5. Chiara
5
CHIARA
O ur kissing turns feverish, a desperate tangle of lips and tongues. I grind against him, feeling the hard evidence of his desire through the fabric between us. Dante moans into my mouth, the sound vibrating through me and making my core ache with need. His hands grip me tighter, pulling me even closer, if that’s possible.
The way he holds me, the way he kisses me, it’s as if he’s trying to tell me through touch what words can’t fully express. I feel cherished, desired, and most of all, loved. My fingers thread through his hair, tugging gently, and he responds with a growl that sends shivers down my spine.
“Dante,” I murmur against his lips, my voice breathy with want.
“Chiara,” he breathes back, his hands roaming my body with a familiarity that makes me feel safe and wild all at once.
Sex with Dante is one of the best feelings in the world. When I’m with him, all the responsibilities weighing me down, all the conflict between wanting to make my father happy and pursuing my own happiness, fades away. At first, our secret relationship had a certain thrill about it, the rebellion making our attraction that much more exciting. But right now, being in Dante’s arms is the only thing keeping me in one piece.
Dante kisses and nips his way down my neck, each touch sending shivers through me. I gasp, clutching onto him, arching for more. His tongue swirls against my skin, and my core pulses with need. I can’t take it anymore. I force his mouth back to mine, our kiss becoming even more heated, tongues tangling together. I suck on his tongue, loving how he moans into my mouth.
I trace his muscles, smiling against his mouth as I feel him shudder and sharply inhale. God, he has such a beautiful body. Not even Michelangelo’s David can beat Dante’s chiseled abdomen and broad shoulders. I bend my head, mapping out the scars on his body with my tongue, feeling Dante’s hands wind into my hair as he jerks his hips into mine.
He makes me feel alive. He makes me feel loved and wanted. His hands roam my body with a desperation that mirrors my own. I grind against him, feeling the hard evidence of his desire, and it only fuels my own.
“Chiara,” he breathes again, gripping me tighter and pulling me closer. His fingers dig into my hips, guiding my movements, and I moan into his mouth, the sound vibrating between us.
His touch is electric, his kisses a drug I can’t get enough of. I tug at his shirt, needing it gone, and he helps me, our movements quick and urgent. My own shirt follows, discarded carelessly to the floor. His hands find my bare back, tracing the lines of my spine, and I arch into his touch, moaning softly.
I rock my hips, grinding against him in a rhythm that makes us both gasp. His hands slide to my hips, guiding my movements, his grip firm and possessive.
“Fuck, Chiara,” he moans.
How could I ever live without him? How could I possibly be expected to marry another man, be intimate with another man—one day, carry another man’s children? I’ve dreamed about having children with Dante, and it feels like all those hopes and wishes are being ripped away because my father is too scared to trust my decision making ability.
Every touch, every kiss, every thrust is a reminder of why I can’t let him go, no matter what my father says. In this moment, it’s just us, and nothing else matters.
“Dante,” I whisper again, needing him to know how much I want this, need this.
“I need you,” he replies, his voice rough with passion. “ Fuck .”
I smile against his lips, feeling a rush of love and desire so intense it almost overwhelms me. “Then take me,” I say, and it’s both an invitation and a plea.
His fingers trail up my thighs, dragging the fabric with them, the skirt inching higher, exposing more of my skin to the cool air. The sensation sends shivers through me, anticipation pooling low in my belly. With one swift movement, he tugs my skirt over my hips and tosses it aside, leaving me in just my underwear. The heat in his gaze intensifies, and I can feel my pulse quicken in response.
His hands slide back down, fingertips grazing my skin, making me shiver. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of my panties, pulling them down slowly, agonizingly so, until they join the discarded skirt. His eyes never leave mine, the intensity of his gaze making my heart race.
I lift myself slightly, my fingers moving to the waistband of his pants. I fumble for a moment, my hands trembling with desire, before I manage to unbutton and unzip them. With a determined tug, I pull his pants down, feeling the tension in his muscles as he lifts his hips to help. His underwear follows quickly, revealing his hardened cock, and I can’t help but let out a soft moan at the sight of him.
Positioning myself above him, I can feel the heat of his arousal against me. I lower myself slowly, exhaling sharply as he fills me, stretching and completing me in a way that makes me gasp. My hands splay out on his chest for support, fingers digging into his skin as I adjust to the sensation of him inside me.
Dante’s grip on my waist tightens, his fingers digging in almost painfully, grounding me as I start to move. The desperation in our movements is palpable, each thrust and grind a testament to the need that’s been building between us. I can feel every inch of him, the way he fills me, the way he moves within me, each motion driving me closer to the edge.
Our breaths are ragged, mingling in the space between us as I ride him, my hips moving in a rhythm that matches the frantic beating of my heart. His hands roam my body, one sliding up to cup my breast, his thumb brushing over my nipple, sending jolts of pleasure through me. I throw my head back and moan loudly.
His other hand remains on my waist, guiding me, urging me to move faster, harder.
The intensity of our connection is almost overwhelming, the room filled with the sounds of our moans and the bed creaking. I can see the love in his eyes, feel it in the way he touches me, even in the desperate urgency of our movements. It’s a heady mix, making me feel both cherished and consumed all at once.
Every movement, every touch, is filled with a need that borders on frantic, yet there’s a tenderness underlying it all, a deep love that binds us together. As we move together, lost in each other, I can feel the world fade away until it’s just us, in this moment, together.
I love him so much it hurts. How could I ever feel this way with anyone else, with whoever my father set me up with? I can’t even remember his name, and I don’t want to. Not when I’m riding Dante’s cock, feeling him deep inside me, where he belongs.
“Dante,” I moan, my voice raw with emotion. “I’m close.” The pressure is starting to mount, the sensation almost too much to bear.
His pace becomes more frantic, his grip on my waist almost painful as he slams me onto him. The sensation is just too much, and I shatter over him, crying out as the waves of pleasure crash through me. My body tightens around him, pulling him deeper as I convulse in ecstasy.
Dante’s rhythm falters, his breaths coming in harsh gasps. I feel him swell inside me, and with a guttural moan, he thrusts deep one last time, his release hot and powerful. He holds me tight against him, our bodies trembling with the intensity of it all.
I collapse onto Dante’s chest, feeling the steady beating of his heart against my ear. It’s a soothing rhythm, grounding me in this moment of serenity. His lips press a tender kiss to the top of my head, and then he gently rolls us so that I’m lying next to him. He runs his fingers through my hair, and I cuddle closer, feeling the warmth of his body seep into mine.
“Why won’t you just run away with me?” I whisper, the desperation clear in my voice. “It’s a perfect plan, Dante. It solves everything .”
He sighs, his fingers stilling in my hair for a moment before he resumes the gentle stroking. “Chiara, we just talked about this. Your father would come after us. He’d end me and still force you to marry the Russian.”
I scoff, not convinced by his reasoning. “I don’t want to marry him. Not when I have you.”
Dante’s grip tightens ever so slightly. “I can’t do that to your family, Chiara. They’ve been good to me and my family for years. Running away would be deceitful. Even if your father didn’t hunt us down, we would be forever looking over our shoulders. Don’t you think he would get Dominico and Rork to bring us back?”
“Rork wouldn’t,” I point out, feeling petulant. “He still doesn’t care for Papa, and Bianca never liked that Papa was forcing us to marry.”
“But Dominico would ,” Dante says tightly. “And he has the full backing of the Sicura Family. Plus, with your father gone, Sofia would be the head of the family, and she would want to find us. We would be found, one way or another.”
I scowl at the mention of my eldest sister. As much as I love Sofia, she got lucky with her marriage. She always loved Dominico, even when she was being annoying and claiming that she ‘hated’ him. Yeah, right. Anyone with eyes could see she was head over heels for him.
Besides, Sofia wouldn’t understand. She’s all about ‘doing what’s right for the family’ and ‘making Papa happy in his final days’. Easy for her to say when she married her perfect match.
Bianca would understand, but it’s hard to talk to Bianca with Cara demanding so much of her attention.
Anger flares in my chest, a hot, suffocating pressure. I pull back to look at him, my eyes searching his face for any sign of wavering. “So you’re just ready to give up on us? You’re willing to let me marry another man out of loyalty to my father—not me?”
His brown eyes flash with frustration, his patience thinning. “It’s not about giving up, Chiara. It’s about doing what’s right. I love you, but I can’t betray your family like that.”
Fury rises within me, mixing with the fear that’s been simmering under the surface. I shove him away, sitting up and glaring down at him. “What about me, Dante? What about what I want? I don’t want whoever my father set me up with! I want you! Doesn’t our love mean anything to you?”
“It means everything,” he says sharply, trying to pull me back into his arms, but I resist, shaking with anger. “But sometimes, love means making the harder choice. We have to find another way, one that doesn’t destroy everything else in our lives.”
Tears prick at my eyes, but I blink them away, refusing to let them fall. “Another way? What other way, Dante? You’re just hiding behind excuses because you’re too scared to fight for us.”
His face hardens, frustration clear in his eyes. “Scared? You think I’m scared? I’m terrified , Chiara. I’m terrified of losing you, of what your father will do. But running away isn’t the answer.”
“So you’re just going to let me be sold off like some kind of property?” I snap, my voice rising. “You’re willing to let them take me away from you because of some misguided sense of loyalty?”
“Chiara, it’s not like that?—”
“Then what is it, Dante?” I cut him off, my voice trembling with a mixture of rage and fear. “Explain it to me, because all I see is you giving up on us.”
He sits up, frustration etched in every line of his face as he runs a hand through his hair. “We’ve been over this. Running away is a horrible plan. It’s not realistic. It’s reckless and would only get us both killed.”
I see the conflict etched on Dante’s face, and suddenly, a cold wave of terror washes over me. My accusation, harsh and unforgiving, may not be too far off the mark.