I deepen the kiss, tasting the sweetness of Angelica’s lips as my hands grip her waist, pulling her closer until there’s no space left between us.
Her breath hitches, and she clutches my shirt, fingers digging into the fabric like she’s anchoring herself to me.
The air in my den is thick with tension, the faint burn of whiskey still lingering on my tongue, but it’s her that’s intoxicating me now.
I’m a man used to control, but with her, I’m unraveling, and I don’t care.
“You’re impossible,” she murmurs against my mouth, her voice laced with defiance and desire.
I smirk, my lips brushing hers as I reply, “You want it, Angelica. Stop fighting it.” I nip her lower lip, and she sucks in a breath as her body arches into mine. “Admit it. You’re done pretending.”
Her eyes flash with that fire I crave, meeting mine with a challenge.
“Maybe I am,” she says, her fingers sliding into my hair, tugging just enough to send a jolt through me. “But don’t think I’m yours completely.”
I laugh, a dark, rumbling sound, and back her toward the desk without breaking our kiss. “We’ll see about that.”
My hands roam her sides, tracing the curve of her hips through the thin nightdress that clings to her like a second skin.
I lift her onto the edge of the desk, and papers scatter to the floor as she wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me between them as our kisses turn hungry, almost desperate.
“Dante,” she says in a breathless tone as her hands work at my shirt buttons.
I slide my hands under her nightdress, pushing it up her thighs.
Her skin is warm, soft, and I can feel her trembling under my touch.
I groan at the sensation of her flesh under my fingertips and shove the nightdress higher, exposing her completely as I pull it over her head.
My fingers find her, teasing her through the thin fabric of her underwear, and she moans and lets her head fall back.
“Christ,” she gasps, digging her nails into my shoulders.
I chuckle, pressing harder, circling with a steady pressure.
“You think you get to make demands? I’m in charge here.” But her moans are unraveling me, and I’m not sure how I manage to hold back.
I slip her underwear down her legs and off her feet to the floor, and she shivers as my fingers return, stroking her until she’s writhing against me.
“God, you’re killing me,” she pants in a needy tone.
Her hands fumble with my belt, tugging it open and I help her, shedding my pants and kicking them aside.
I’m hard, aching for her, and the sight of her spread out on my desk, eyes dark with want, nearly undoes me.
I pull her closer, positioning myself between her thighs, and enter her in one slow, deep thrust.
She whimpers and I pause, letting her adjust to my girth as my hands grip her hips.
Then I begin thrusting, savoring every inch of her, every sound she makes.
Her moans fill the room, mingling with the creak of the desk, and I can’t get enough of her.
I lean down, kissing her neck, her collarbone, sucking at her pulse point.
“Fuck, I’m—” Her words cut off as her body tenses, her climax hitting hard.
She clenches around me first and then begins to confuse and shake.
