Something shifts in his face, relief, fear, hunger all tangled together. He exhales rough, the sound scraping against my skin. His hand is still there, still holding me together, but now it feels like he’s the only thing holding me at all.
Dante shifts closer, his face inches from mine, his breath warm against my cheek.
“I don’t know what to do with that,” he mutters, his voice rough. “I don’t deserve it.”
My chest aches in a way that has nothing to do with the wound. “You don’t get to decide that. I do.”
His hand tightens around my ribs, like he’s anchoring himself.
Then his mouth claims mine, slow at first, almost hesitant, like he’s afraid I’ll break beneath him. The kiss is warm, coaxing, then hungrier, all teeth and bruised need. My fingers fist in his shirt, dragging him closer, the pain in my side forgotten in the pull of him.
His hand slides higher along my waist, careful of the bandages, and the heat of his palm brands me through the thin fabric.
The kiss deepens again, slower this time, like he’s relearning how to breathe. Every touch is deliberate, his thumb stroking under the edge of my bra, his body angled close but braced so he doesn’t crush me.
For the first time in a long time I don’t feel broken, I feel alive.
He shifts, bracing one hand on the mattress, the other still warm on my ribs. The weight of him crowds me without pressing too hard. His lips trail from my mouth to my jaw, then lower, heat ghosting across my throat. The scrape of his stubble sets my skin on fire. I gasp, the sound tearing out of me before I can stop it.
“Tell me to stop,” he warns, his breath rough on my skin.
I shake my head, tugging him down. “Don’t you dare.”
A growl tears out of him, low and feral, as if I just cut the last thread of his restraint. His mouth scorches my throat, biting and sucking until my pulse hammers. His eyes search mine for any hesitation, and when I give him none, he bends to press his mouth to the curve of my neck. The scrape of his stubble, the wet heat of his tongue, my back arches despite the pain.
“You sure?”
“Yes,” I breathe, clutching at him. “I want this. I want you.”
His hand stays splayed across my ribs, like I’ll come apart without him holding me there. “Fuck,” he mutters, half-groan,half-snarl, his body trembling like he’s seconds from breaking. Then his mouth is on my lips again, deeper, hungrier.
His hands move with restraint, sliding under my shirt, easing it higher an inch at a time. He pauses whenever I flinch, his eyes flicking to mine for permission. Each time, I nod. Each time, he keeps going.
When the fabric clears my chest, he lowers his head, lips closing over my breast. The scrape of his teeth, the wet heat of his tongue rips a gasp from me. My nails dig into his shoulders, clinging to this feeling.
“You’re so damn perfect,” he mutters against my skin.
Heat pools low in my belly, sharp and demanding. I shift under him, my legs brushing his thighs, and the growl that rumbles out of him is savage and primal.
His hand slides down my stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of my sweats. He moves so damn slow it’s torture, every second stretching until I think I’ll scream. Then his fingers slip between my thighs, stroking light at first, teasing.
A choked moan escapes me before I can stop it.
“I’ve got you,” he soothes, kissing me again, his lips swallowing every sound I make. His fingers press deeper, finding me already wet and trembling. He curses into my mouth, his voice as wrecked as I feel. I buck against him, chasing more. The ache in my side is still there, but it’s nothing compared to the fire he’s building. Every stroke of his hand unravels me further, until I’m panting into his mouth, hips moving helpless against his rhythm.
“Tell me what you want,” he growls against my lips.
“You,” I gasp. “Just you.”
That’s all he needs. His hand works me harder, steady, relentless, until the coil in my gut snaps. My whole body bows up, my release ripping through me so hard it steals my breath. I cling to him like I’ll drown if he lets go.
He kisses me through it, soft now, grounding. When I finally collapse back, trembling, he pulls his fingers away and I immediately miss his touch.
His jaw clenches, like restraint’s the only thing holding him together. Then he strips his shirt off in one sharp motion, muscles taut, chest heaving. The scars and ink across his chest look like battle lines, carved into him, owned only by me in this moment.
He eases my sweats off, kissing every inch of skin he uncovers. By the time he slides them away completely, and removes his own, I’m shaking with need. When he finally presses inside me, it’s slow, deep, filling me until my eyes squeeze shut from the stretch. We groan together, the sound tangled in the space between our mouths.
He holds still, forehead pressed to mine, chest heaving. “Tell me if I hurt you.”
