Chapter 8 #2
His hand slid from my hip to my thigh, pushing the silk nightgown up slowly. His fingers traced patterns on my bare skin, each touch sending electricity racing up my spine.
"Do you like when I touch you here?" His fingers moved higher, brushing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. "Tell me. Do you like it?"
Heat flooded my face. I'd never been asked such things before, never been touched like this while someone watched my reactions so intently. But the way he looked at me—like I was the only thing that existed—made me brave.
"Yes," I whispered, my voice shaking. A small moan escaped as his fingers traced higher. "I like it."
"Christ, Natasha." His jaw clenched, something almost pained flashing across his face. "Your honesty is going to kill me."
He captured my mouth again, this kiss somehow even more intense than the first. His hand finally reached between my legs, and I couldn't stop the gasp that tore from my throat. He swallowed the sound, his fingers moving against me through the damp silk of my underwear.
"So wet already," he murmured against my lips. "All for me?"
I could only nod, beyond words as pleasure built under his touch. He hooked his fingers under the fabric and pulled it aside, and the first touch of his skin against mine made my whole body jerk.
"Easy," he soothed, though his voice was strained. "I've got you."
His fingers explored me with maddening patience, learning every response, every place that made me gasp or shudder. When he finally slid one finger inside, my back arched off the bed.
"Look at you," he breathed, his eyes fixed on my face. "So beautiful falling apart for me."
He added a second finger, and I couldn't hold back the moan. The stretch burned slightly, but the pleasure overwhelmed everything else. His thumb found that sensitive bundle of nerves, circling it with exactly the right pressure, and suddenly I was climbing toward something I'd only read about.
"Dante—" His name came out as a plea.
"That's it. Let go." His fingers moved faster, his thumb maintaining that perfect rhythm. "I want to feel you come apart."
The tension inside me snapped. Pleasure crashed through me in waves, my body tightening around his fingers as I cried out. He worked me through it, drawing out every last tremor until I collapsed back against the mattress, boneless and gasping.
I barely had time to catch my breath before he was moving. He stripped off his shirt in one fluid motion, and despite my post-orgasm haze, my eyes widened at the sight of him. All hard muscle and dark ink, the tattoos I'd glimpsed before now fully visible.
"My turn," he said, his hands going to his belt.
He shed the rest of his clothes quickly, and when I saw him fully naked for the first time, nerves fluttered in my stomach.
He must have seen something in my expression because he leaned down, brushing a strand of hair from my face with surprising gentleness.
"We'll go slow," he promised. "But I need to be inside you, Natasha. I need it more than I need air."
He pulled the nightgown over my head, leaving me completely bare beneath him. His eyes roamed over me hungrily, one hand cupping my breast, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak.
"Perfect," he muttered. "Fucking perfect."
He positioned himself between my legs, and I felt the blunt pressure of him against my entrance. He pushed in slowly, and the stretch made me gasp. It burned—more than his fingers had—but he paused, letting me adjust.
"Breathe," he instructed, his own breathing ragged. "Just breathe through it."
He sank deeper, inch by inch, until he was fully seated inside me. The feeling of fullness was overwhelming, toeing the line between pleasure and pain. He stayed still, giving my body time to accommodate him.
"Okay?" he asked through clenched teeth.
I nodded, experimentally rolling my hips. The friction sent sparks through me, and I did it again.
"Fuck." His control snapped. He pulled almost all the way out before driving back in, setting a rhythm that had me clinging to his shoulders. Each thrust hit something deep inside that made stars explode behind my eyes.
He hooked one of my legs over his shoulder, the new angle letting him sink even deeper. I cried out at the intensity, my nails raking down his back.
"That's it," he growled. "Let me hear you. Let everyone in this goddamn house know who you belong to now."
His thrusts came faster, harder, the sound of skin against skin obscene in the quiet room. I was climbing again, that tension building impossibly higher than before.
"Touch yourself," he commanded.
Embarrassment flooded through me, but the dark command in his eyes made me obey. My hand slipped between us, and the moment my fingers found that sensitive spot, I shattered.
The orgasm ripped through me violently, my body clenching around him. He cursed, his rhythm faltering, before pulling out suddenly. In one swift motion, he flipped me onto my stomach and pulled my hips up.
"On your knees," he ordered roughly.
Still trembling from the aftershocks, I obeyed. He entered me again from behind, this position letting him go impossibly deeper. His hands gripped my hips hard as he pounded into me with abandon.
"So wet and tight," he growled, punctuating each word with a brutal thrust. "This pussy is practically made for me. Like it was waiting just for my cock."
Heat flooded my face at his filthy praise. I bit her lip hard, a fresh wave of embarrassed arousal crashing through me. My walls clenched involuntarily around him, slicker than before, and a broken, shy whimper slipped from my throat. I felt exposed, desired, and shamefully turned on by every word.
His one hand left my hip to tangle in my hair, pulling my head back so he could lean over me, his chest against my back, his breath hot against my ear.
"Fuck, you feel amazing," he panted.
I could only moan in response, overwhelmed by sensation. His other hand snaked around to between my legs again, and the dual stimulation sent me spiraling toward another peak.
"Come with me," he demanded. "Natasha."
His fingers worked frantically, and I fell over the edge with a scream. I felt him pulse inside me, groaning my name as he followed me into release, finally spilling inside me with several more deep thrusts.
We collapsed together onto the mattress, both of us breathing like we'd run a marathon. He stayed inside me for a long moment before carefully pulling out and rolling to his side, immediately gathering me against his chest.
The room was silent except for our gradually slowing breathing. Reality began creeping back in—what we'd just done, what it meant, how everything had changed.
But Dante's arms tightened around me, and for the first time in my life, I felt like I belonged somewhere.
Like I belonged to someone.