“You’re going to come for me,” he commands, his voice rough in my ear.
His other hand slips around my front, sliding down my stomach, two fingers pushing inside me without warning.
I’m so ready, so open for him, they slide in deep. Oh my goodness, he fills me so perfectly. “I want to feel you come on my fingers. I want to feel that pretty little cunt squeeze me tight.”
His words are filthy, dirty and oh so hot.
His fingers start thrusting inside me hard and fast, curling inside me, hitting a spot that makes me see stars. His thumb never lets up on my clit. The pressure is building, a coil ready to snap.
I’m crying, whimpering, groaning, moaning, babbling, nonsense words, his name, please, please, please. Yes, yes, yes.
“That’s it, baby,” he rasps. “Let me feel it. Come for me. Now.”
And because I’m exactly what he says I am, my orgasm explodes through me.
My whole body seizes, a sharp, silent scream locked in my throat as pleasure, raw and blinding, rips through me. My inner muscles clamp down on his fingers, milking them, and I shake apart against him, held upright only by his body pinning me to the wall.
He works me through it, his movements gentling until the last aftershock shudders through me and my bones melt.
Then he slowly pulls his fingers out. I hear him bring them to his mouth.
“So… fucking… sweet,”he murmurs.
He releases me, and I slump against the wall, my legs like jelly. I hear the soft rustle of his clothes. I turn, my dress still bunched around my waist, my panties around my knees, my entire body humming and exposed. Dante is already stepping back, adjusting the front of his trousers. I can see the thick, hard outline of his cock straining against the fabric, and a fresh jolt of want punches through my sated haze.
Heavens help me, I really want this man.
He looks at me, his expression unreadable again, all that heat gone behind a cold mask. “Get yourself together.”
My voice is hoarse. “You can’t just… and then walk away…”
He checks his watch, a casual, infuriating gesture. “Five minutes. Fix your makeup. Be presentable or we start this all over again, this time I’ll make sure it’s not so enjoyable.” He turns to leave.
“Dante.” The word stops him at the door. He glances back, one eyebrow raised. I’m still leaning against the wall, flushed and thoroughly used, and he looks like he just finished a business meeting. The inequality of it, the sheer audacity, makes my blood boil and my pulse race all over again. He is the most frustrating, intoxicating man I have ever known.
I don’t even know why I called him, what I want to say, I have no idea. I just watch him, breathing hard and try to find my voice.
He gives me a slow, dangerous smile. "Don't make me come find you."
He walks away, leaving me there. Aching. Ashamed. Furious.
At him.
At myself.
At how much I wanted it even though I knew I shouldn't.
At how much I want him even now.
I slide down the wall, my dress a mess, my body still humming, and wonder how I'm supposed to survive this.
How I'm supposed to survive a man like Dante.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Dante
I make it fifteen steps before I have to stop.
