3. Alexandria
CHAPTER THREE
alexandria
My logical reasoning didn’t just leave the building—it disintegrated into a million tiny pieces the second my feet left the marble floor.
Before I can draw another ragged breath, Dante’s hands are under my thighs and behind my back, sweeping me into his arms with an effortlessness as if I weigh nothing at all.
“Dante.” I let out a sharp gasp. My hands lock around his neck.
He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to.
His mouth returns to mine, destroying every lingering thread of resistance I have left.
He carries me through his tower in the sky, his long, steady strides powerful and purposeful.
Each step he takes jars our bodies together, making my core slide against his hard length.
My biker shorts and his pants do nothing to hide our mutual desire.
Every press of his lips draws a needy whimper from the back of my throat.
I’m drowning in Dante Lombardi, and I don’t want to come up for air, not yet at least. He smells like raw, masculine power.
Bright mandarine cuts through the space, and a soft undertone of lavender settles against my senses, and undeniably him.
Then comes pine, deep, smooth, and rugged enough to have me imagining his broad shoulders, expensive cuff links, and hands that look just as good wrapped around a crystal glass as they do around my waist.
We burst through the double doors of his master bedroom, dark, luxurious, and dominated by a massive bed that looks like it’s floating from the wall. Dante sets me down, barely able to contain himself and me to keep my footing as he tears at my clothes.
“Dante...” His name is torn from my chest as his fingers hook in the collar of my jean jacket, stripping it down my arms and letting it fall to the floor.
“Hush, wife,” he growls against my lips.
His hands move with a desperate speed that matches the wild cadence of my rapidly beating heart.
“I think you’ve done enough talking today.
” Buttons pop as he tears open my button-down shirt.
And beneath is a cropped tank top, exposing me to the cool air of the room.
I don’t care.
I couldn’t care.
My own hands work just as frantically, clawing at his shirt, shoving the fabric off his broad shoulders with his help. For someone who doesn’t remember the last time we were together, I do this as easily as if I’ve done it a million times before.
I need him to touch me. I need to feel his skin beneath the palms of my hands, to confirm that the hard, sculpted planes of his chest are real and not just a fragment of a champagne-fueled dream.
Dante makes short work of the rest—my shorts hit the floor, followed immediately by my top, and I have just enough time to kick off my sandals before his intense gaze blazes a path along my whole body.
He lets out a low growl from the back of his throat.
Unable to hold back, he grabs my hips, spins me around, and tosses me forward onto the center of the mattress.
I land on my hands and knees. The plush duvet is cool beneath my skin.
My curls tumble into my face, obscuring my view, and I can’t have that.
I push myself up and toss my hair over my shoulder.
Dante stands at the edge of the bed, naked, magnificently so, even if I’m unsure how fast he was able to get that way. Clearly, he’s just as needy as I am.
He looks like an ancient god carved out of bronze, but that’s not what has my breath catching, not his muscular frame or his lethal size—it’s the skin on his chest and shoulders.
Red scratches are crisscrossed on his torso, and a dark fading bite mark rests at the curve where his neck meets his shoulders.
Holy shit, those are my marks. I did that to him in the dark.
Apparently, I claimed him just as fiercely as he claimed me.
I blink my eyes when he turns around, grabbing a condom out of the nightstand, and holy fuck, his back is a million times worse than the front.
“Dante.” He slides onto the bed behind me, tossing the condom to the side, then calloused hands grip my hips with an iron grasp, tilting my pelvis up in order to drag his dick along the seam of the lips of my pussy.
His broad chest presses flat against my back, his searing heat wrapping around me like a furnace.
“Look at me, Alexandria.” My core pulses, greedy and grasping at air, wanting his length inside me with how he says my name.
I do as he says, watching as he picks up the foil packet, spinning it between his dexterous fingers.
He rips it open it with his teeth, and I watch as he rolls the latex onto his thick dick.
The minute he’s wrapped up, I’m entirely unprepared when Dante enters me with one hard, deliberate thrust of his hips, planting himself deep inside me.
“Ah!” I gasp, throwing my head bask as my entire world narrows to only him. My core pulses, tight and aching, accommodating his massive length in a single, breathless second.
“Alexandria,” he rasps. The sound of my name on his lips sounds like a sacred prayer.
He doesn’t give me time to recover. He begins a slow, punishing pace, pulling back until only the tip is left inside.
My insatiable pussy tries to clamp down to hold him where I need him.
He slams back home, setting a tempo that makes the bed creak and my mind shatter.
I arch my back, push back, and meet his every thrust.
“You said you can’t remember,” Dante growls.
His thumbs dig into the soft skin of my hips, painful but in a pleasurable way.
With every deep, ruthless plunge, his voice echoes in my ear.
“Let me jog your memory, wife.” Thrust. “Do you remember the vow you made to me at three o’clock in the morning?
When you swore you were mine?” Thrust. “Do you remember the kiss in the alley when you begged me not to stop?” Thrust. “Do you remember when I whispered in your ear that I was going to ruin you for every other man on this earth?” Thrust.
“Oh, god,” I cry out. My fingers clutch at the sheets, my hips moving back to meet him. Every word he speaks seems to hit a nerve buried deep, unlocking vivid flashes of Vegas: the heat, the sweat, and the surrender.
“Not god, wife,” he grunts. “Dante or husband will do.”
“Dante.” He’s right. I remember. God help me, I remember every single second.
“That’s right, Alexandria. I’m going to make sure you never forget again.
” His breathing is ragged against my spine.
“In every way possible.” He pulls out completely, causing me to let out a sharp, needy whine of protest. Before I can turn my head, he spins me onto my back and his heavy body looms over mine.
Dante doesn’t pause. He kneels between my legs and rips off the condom, all while his dark amber eyes are locked on mine as he grabs my hand and drags it down his thick rigid length.
“Take me. Show me you remember,” he commands, sweat glistening on his forehead and his body.
My fingers barely close around his length.
With a sudden, overwhelming desire, I lean forward, part my lips, and take him in my mouth.
I moan at his taste, and Dante lets out a groan of his own.
His hands fist my hair as I swirl my tongue over the head of his cock before taking him as deep as I can manage.
Salt, musk, and pure Dante flood my senses, and hearing him unravel above me, his hips twitching helplessly beneath my touch, well, it sends a thrill of pure desire straight to my core.
“Fuck, Alexandria,” he chokes out, his fingers tightening their hold.
“Enough, before I lose control.” He pulls me up by my arms, hauling me backward until my head meets the mattress, and he lowers his head, sliding down my body, trailing his tongue and lips along my throat then moving lower, sucking one nipple into his mouth, taking long, deep pulls.
My legs wrap around his firm waist as I drag my pussy along the underside of his cock.
Dante goes from one to the other, teasing me, allowing his dick to sink just the barest of an inch inside me only to pull back.
I whimper when he moves lower and dropping down my aching center.
He parts my legs wide with the palms of his hands, draping my knees over his broad shoulders, and buries his faces between my thighs.
He works me up with his tongue, his lips, and his fingers, plunging two inside me while licking up my wetness, and when he pulls my clit into his mouth, taking deep, drugging pulls, I shatter.
“Dante, fuck, oh god!” He’s not gentle. He takes over every one of my senses, his tongue flicking and swirling with expert precession, prolonging my orgasm.
“Please,” I sob, my back bowing off the bed.
My left hand flies down. The heavy platinum diamond-encrusted band with the massive diamond flashes in the dim light.
I tangle my fingers in his thick dark hair, my hand with his ring on it, pressing him harder, deeper between my legs, holding his mouth against my soaking pussy.
One orgasm rolls into another, my body begging for another release that’s coiling tighter and tighter in my lower abdomen.
Through it all, he doesn’t pull back. He eats me, his fingers gliding in and out while his tongue works at a wild pace.
This orgasm is violent, blinding, ripping through me and tearing a hoarse scream from my throat as my core spasms around his fingers.
This time, Dante drags himself back up my body, his face flush, his eyes wild and dark, and his lips wet with my climax.
“You’re mine, Alexandria,” he growls against my mouth, making me taste myself on him while his hips keep my thighs open. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” I sob. My hands cup his jaw.
“God help me, Dante, I’m yours.” He drives back inside me in one solid, possessive stroke, sinking to the hilt.
My legs lift, holding him to me with how I’m wrapped around him.
I may have just had two orgasms back-to-back, yet I want more. God, I want so much more.
“Coming inside you, Alexandria.” His growl vibrates against my chest. “Put on a rubber earlier, but no more. Taking my wife bare from now on.” I should not get off on him having zero regard to my lack of birth control, but here I am, letting go, and damn does it feel good.
Dante’s pace is relentless. His hand covers mine, his ring finger nestled near mine, his eyes never closing, deep and drugging.
“So close.” My ass lifts up, and he somehow manages to sink deeper.
“Fuck.” Dante’s head tilts up, exposing the long, strained line of his throat where his Adam’s apple bobs with his grunt.
Every muscle in his shoulders and arms coils taut, veins standing out, and his dark eyelashes flutter against his flushed cheeks.
His breathing turns shallow with shuddering gasps.
In this moment, he’s completely and helplessly undone.
My eyes close, losing the vision before me as I crash over the edge. He drops to his forearms, cradling me as a rush of breath leaves me. And realization hits me with the terrifying truth. Maybe being married to Dante Lombardi isn’t as terrifying as I once thought.