Chapter 13 #2
“Every time you lean over that desk,” he says, unfastening his belt. “Every time you bite your lip when you’re thinking. Every fucking time you look at me like you’re not sure I’m real.”
“Dante—“
“Do you know what that does to me?”
The belt hisses through the loops. He strips away his pants, his boxer briefs, and then he’s naked and I can see exactly what it does to him.
“Show me.”
His stare darkens. He reaches for me, unhooking my bra with one hand, dragging the lace down my arms.
“Tell me this means nothing.” He comes down over me, bare skin to bare skin. The press of him anchors me to the mattress, and I sink into it, unguarded. “Look me in the eye and tell me this is just an arrangement.”
I can’t. We both know I can’t.
“That’s what I thought.”
His forehead drops to mine. Close enough to share heat.
“I’m going to ruin you,” he whispers, close enough I feel the words. “I’m going to take everything you’ll give me and I’m not going to apologize for it.”
“Then take it.”
He hooks into my underwear. Drags them down my legs. Discards them.
Then his touch is between my thighs, parting me, sliding through wetness.
“Christ.” The word punches out of him. “You’re soaked.”
“I told you. Since dress one.”
He pushes two fingers inside me and I arch off the bed with a moan that sounds broken even to my own ears. His other palm slides behind my head, cradling it, keeping me close.
“Is this for me?” He pumps them in a measured rhythm, curling to hit the spot that makes me see stars. “All this for me?”
“Yes.” I can barely form words. His thumb finds my clit and circles it, teasing pressure that drags a ragged sound from my throat. “God, yes. Dante, please.”
“Please what?”
“I need you.”
“You have me.” He stretches me wider, preparing me. “Be specific.”
“I need you inside me.” The words come out desperate, shameless. “Please.”
He groans like I’ve wounded him. Withdraws. They glisten with my arousal and he brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean while watching my face.
“You taste like you’re already mine.”
He positions himself between my legs. The head of his cock nudges my entrance, hot and hard and exactly right.
But he doesn’t push in. Just holds there, making me wait.
“Look at me.”
I open my eyes. Meet his focus.
“Remember this.” His voice shakes. Just a fraction. Just enough. “Remember that you chose this. That you asked for this. That you let me in.”
“I let you in weeks ago.” The truth spills out of me, raw and unguarded. “I’ve been letting you in since the moment I walked through your door.”
His expression fractures. His brow creases, jaw working, his stare going glassy.
“Cazzo, Cassia.”
Then he pushes forward and fills me in one smooth stroke.
I cry out. Can’t help it. He’s so thick, stretching me, and it’s too much and not enough all at once.
“Breathe.” He presses close, foreheads touching. “Breathe for me.”
I do. Inhale. Exhale. Feel my body adjust around him.
“Good girl.” He starts to move. Slow at first, letting me adjust, letting my body learn the rhythm of his. “That’s it. Just like that.”
Long, deep strokes that drag against every nerve ending. Each time he pushes in, the base of his cock grinds against my clit. Each time he pulls out, the emptiness aches.
“Dante.” My nails dig into his shoulders. “More.”
“More what?”
“More you. Harder. Please.”
But the slowness doesn’t last. Can’t last. Not with weeks of tension breaking free at last.
His hips snap harder. Faster. He grips me, spreads me, and the new angle shatters something loose inside my chest.
The sounds filling the room are obscene. The wet slap of skin. Our ragged gasps. Every noise between us raw and unfiltered.
“Tell me you feel it.” He holds my focus, so close I can see the gold flecks in his irises. “Tell me you feel what this is.”
I should lie. Should protect myself. Should remember that this is temporary, that I’m still the replacement bride, that none of this was supposed to be real.
“I feel it.” I’m gasping, breaking, falling apart beneath him. “I feel you everywhere.”
“Dante.” His name tears out of me without permission.
He growls. An actual growl. And then his touch is between us, rubbing my clit in tight circles while he drives into me.
“Let go.” His voice shreds apart. Ruined. “Give it to me, Cassia.”
“It’s too much. I can’t.”
“You can.” He kisses me, hard and claiming. “I want to feel you shatter.”
I shatter.
My back arches off the bed. My legs lock around his hips. His name tears from my throat as wave after wave crashes through me.
“Fuck, yes.” He thrusts harder, faster, chasing his own release.
“That’s it. That’s my girl.”
Three more strokes. Four. Then he buries himself to the hilt and groans, low and broken, as he spills inside me.
We collapse together. Tangled limbs and pounding hearts slowing by degrees.
His fingers slide into my hair. My throat tightens.
“Cassia.”
“Mm.”
He shifts. Looks down at me. And then he gives me that expression. The one I’m starting to live for.
My heart stutters.
“I can’t get enough of you.”
Before I can respond, he kisses me again. Softer now. A promise rather than a demand.
He pulls back just enough to look at me. His thumb traces my temple, brushing hair from my face. Tender in a way that undoes me more than anything that came before.
I should be cataloging this. The press of him. The rhythm of his heartbeat against my chest. How his body relaxes into mine.
I’m not.
Somewhere between the boutique and now, between the first dress and the last stroke, the numbers went quiet.