Chapter 10
DANTE
I’m lost in her.
My mouth on her neck, her body arching beneath me, and somewhere in the last few minutes I stopped being Dante Santoro, Don of the Santoro family, and became something far more dangerous.
A man who needs.
She grips my hair, pulling me closer like she’s afraid I’ll stop.
I won’t. Can’t.
The salt of her skin mixes with jasmine and something sweeter underneath. Every noise she makes splinters another piece of the armor I’ve spent years forging.
I find the spot below her ear that made her gasp before, and she shudders beneath me.
“There she is.” The words come out rough against her skin. “That’s the sound I wanted.”
“Dante.” My name, broken in half.
“Again.”
“Dante.”
“Just like that.”
I trail lower. Her collarbone. The delicate ridge beneath my kiss. My teeth graze the skin.
“More,” she breathes.
“Patience.” I scrape my teeth against her pulse. “I’m going to take my time with you.”
“What if I don’t want patience?”
I pull back. Look at her.
Moonlight turns her silver and shadow. Swollen from my kiss, chest heaving, a flush climbing her throat. And those dark eyes, wanting and unguarded.
“Then you’ll learn.”
A laugh escapes her. Breathy. Surprised. “Did you just threaten me with patience?”
“I don’t make threats, Cassia.” I press against the swell of her breast through thin cotton. “I make promises.”
She gasps when I close over her nipple, fabric and all. Her back bows off the mattress, and the cry that escapes her goes straight to my cock.
“Oh God.” The words dissolve on her tongue.
“Say my name. Not his.”
Another laugh, this one wrecked. “You’re impossible.”
“You have no idea.”
I push the fabric aside. Bare skin now. She’s fuller than I imagined. Softer. A body that takes up space and demands attention.
I take her nipple between my lips and she makes a sound that could bring me to my knees if I wasn’t already there.
“Dante.” His name breaks apart in her mouth.
“That’s better.”
I take my time with her. One breast, then the other. Learning what makes her gasp. What makes her sigh. What makes her hips rock against nothing, seeking friction I haven’t given her yet.
Her nails scratch against my scalp. “You’re killing me.”
“Not yet.”
I kiss my way down her stomach. The muscles jump beneath me, anticipating. Her hip, that curve where flesh meets bone. I press against her there and she whimpers.
Her thighs are pressed together. Her breathing sharp and fast.
“Open for me.”
She hesitates. Just a heartbeat.
“Cassia.” I wait until her focus finds mine. “I want to taste you. Let me.”
Her thighs part.
The scent of her arousal hits me and my vision blurs at the edges.
Cazzo.
I hook the waistband of her underwear. Pause.
“Yes.” The word rushes out before I can ask. “Yes, please, Dante, yes.”
A growl tears from my throat. I pull the fabric down slow. Watching it slide over her legs, her knees. Gone.
She’s exposed now. Open. The moonlight catches the slick of her and I have to close my eyes for a second just to stay upright.
“Look at you.” My voice comes out wrecked. “Soaked. Already.”
She bites down. Her legs twitch like they might close.
“Don’t.” I press her leg open. “Don’t hide from me. Not now.”
“I’m not—“ She breaks off when I kiss higher. “I’ve never. No one’s ever.”
I stop. Look up at her. “No one’s ever what?”
The flush deepens. Spreads down her chest. “Done this. To me.”
Something dark and possessive roars through me.
“No one?” The word comes out rougher than I intend.
She shakes her head.
“Then I’ll make sure you remember.”
The first taste of her unmakes me.
Sweet. Slick. She’s dripping, and the noise she makes when I drag my tongue through her folds is a sound I’ll hear until I die.
“Dante.”
“That’s it.” I lick her again, slow and deliberate. “Let me hear you.”
I learn her. The places that make her gasp. The places that make her moan. When I circle her clit with slow, deliberate pressure, her legs clamp around my head.
I keep circling. Patient. Relentless.
“Please.” A whisper.
“Please what?” I pull back just enough to speak against her. “Tell me what you need.”
“More. I need.” She breaks off with a sob when I seal around her clit and suck. “Oh god, Dante.”
“That’s not God.” I suck harder. “That’s me.”
Her back arches. Her hips moving in helpless circles against me, chasing sensation, chasing release.
And then it hits.
My father’s face. Gray skin going grayer. Hand pressed to his chest.
Lucia.
The memory slams into me like a blade between the ribs.
I freeze.
Still pressed against her. Her taste flooding my senses. But I can’t move. The ghost of my father’s voice echoing through me.
I will not become him.
“Dante?”
Her voice. Worried now. Pulling me back.
“Dante, what’s wrong?”
I should stop. Should pull away. Should put distance between us before I hand her the knife and bare my throat.
She slides her touch through my hair. Gentle. Grounding.
“Come back to me.”
The same words she used to pull me from the nightmare.
I look up at her. She’s watching me with those dark eyes, and there’s no judgment there. No fear. Just her, seeing me, waiting for me to decide.
“You should run.” My voice sounds like gravel. My thumb traces her jaw without permission. “From me. From this.”
“I’m not running.”
“Cassia.” My voice splits on her name.
“I’m not running.” Her grip tightens in my hair. “I’m right here. And I want this. I want you. So either finish what you started or I will.”
I don’t let her finish.
I find her again. Hungrier now. More desperate. Because she’s still here. Because she saw me crack and didn’t leave. Because I’m already damned. I might as well make it worth it.
“Oh.” Her hips buck against me. “Oh God.”
I work her relentless now. Tongue stroking, circling, tasting. Everything I have.
“You’re going to come on my tongue.” Not a question. A command. “Right now.”
Two fingers slide into her. Slow. Feeling her stretch around me.
“Jesus Christ.” The words rip out of me. “So tight. So fucking wet.”
I curl my fingers, finding the spot that makes her cry out. Relentless circles against her clit while I stroke inside her.
“I can’t. I’m going to.”
“I know.” I look up at her. Hold her with my focus. “Give it to me, Cassia.”
She breaks.
Her body bows off the mattress. My hand slides behind her head before she can hit the pillow wrong. Cradling her. Protecting her even as I wreck her.
Her thighs clamp around my head so tight I can barely breathe. My name tears from her throat, wrecked and perfect.
I feel her pulse around my fingers. Her inner walls clenching in rhythmic spasms. I don’t stop. Keep working her through it, gentling my touch but not stopping. Taking every last aftershock.
“Mine.” The word escapes against her hip. Involuntary. Wrecked. “You’re mine, Cassia.”
She’s still shaking. Still making ruined little noises with every exhale. Her grip slack in my hair now. Her legs dropping open, unable to hold on.
I press a kiss to her hip bone. Rest my forehead against her. Breathing hard. Trying to find my way back to control.
My cock aches, straining against my pants. My entire body screams at me to climb up and bury myself inside her. To make her come again with my cock instead of my taste.
She strokes through my hair. Slow. Gentle. The pad of her thumb traces the shell of my ear.
I press against her hip bone. Soft. A kiss that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with something I can’t name.
I look up.
That’s my mistake.
She’s watching me with her focus wide and unguarded. No barriers. No defenses. Just Cassia, stripped bare in every way that matters.
Parted lips. Flushed cheeks. Hair spread across the pillow like dark silk.
Like she could love me.
The cold hits all at once.
My father. Gray face. The name on his lips like a prayer. Lucia. Reaching for a ghost.
One more touch and I’ll be him. Hollowed out. Destroyed. Dying with her name on my lips.
I pull back.
Off her. Off the bed. Standing before I register the movement.
“Dante?”
Her voice catches. Thick with what I just gave her. Confused now.
I can’t look at her. If I do, I’ll crawl back into that bed and never leave.
I won’t become him.
“This can’t happen again.”
The words come out cold. Controlled. Nothing like the man who just had his mouth on her.
“What?” Sheets rustle as she sits up. Her nightgown still twisted. Her hair wild from my touch. “Dante, what?”
“This was a mistake.”
I’m already at the door. Already putting barriers between us.
“A mistake?” Her voice cracks. “You just. We just.”
“It won’t happen again.”
I leave.
Don’t look back.
Her taste still coating my tongue. The ghost of her cries still echoing in my ears. The feel of her fingers in my hair still tingling across my scalp.
I swore I would never need anyone the way he needed her.
But I already do.
I already fucking do.
I make it to the study before my legs give out.
Papa’s study. Leather and old books and the faint trace of his cologne that no amount of time will erase. The chair behind the desk where he sat for years while his heart gave out.
I brace myself against the doorframe. Heart slamming against my ribs.
The whiskey decanter catches the moonlight. I pour with hands that won’t stay steady. Amber liquid splashes over the rim. I don’t bother cleaning it up.
The burn is familiar. Grounding.
Nothing like the sweetness of her on my tongue.
The tremor in my hands won’t stop.
I hold one up. Watch it shake in the dim light.
Pathetic.
The Don of the Santoro family, wrecked by how she came apart on my tongue like I was the only man who ever existed.
I down the drink. It does nothing.
I can still taste her.
That cry when she came. Those unguarded eyes. Come back to me. Like I was worth waiting for.
I told myself I could touch her without letting her matter.
Fucking lie.
She’s mattered since she walked into my study in that burgundy dress.
I pour another whiskey. Lean my forehead against the cold window glass. Outside, the sky is lightening at the edges. Another day coming. Another round of pretending I’m in control of anything.
My hands still won’t stop shaking.
Her taste underneath the burn of whiskey, no matter how much I drink.
And somewhere in that bed, a woman who looked at me like I was worth loving.
I finish the glass.
I can lock myself in this study every night for the rest of my life. Drink until I can’t feel my hands. Turn myself into stone again.
I’ll still want her.
And wanting her is already destroying me.