13. Dante
Dante
I watch the shitty sedan drive away, taking Pom with it.
Pom . Riley fucking Mullvain.
Of course, she left with Caleb Knox. The poster boy for mediocrity. Cheap suits, douchey grins, and that irritating habit of showing up precisely where he shouldn’t.
Anger burns up my spine, sears into the base of my skull. Could I have a more pathetic rival?
She’s the last thing you need , I remind myself.
But the thought doesn’t stick. She’s forbidden fruit. Lush, ripe, taunting me to lick, nip, and suck every inch of her. Riley is every wicked desire I shouldn’t have, every twisted impulse begging for release.
An itch beneath my skin, driving me insane because I cannot— should not —touch her.
Fuck.
If that girl is within arms length, how the hell am I supposed to keep my hands off her?
Riley is fire wrapped in satin, reckless defiance glittering in those maddening eyes, and curves that manage to find my brains’ off switch every goddamned time.
And that mouth. Christ. It never stops running. Full, pink lips that actually told me to fuck off.
A girl just begging for my cock.
The thought of her coming undone on my thigh sears me like a branding iron.
She’s got enough venom to be toxic, and enough delicious innocence to tempt every sadistic desire.
In a nutshell, exactly what I don’t fucking need.
Yet here I am, driven by the savage need to obliterate every last one of her defenses. To crush each barrier until she’s stripped bare, raw and trembling exactly where she belongs…
On her fucking knees, beautifully broken, and utterly mine.
I wrench my phone from my pocket and stab in the number. It barely rings once before the line picks up.
“Yes, sir?”
“Shitty green sedan. Just left. Stay on her. And get me another car.”
“Yes, sir.”
I disconnect, glancing down as a text vibrates through.
Enzo
Look out for Riley.
Seriously?
As usual, his timing is fucking impeccable.
I shake my head, glancing down at the faint, damp trace of Riley on my slacks.
Enzo would shoot first and ask questions never if he knew I was gift-wrapping my depraved desires and leaving them at his wife’s baby sister’s doorstep.
Even now, with her come on my clothes, her scent burning my lungs, Riley lingers in my mind like fine cigar smoke, slow and addictive, clouding every shred of logic.
My thumbs dance across the screen, firing back a short, clipped reply.
Me
Riley who?