pasta we'd just eaten, beneath the defiance on her tongue.
Her hands tangle in my short dark hair, gripping the strands tight.
She pulls me closer, demanding the bruising pressure of my kiss.
My rugged beard scratches against her delicate chin. The friction is a violent, beautiful contrast. A brutal enforcer and a bright, beautiful woman. She accepts every rough edge. She embraces the monster.
A low, animalistic growl rumbles in my chest.
My right hand releases her face and drops to her shoulder. The compass and knotwork tattooed down my arm flex violently as I grip the collar of my oversized henley. The shirt is tangled around her waist, the only barrier left between us.
I rip it over her head. The cotton tears slightly at the seam. I toss the ruined fabric onto the floor.
She is bare beneath me.
Glorious.
Luscious thighs. A soft, perfect stomach.
Gorgeous tits. Every single curve demands worship.
My rough hands map the territory, claiming every inch.
I drag my palms down her sides, squeezing her hips, branding her skin with the heat of my touch.
The dark ink covering my arm bunches as I brace my weight over her.
"Mine," I growl against her throat.
"Yours," she gasps, arching into my chest. "Only yours."
The words shatter the final, microscopic thread of my control.
I drag my body down the mattress. My knees part her thighs, pushing them wide.
I settle between her legs, settling into the center of my universe.
The room is hot, charged with the scent of arousal.
The gold watch on the nightstand ticks away the seconds, but time has ceased to exist. There is only Gemma.
I lower my head. My beard grazes the soft, sensitive skin of her inner thigh.
Gemma jolts. Her hands fly down, her fingers digging into my broad shoulders.
"Dante," she breathes. The sassy bravado is gone. Only raw, desperate need remains.
"I am going to claim every inch of you," I state. It is not a promise. It is a threat.
My tongue traces a hot, wet path up her thigh. She tastes like sweet musk and sheer desire. Her wetness is an intoxicating perfume. The scent drives me insane. I reach up, my large thumbs parting her slick folds.
She is dripping for me. Glistening in the dim light. Ready.
I drop my mouth over her clit.
Gemma screams. The sound tears through the silent compound suite. It echoes off the reinforced walls. I swallow the scream, sucking the swollen, sensitive flesh into my mouth. I swirl my tongue over the tight bud, applying a brutal, unrelenting suction.
Her hips buck off the mattress. She tries to writhe away from the intense pleasure.
I clamp my hands down on her thighs, pinning her in place. She cannot escape. I will not let her run from this. I will give her everything.
I flick my tongue rapidly, mercilessly working her clit. Her hands twist into the expensive compound sheets, gripping the fabric in her fists. Her chest heaves. Her gorgeous tits bounce with every frantic movement of her hips.
"Dante! Please!" she begs.
"Take it," I command, my voice a dark, rough vibration against her wetness.
I slide two fingers inside her slick pussy.
The heat is staggering. The tightness is perfection. Her wetness coats my knuckles, acting as a slick, natural lube as I pump my fingers in and out of her tight walls. She clenches violently around the intrusion.
I match the thrust of my fingers to the relentless lashing of my tongue.
Gemma thrashes. Her head whips side to side on the pillows. Her breathing is a series of broken, desperate sobs. The food truck owner from the South Side, the woman who stared down a Bellanti drive-by, is at my mercy. I am unraveling her.
"I'm close," she cries out, her nails digging into my scarred shoulders. "Dante, I can't—"
"Spill for me."
I bite down lightly on the hood of her clit while burying my fingers to the hilt.
Gemma shatters.
Her body bows off the bed, a beautiful, violent arc of pure release. Her vaginal walls spasm around my fingers, clenching with terrifying force. Hot slick gushes over my hand. She screams my name, a broken, beautiful sound that brands my soul permanently.
I stay exactly where I am, riding out the aftershocks of her climax. I swallow every drop of her sweet release. I lap up the slick coating her thighs, cleaning her.
When her hips finally drop back to the mattress, she is a panting, shivering mess.
I drag my frame back up her body. The friction of my chest hair against her sensitive skin draws another ragged moan from her lips. I settle my weight over her, covering her.
My own arousal is a brutal, agonizing ache. The front of my jeans is a torture chamber. My cock is an angry rod of steel, begging to be buried inside her.
Gemma opens her eyes. They are dazed, swimming with heat.
Her hands slide down my chest, bypassing the scarred tissue, heading straight for my waistband. She fumbles with the metal button of my denim.
"My turn," she whispers, a tiny spark of her trademark sass returning.
"No." I capture her wrists in one hand, pinning them above her head. "You don't get to work tonight. You just take."
With my free hand, I rip the button open. I shove the denim and my boxers down my thighs, kicking them off the bed in one violent motion.
My cock springs free, violently fully erect. A bead of precum glistens at the blunt tip. The cool air of the suite hits the heated skin, making the veins throb. I am naked. The monster is fully exposed.
I settle between her thighs again. The head of my cock rests right at the slick opening of her pussy.
Gemma stares up at me. Her chest rises and falls rapidly. The sassy bravado is stripped away. Her gaze tracks over the raw, unhinged obsession in my expression, taking in the feral protector who slaughtered four men in a dark hotel hallway, currently begging for entry into her body.
"Claim me," she demands.
The command snaps the final tether to my sanity.
I drive my hips forward, burying the head of my cock past her tight, slick entrance. She stretches agonizingly around my girth, the friction burning like liquid fire. Her walls are incredibly tight. Her body grips me, slick and warm.
A guttural, animalistic groan rips from my throat.
I push deeper. Slowly. Relentlessly.
Gemma gasps, her fingernails biting into my heavily tattooed biceps.
The skull and dark roses flex under her sharp grip.
I watch her face closely, monitoring every twitch, every flinch.
The unfeeling guard dog might be dead, but the protector is permanently awake.
If I hurt her, I will tear my own heart out.
"Dante," she whines, her hips lifting, trying to take more of me.
"I'm huge, baby," I grit out, sweat beading on my forehead. "Let your body adjust."
"I don't care. Fill me. Now."
Her legs wrap around my waist, her ankles locking behind my lower back. She yanks me forward.
I sink to the absolute hilt in one brutal, terrifyingly deep thrust.
Our bodies collide with a loud, wet smack. The impact shakes the wooden bedframe. My pelvis grinds firmly against hers, locking us together in a seamless, perfect fit. I am buried so deep inside her tight pussy, the intense pressure threatens to force my own climax immediately.
Gemma arches her neck back, exposing the delicate skin of her throat. A long, shuddering sigh escapes her lips.
"Perfect," she whispers.
I freeze. Every muscle in my body locks down. I am submerged in searing heat. Her wet walls throb around my cock, massaging the sensitive flesh. The sensation is heaven. It is the peace I have hunted for twenty agonizing years.
I lower my chest, pressing the small scar on my right upper chest against her soft breast. I bury my face in the crook of her neck.
"You are everything," I vow, my voice a dark, jagged whisper against her collarbone. "Every breath. Every heartbeat."
"Yours," she confirms, her hands stroking my short, dark hair.
The gentle touch shatters the stillness.
I pull back, dragging my cock almost all the way out of her tight heat. She whimpers at the loss, her hips chasing my retreat.
I slam back into her, driving the bedframe flush against the reinforced compound wall with every brutal, punishing thrust.