Chapter 22
Dante
Her fingers slid under my clothes, nails skimming over the ridges of my stomach, and I almost forgot what I was doing.
I yanked the sweater off, tore my T-shirt off over my head, tossing them both to the floor, my mouth desperate to be back on hers.
She tasted like sin and surrender, and when her hands fumbled at the hem of her top, I helped, dragging the soft fabric up and over her head in one desperate pull.
She gasped when the cool air hit her skin, but I was already covering her again, my hands greedy over the lacy bra, my mouth on the line of her throat.
“Dante.” Her gasping my name was the only thing I ever wanted to hear.
“You taste so good.” My words were a growl against her skin. “So fucking soft . . .”
Her answer was to arch into me, her fingers sliding into my hair and pulling me back down. Her kiss was eager, frantic, undoing me piece by piece.
I groaned into her mouth, pressing her down into the mattress, grinding against her until the friction had us both shaking. My hand slid to her back, unclasping her bra with a practiced flick, and I pulled it away, my gaze dropping to take her in.
“Fuck.” The word tore out of me. She was beautiful, flushed and breathless, her chest rising hard against the chill before my palms warmed her skin again.
I bent low, kissing her collarbone, her shoulder, then lower still, tasting her like I’d been starving.
She gasped as I licked and sucked her nipples, her thighs shifting beneath me, and I couldn’t help the groan that rumbled in my chest. I pulled the hair tie from her hair, her blonde hair spilling over my bed.
Her hands were everywhere — on my shoulders, clawing down my back, tugging at my jeans like she couldn’t stand another barrier between us.
I pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, both of us panting, trembling. “I need to fuck you.”
The look she gave me could have set the world on fire. “Then fuck me.”
Her words detonated inside me. I crushed my mouth back to hers, my hands greedy to touch her — her waist, her hips, her thighs — like I needed proof she was really beneath me, saying what I’d been dying to hear.
Her jeans came off in a messy scramble, my hands fumbling, hers helping, both of us impatient. She lay back against the sheets in nothing but lace and heat, her hair a golden halo, eyes wide and blown.
“Jesus . . .” My voice broke as I took her in.
My palm skimmed over the softness of her thigh, dipping into the crease between her thigh and her panty-covered pussy.
I stroked over the thin lace, relishing in the way her hips lifted, eager for my touch.
A finger slipped under the lace, and I almost broke when I felt how wet she was.
Lightly, I moved over her, slipping my finger between her lips, sliding along her pussy from her entrance to hover over her clit.
I pressed down gently, relishing in the catch of her breath, the moan that followed, the soft roll of her hips, urging me for more.
I strummed my finger across her clit, giving her what she wanted, intoxicated with the rise and fall of her chest, the sounds she made, the look of heady desire in her eyes.
“Don’t stop.” It came out sharp, urgent, like she’d never forgive me if I did. Like she thought I was having second thoughts.
“I’m not stopping,” I promised, another finger joining the first as I worked her clit and she got closer to orgasm.
My fingers pushed inside, my thumb circling as I moved my fingers in and out, curling them upward slightly, fighting the urge of satisfaction when I heard her breathy moan, knowing I’d found the right spot.
Savannah grabbed me by the neck, pulling me down until my mouth covered hers, and I swallowed her scream as she came around my fingers, her body shaking as her tongue brushed against mine, while she shivered under my touch.
I pulled away, withdrawing my hand, and she looked up at me, need still riding her body.
“More.”
One word that had the power to finish me before my cock was even wet.
I shoved my jeans down, barely remembering to grab my wallet from the floor.
My hands shook lightly as I tore the foil packet open with my teeth.
I wanted to savor this, take my time, but the urge to fuck her, claim her, own her, was overriding everything.
I needed to be inside her, feel that tight pussy grip me as I fucked her hard.
She watched, chest rising fast, lips parted — and when I rolled the condom on, her gaze dragged over me in a way that made me feel like I was burning alive.
I braced myself over her, our mouths colliding again, chaotic and hungry. My hips sank down until the thin scrap of soaked lace was the only thing between us as her body strained against mine.
“Now, Dante — please.” Sav’s body rolled against mine. “I need this . . .” She sounded as desperate as I felt. “I need you inside me . . . now.”
That was what I needed, to hear her beg for me. I hooked my fingers into her panties, dragged them down her legs, and pushed inside her in one hard, claiming thrust.
Finally.
She cried out as I filled her, nails biting into my shoulders.
I groaned, pressing my forehead to hers, holding still while her body stretched and clenched around me.
Her pussy, warm and slick, yielded to my cock as her body adjusted, and I rolled my hips once, inching in even more, fighting the urge to keep going, making sure she was ready.
“Fuck . . . you feel . . .” Words failed. Too good. Too tight. Like I’d never get enough.
Her legs wrapped around my hips, pulling me deeper. “Move,” she whispered, fierce and desperate, her pupils blown wide with need. “Fuck me, Dante, move . . . please.”
I did. Slow at first, then harder when she met me thrust for thrust, her breath breaking against my mouth. The sound of us filled the room — her gasps, my groans, the slap of skin on skin — and every second carved itself into my bones.
She arched beneath me, taking everything I gave her, her hands sliding down my back, clutching at my ass, urging me harder, faster. This wasn’t the time for slow — this was the time to bury ourselves in each other and just fucking hold on for the ride.
I buried my face in her neck, tasting her skin, her hair, her smart mouth that had driven me insane from the first moment. I already knew I’d need this again. Once wouldn’t be enough.
Her pussy fluttered around me, and I knew she was close.
I shifted, dragging one hand down to where we were joined, circling her clit with my thumb, not fighting the smirk of satisfaction when her eyes flew wide open at my touch, not stopping, driving my cock into her, filling her completely, while my thumb rubbed her until she shattered, crying out my name.
The sound, the feel of her coming undone around me, her walls clamping around me — I lost it. I drove into her once, twice more before spilling inside the condom with a ragged groan, every muscle straining as her pussy milked my cock for every drop.
I collapsed against her, chest heaving, our bodies tangled in sweat and sheets. For a long moment, the only sound was our breathing, her nails still pressed lightly into my skin.
I kissed her temple, softer now, still catching my breath. “Sav . . .”
She didn’t answer. But her arms wrapped around me, holding me there like maybe — just maybe — I wasn’t the only one who’d just fallen too far.
Her breathing was still ragged against my chest, her body soft and pliant beneath mine. I should’ve moved, given her space, but I wasn’t ready to let go. Not yet.
The world outside my room didn’t exist for a heartbeat. It was just us — her skin damp with sweat, the faint scent of her perfume mixing with mine, the sheets twisted around our legs.
I brushed my lips over her hairline, whispering the truth I hadn’t meant to say out loud. “Been wanting that for longer than I should admit.”
Her laugh was quiet, nervous. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Unbelievably good,” I teased, but my chest was tight. Because that didn’t feel casual. Not for me.
Her phone beeped with a text, and Sav shifted, tension creeping back into her shoulders as she read it.
“You mess my head up.” Her voice was soft, and her next words cut me clean open. “I don’t think . . . I don’t think we should have done that.”
I pushed up on my elbows, searching her face in the dim light. She wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“Sav—”
“No.” She sat up, tugging the sheet around herself, her hair spilling down her back in tangled waves. “You’re . . . Jesus, I’m tutoring you. My father . . .” She trailed off, shaking her head.
I sat up too, leaning forward, elbows on my knees. “I don’t give a damn about your father.”
Her sharp laugh told me how reckless that sounded. “Well, I do.”
My jaw clenched. I stood, removed the condom, knotted it, and dropped it in the trash beside my bed. “Does he need to know everything about you?” I asked her. “You seem to hide things from him pretty well.”
“God, Dante.” She shoved herself to the edge of the bed. “You don’t get it. He’s not just my dad, he’s the dean.” She clenched the sheets. “Ugh! Why don’t I think straight when I’m around you?”
“So what are you saying?” I asked, my voice steady, calm.
She took a deep breath. “I think this was a mistake.”
The word mistake hit harder than any defensive player ever could.
I stood back, scrubbing a hand over my face, trying to swallow the sharp burn in my chest. She was already pulling her jeans and underwear from the floor, fumbling to get them on.
I found my boxers and my hoodie, and yanked them on without looking at her.
The high of having her — the one thing I’d wanted and finally tasted — spiraled into something I couldn’t name.
“You’re making a bigger deal of this than it has to be,” I muttered, though it felt like my voice was cracking. “But if that’s how you want to play it.”