Chapter 25
FRANKIE
Is this really happening?
Have I finally found a man that I can rely on? One who actually solves problems instead of causing them?
After the whole Rico situation blew up in my face, I never even dreamed of finding a man who didn’t cause more trouble than he was worth, but I’m starting to believe that such a thing is possible.
As Dante holds me, I realize that I can trust Dante not just with my life, but with Livvie’s as well, and Charlie’s if it comes down to it. He’s going to take care of us.
Not out of obligation or for personal gain, but because he wants to.
Because he loves me.
“I love you, Dante,” I whisper, my head pressed against his chest so tightly that I can hear his heartbeat. “I love you so much.”
He leans down to kiss my forehead, my eyelids, my jaw, my throat, every soft press of his lips drawing tingles over my skin.
“I love you,” he says into my neck. Then he pulls back to look into my eyes. “I need you. In my life. In my bed. In my heart. I love you, Francesca Bellanti.”
My eyes are tearing up, but I manage a bittersweet little laugh. “I don’t have your name anymore, remember?”
He begins unbuttoning my blouse. “You have all of me. All of me. Always.”
I’m tempted to help him undress me, but I hold still and let him do the work.
I love the brush of his fingers against my skin and how intently he focuses on each button, clasp, and zipper.
His movements are careful today—no ripping fabric or popping buttons.
Closing my eyes, I absorb the sound and feel and scent of him as he strips me bare.
“Now you can watch me,” he whispers as he trails a finger along my jaw.
Happy to obey, I take in the glorious sight of him reaching across his body and pulling his T-shirt over his head.
My gaze devours his sculpted torso, the mouthwatering ripples of his tight abs, the light trail of hair leading down the waistband of his pants.
A hot ache twists at my core as he works the waistband over his narrow hips, down his muscled thighs, and then finally steps out of them.
His perfect, rigid cock is like a work of art, something I’ll never get tired of seeing.
“You like that?” he asks, a smirk on his face.
“Why don’t you put your clothes back on and do it all over again,” I tease.
Laughing, he spreads me out on the bed, then gazes down at me appreciatively. I raise myself up on my elbows so I can do the same to him.
“What else do you like, Francesca? What do you want me to do to you?”
I don’t get the chance to answer before he begins kissing his way up my body, oh so slowly. Kiss by kiss, caress by caress, ankle to knee to the curve of my hip. A thorough study.
He runs his tongue around each areola while his palms skim over my ribs, down my belly, and back up to cup my breasts.
Then he moves his mouth over my nipples one at a time, licking and sucking, tugging softly with his teeth.
I can barely breathe I’m panting so hard, grabbing the sheets as I squirm with need. His touch is the biggest aphrodisiac.
By the time his lips finally reach my own, I’m a puddle of need. I arch my hips, pushing up against his erection with desperate thrusts, but he holds himself back on purpose.
“Give it to me,” I beg.
“Tell me what you want,” he commands.
“I just did.”
“Say it.”
“I want you,” I pant. “Inside me.”
Our lips meet and I forget the whole conversation, until he pulls away and nuzzles his nose against my neck, the tip of his dick still brushing my entrance. It’s maddening.
“Be more specific,” he says.
God, what this man does to me. “I want to get railed by your fucking cock.”
Grasping for him, I huff my frustration when he moves his hips out of reach.
“Tell me.”
“Dammit, what do you want from me?” I ask, only half kidding. “I want to fuck! Screw. Bang. Peen in vageen. Is that clear enough for you?”
Dante starts cackling with laughter, and I can’t help joining in. He kisses me again, at first in between our chuckles and then deeper, slower, as if he wants to be a part of me. I could almost come just from the feel of his tongue on mine.
I spread my legs wider in invitation and Dante finally grants my request, sliding into me in the hottest, most unhurried, deliberate stroke I have ever felt. He moves slowly, too slowly, torturing me on purpose. When he’s fully sheathed, I wrap my legs around his waist and purr like a cat.
“That’s perfect,” I tell him. My body is tight with frustration, eager for more. But instead of picking up his pace, he stops what he’s doing, staying exactly where he is.
“What else do you want me to do?” he prods.
“I want more.” He doesn’t move. I think I hate this game. “Thrust faster, damn you.”
He does. I arch up to meet him as pleasure explodes through me.
“What else?”
“Harder,” I pant.
Dante pushes my knees up to my chest so he can get a better angle, and he starts ramming into me even deeper, harder, faster, giving new meaning to the term jackhammering. But I love it. I want it. He’s giving me exactly what I asked for…and then he stops.
“What? No, no, no. I didn’t say stop!”
He’s breathing hard as he grabs my chin. “Tell me. What do you need?”
I pout. “Cross your damn eyes.”
His eyebrows lift, and then he crosses his eyes and sticks out the tip of his tongue for good measure.
“Oh my God, you!” I gasp, laughing. He laughs too, and I swear I can feel his joy wrapping around me like a security blanket. I love this thing between us.
Even so, a girl has needs. And it’s getting worse by the second.
Taking his face between my hands, I give him a serious-not-serious look. “Please, please, please. I beg you. Get the fucking job done, Bellanti.”
The amusement on his face is replaced by pure lust as he uses those talented hip swings to work us both toward oblivion.
We’re moaning each other’s names, making a mess of the bed, heedless of the headboard knocking fast and loud against the wall.
All I can do is cling to him tight and voice my approval as we both slide into wave after wave of pleasure—and okay, fuck, he does get the job done. When we come, we come hard.
Afterward, we lay there together, cooling in the afterglow.
When I wake in the predawn darkness, I’m momentarily disoriented. My brain says it’s morning, but the sky doesn’t. It takes me a second to remember it’s late fall now, and that the sun has been rising later and later each day.
Breathing deeply, trying to slow my rapid heartbeat, I snuggle back against Dante’s warm body. His hands rove over my stomach, smoothing down the curve of my hip, and they anchor me in the darkness.
I feel safe. Protected. By this man.
Who knew he could be so loving? So silly. So joyful.
I still resent my father for selling me off—I’ll never be grateful for that—but I am grateful that even if I didn’t choose Dante, he might just turn out to be a very good man.
I feel the glow of love filling my cheeks, my chest, my belly.
By some miracle, something between us has radically changed.
Something almost too good to be true has happened.
But I’m too tired and too content to wonder how it came to be. Happy is happy.
And I am so damn happy with Dante.
My eyes have just fluttered shut again when I feel his hand slip between my thighs, his finger tracing little circles around my opening until I’m wet and buzzing.
With a soft moan, I shift my body so he can dip his finger inside, but instead he glides into me from behind, his cock sliding in easily like a key in a lock.
“Mmm,” I moan.
He moves his hand, spreading it across my lower belly, holding me steady as he pushes deeper inside, rooting himself deep.
I gasp, then sigh at how perfectly he fills me.
Dante begins to move, taking his pleasure, and I grind my ass back in time with his thrusts, meeting each one with a hissing intake of breath.
He’s fucking me steady and deep, his movements gradually becoming faster, harder, and more insistent. His hand slides up to cup my breast, and he works my nipples until I’m panting.
“These are mine. Mine,” he groans.
“Yes,” I whimper as he shifts his angle to hit the spot that always sets me off.
Possessive words of love and adoration continue pouring from his lips. “This is my ass, my sweet little cunt.”
“Yes, Dante.”
“Mine,” he says.
“Yours.”
Reaching behind me, my hands find their way to the back of his head, pulling him even closer against me.
“Mine.” He thrusts. “Mine.” Again. “All mine.” Again, again, again…
“Yes. Yours. All yours.” I agree with every word, and then I’m coming apart in an unstoppable tumble, the orgasm flooding over me, so hard and deep it brings tears to my eyes. I weave my fingers into his hair and hang on as I soak in the pleasure. “Yours, yours, yours.”
I never want to be anything else.