Chapter Four #2
He loved it when she rode him. Loved it. She was so right, with her long, red hair draped over her shoulders, her pert, neat breasts at his face height, so he could lean forward and flick them with his tongue, tease them with his teeth. His hands cupped her bottom, pulling her towards his arousal.
She swore as she tilted back her head, her cheeks flushed pink, and he grinned, moving his head to the sensitive flesh at the side of her breast and sucking there, flicking her with his tongue, pulling away only when he’d left a dark purple mark of possession.
A kinky, desperate need to make sure she understood that she was his.
Just for this night, and just for sex, nothing more.
‘Dante,’ she groaned. Now she eased up, just far enough to remove her underpants and then bring herself back over his length.
Her eyes holding his as she bit into her lower lip and pushed down on his length.
Her tight, wet muscles slicked around him, squeezing him, making heat build at the base of his cock, spread through his whole body.
‘Please,’ she cried out, as she finally settled hard in his lap, taking him in completely and staying perfectly still while she adjusted to the size of him.
They’d had a conversation about condoms in their first week together. They were both safe, and she was religious about taking the pill. I don’t ever plan to have kids.
He loved doing this with her, without a condom. He loved feeling every part of her.
He was addicted to this.
Sex without the need for a baby. Sex, just because you wanted it. Sex, because they were two passionate people, driven by biological urges and for no other reason.
She cried out and he gripped her hips, holding her right there, burying himself deep inside her, before running his hands over her body, all of her, feeling, touching, finding his cravings for her unabated even then, when he was on the brink of satiation.
He dragged his mouth over her breasts, her collarbone, to her shoulder, where he nipped with his teeth and then found her mouth, or perhaps she found his, hungry, desperate, aching for her.
She arched her back and shouted his name into the room, her hair cascading like a fiery wave.
He could only stare at the sight she made, at the beautiful, passionate, spirited woman she was.
He groaned then, because her explosion, her muscles squeezing so hard, was the tipping point for him and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
He held her tight as he came, the shockwaves rocking through both of them, pulling them apart even when they were as physically close as two people could ever be.
* * *
Charlotte’s smile was slow to spread, but it seemed to come from deep inside of her. Since the meeting with her father’s lawyers, she’d had a big ball of nerves in her belly, a stress and frustration that she just hadn’t been able to ease.
But Dante had known how.
Dante with his beautiful body that always seemed so perfectly in sync with hers.
She blinked down at him to find him staring hungrily at her—unapologetically—his eyes full of admiration, so her cheeks glowed with warmth.
‘Thank you,’ she said, lifting one shoulder in a half shrug. ‘I needed that.’
He laughed. ‘That’s mutual.’
She pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the thundering of his heart. ‘I’m actually starting to think being your pretend wife could be kind of fun.’
His smile slipped a little, as if he’d forgotten all about their fake marriage.
She wanted to ask why he hated marriage so much, what had happened with him and his ex-wife, but that would break one of their first cardinal rules—no serious stuff.
So she pulled away from him instead, placing a quick kiss on his lips as she stood, her body tingling all over.
‘I’ll be right back,’ she murmured, grabbing her clothes and swishing her hips exaggeratedly as she left the room.
In the bathroom, she stared at herself in the mirror, a fingertip tracing the pink patches his stubbly beard had left, and the dark purple bruising he’d pressed just to the side of her breast. Something fierce and strong arced inside of her, a pleasure that was like magma.
So hot and animalistic, so ancient and prehistoric, it seemed to resonate from deep, deep within her.
Before Dante, Charlotte had seen a few guys. Never serious. Never more than a casual date, here and there. Sex, sometimes. She’d always pushed herself to stay in control, to know that no matter how much she enjoyed someone’s company, she could walk away any time. That she had that power.
Her finger pressed into the bruise mark and she frowned a little.
She wasn’t stupid.
Dante was dangerous.
Not himself, per se, but the connection they shared. While it was true that they didn’t have a lot in common, it was also true that the power of the sexual chemistry was deeply addictive. The kind of addiction that made it hard to imagine turning your back.
One day, it would lessen though. It would fade. It had to.
Until then, she just had to take great care to neatly compartmentalise how they were physically with the whole marriage concept.
He was right about blurred lines and how problematic that could be.
But Charlotte had had a lifetime of practice at keeping people at arm’s length.
Dante might have been dangerous, but she was up for a challenge.
No matter what, once she had the Papandreo company, she would walk away from him, come what may—and then, Charlotte would have everything she’d really wanted in life. Her independence, and the destruction of her horrible, hateful father and brother.
Dante San Marino was a heck of a lot of fun, in the meantime. But beyond that, he was nothing to her. Nothing.