5. Samantha
SAMANTHA
I try not to scream as Dante slowly pushes into me, inch by inch.
He’s bigger than anyone else I’ve ever been with, thicker and longer, too.
I wasn’t even sure that it would fit, but it feels unbelievable, stretching me out.
“Oh my God,” I gasp.
Dante’s more vocal than I thought: low, restrained moans, grunting, panting. “Yeah? You like that?”
“Fuck. I love it.” I spread my legs further, wanting him deeper, but he keeps up the pace with shallow thrusts. “You don’t have to be gentle.”
He blows out a breath, half-smiling. “You think this is gentle?”
“I’m not going to break.” I put my hands under my knees, spreading myself for him and he groans softly.
Finally, he thrusts deeper, and my manicured nails dig into his shoulders. He growls low in his throat and the sound sends pleasure rippling through me. His cock drags against a sweet spot and he grunts when I squeeze my eyes shut. “Tesoro. Look at me.”
I look up at him, struggling to keep my eyes from rolling back into my head.
“That’s it. Want you to look at me when I make you come.” He presses his thumb down on my clit as he snaps his hips into mine, and it’s all over.
I tumble over the edge of my orgasm, clapping a hand over my mouth and crying out.
Dante pants, pumping in and out of me and I wish I could have taken his shirt off and seen him bare.
The edge of his forearm tattoo peeks out from his sleeve, but I’ve never seen the whole thing.
I want to see all of him. Pleasure rolls over me again and again as I gasp against his lips. He thrusts deeply, hips finally stilling as he spills inside me.
“Dante,” I whisper, and he kisses me once more, deeply, before tearing himself away from me.
He pulls out, adjusting himself back into his slacks and standing up, taking his drink in his hand. “You should go.”
I frown, sitting up on my elbows. “Go? After what we just—”
“It was a mistake.”
“A mistake?” It’s a tiny arrow in my heart but I try not to be hurt. It’s not like I want anything serious with him, anyway. This is all I wanted.
Right?
“I shouldn’t have given in,” he mumbles. He won’t look at me.
I slowly stand up and pick my robe up off the floor. I tighten it at the waist. “You can’t avoid this forever.”
“Watch me.” He finishes his drink and looks at the glass like he wishes he had another. He turns his back to me.
I slip out of his room and down the hall to my own, sliding under the covers and aching in all the best ways.
I don’t think one night is going to be enough. And I think I might know a way to provoke him.
Make him break.
“Going out tonight,” I say idly at dinner, and Dante stiffens.
“Not on the South Side,” Papa warns.
“No. East Side.”
He nods. He rules the east and west, while Ricci rules the north and south. “Dante will go with you.”
Dante doesn’t respond, shoveling in food.
“I”m meeting Sofia and Reese.” I glance over at Dante, knowing he doesn’t trust either of them.
He won’t look at me. He hasn’t looked at me in weeks. Not since I seduced him in his room. All I want is to do it again—to have more time to see him, touch him. Have him touch me.
I’ve been with plenty of men, but nobody has ever made me feel that way.
Dante drives me to the club and I head inside, moving along the throng of people. Sofia throws her arms around me at the bar, leaning against me. “Vaughn and Reese are on the rocks,” she whispers in my ear, warning me.
Reese stands there staring into space, already looking a little drunk. They’ll likely make up by the end of the night, but Reese always takes their arguments hard.
We have a couple drinks and I make Reese laugh a few times, taking his mind off Vaughn and whatever stupid fight they had.
Probably something about Reese not being Catholic, or even Italian. It was something that was important to Vaughn’s parents.
Soon enough we’re on the dance floor and Reese and Sofia are dancing. I’m staring at Dante.
He stares back, his eyes piercing even from across the room, too-blue even in the dim lights of the club.
I sway to the music, throwing my head back, and it’s not long before some guy sidles up behind me, placing a hand on my waist.
I turn around. He’s cute enough. Curly, blond hair. Light where Dante is dark. Not really my type, but…
Does it matter?
It’s not like Dante will dance with me.
I can’t believe the other night even happened. It seems like a fever dream, like some fantasy I had come to life.
But I had bruises on my thighs for days afterward where he’d forced my legs apart.
I want him to do it again.
Dante’s eyes narrow, turning hard as he watches me, his expression otherwise unreadable. Oh. He doesn’t seem to like this—someone else’s hands on me.
I push back against the guy and he grunts, his other hand touching my other hip.
I don’t mind, since it’s having the desired reaction.
Dante gets closer to the dance floor, hands tightening into fists at his sides.
He stands over by the bathrooms and jerks his head as if to summon me.
I shouldn’t go. I should make him sweat. But my feet follow him like I’d follow him to hell if he asked.
Damnit.
Dante presses his body against mine, backing me up against the wall, one hand loose around my throat.
My heart skips a half dozen beats and my breath catches in my throat. He leans down close to my ear.
“Samantha.”
“Dante. Someone will see,” I squeak, blushing all over.
“See what? Me telling you to be careful who you dance with?”
“Why?”
He grits his teeth. “Because Ricci is targeting you.”
“Is that the only reason?”
He pulls away and steps back, giving me space I didn’t want. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do.”
He looks away, jaw tight.
“I guess I could go back and dance. Guy seemed nice, he–”
He scoffs. “I don’t care about what guys you’re dancing with.”
I smirk. He still won’t look at me. “I think you do.”
“Do whatever you want,” he rasps.
He sounds petty. Jealous. I fucking love it. I want to tell him he might as well tattoo property of Dante on my lower back. But I can’t do that.
It’ll just scare him off.
“I think I’ll just go home.”
His eyes shoot to mine, wary. “It’s early.”
I shrug. “I’m tired. I’ll go and tell my friends goodbye.”
I don’t miss the way his throat works when Reese hugs me goodbye, kissing my cheek, so I play it up, kissing the corner of Reese’s mouth. He gives me a weird look but doesn’t protest.
Dante’s all but stalking toward the car when I get outside, just expecting I’ll follow. Of course, I do. He doesn’t even open the door for me, just gets in, slamming the door.
He’s mad. I try to hide a smirk. Maybe he’ll lose just a modicum of control.
I slowly get into the passenger side. Dante doesn’t move. He’s just sitting there, his seatbelt off, slumped against the seat. I glance over at him. “Dante?”
He doesn’t answer me.
“What’s wrong?”
“Everything,” he mumbles, and then turns to me, his eyes searching my face. I don’t know what he means by that. I don’t know why he’s looking at me like that.
But when he kisses me, I don’t protest. I melt against him, breathing him in. The parking garage is dark. No one’s around, but I don’t know if I’d care if we were in the middle of the club. His hand grips my thigh, squeezing the flesh there, and I moan against his lips.
“Samantha.”
“Mm?” I nuzzle against his neck, kissing him there.
“Are you trying to drive me crazy?”
“Maybe,” I say with a small smirk, and he groans, kissing me again. He spreads my thighs with one hand, sliding it between my legs. All I’m wearing beneath my dress is a silk thong, and his fingers are hot through the fabric. I mewl out his name.
“Fuck, you’re already so wet. Is that from dancing?” He puts pressure on my clit with his thumb and I cry out. I shake my head.
“No. From you.”
“Me?” He yanks my thong to the side, sliding two fingers inside me. I throw my head back against the headrest, my hips rocking as I ride his fingers.
“Just you, Dante.”
“You’re mine. Say it.”
“Am I?” My head spins as he pumps his fingers deeper.
“Aren’t you? Won’t you do what I tell you to do, little one?” he taunts, flexing his fingers and rubbing against my sweet spot.
“Please,” I gasp out, losing all dignity, just focusing on the pleasure he’s giving me.
Then his fingers are gone and I let out a long, whining moan, pouting at him.
He pops his fingers in his mouth, sucking slowly, making pleasure swirl deep in my lower abdomen.
“Take off your thong and get on top of me.” He lets his seat back, unbuttons his slacks.
Frees his cock. I look at it hungrily, my mouth nearly watering.
I remember the way he felt heavy in my mouth.
How I wanted to keep going, to know what he tasted like when he came.
He grunts. “Hurry up. Before I change my mind.”
I bite my lip, wiggling out of my panties.
I straddle his lap, my thighs on either side of him, my dress bunching up around my hips. He looks down at where his cock is pressed against my lower lips and groans low and rumbling in his chest.
“Fuck, tesoro.”
I start to reach between us and guide him into me but he stops me with one hand on my wrist. “Not yet,” he says, voice low and strained. “First I want you to say it.”
“Say what?” I pout at him.
“You know what.”
That I’m his. God. I am, aren’t I? I haven’t had anyone make me feel this good well… ever.
“I”m yours,” I breathe. “Only yours, Dante.”
His hips twitch, his cock sliding up, his head pressing against my clit and making me gasp. I can’t wait any longer, aching for him. I reach between us again and this time, he doesn’t stop me. He groans as I slowly slide down on him.
“That’s it, little one. Ride me.”
I roll my hips, gasping out little moans as I get closer and closer to the edge. He’s already been teasing me for so long. “Dante,” I gasp, and before I can tell him I’m close I fall over the edge, grinding my hips down as he thrusts up beneath me, clenching around him.
He rumbles out a groan against my skin, cursing in Italian as he pumps in and out of me, bouncing me up so that my head nearly hits the top of the car.
When he growls against my ear, biting down on my shoulder as he pulses and spills inside me, I relax against him, my thighs trembling with effort.
“What the fuck are you doing to me, little one?” he murmurs against my skin, kissing along my neck.
“Same thing you’re doing to me,” I shoot back.
He hums. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”
But he doesn’t pull away. Finally he moves me off him, depositing me in the passenger seat.
I pout over at him as he adjusts himself back into his slacks. “Time to go home.”
And that’s the end of it. I’m left with an ache deep in my body, and he’s acting like he’s not the one who set me on fire.