I expect him to balk. Heirs don’t kneel for anyone, and certainly not another heir. But he steps forward until the hard outline of his dick is pressed against my stomach. His whisper feels hot against my ear.
“There are more ways to submit than on your knees, Caterina Corvo.”
I draw in a breath as he drops to his knees at my feet. Large fingers curl into the edges of my underwear, yanking them until they rip. My head bangs back into the door, and my hands move to his shoulders as he curls his hands around my thighs and lifts me onto his face.
“F-fuck.”
I hope he can’t hear my strangled gasp, his face buried between my legs as he seals his lips around my clit and sucks. The edges of his stubble drag across my skin, and my heels dig into his back as he holds me in place, fucking me with his tongue, sliding in and out until I’m a panting, shaking mess on the edge of what promises to be fuckingfireworks.
He pulls his head back, looking up at me with a smirk. His lower face is soaked with me as his hands squeeze my skin. “Say my name, principessa, and I’ll let that little cunt of yours come.”
Motherfucker.
My hands move to his head, and I tug the hair at the back of his neck roughly. “Just get the fucking job done, V’Arezzo. Stop trying to make this a fucking thing.”
In response, he turns and sinks his fucking teeth into the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. “Say it,” he demands. When I shake my head, he traces his tongue softly up my slit, enoughthat the building beckoning of my impending orgasm starts to douse.
“You’re an asshole,” I grit out, and his low laugh vibrates through me. He drops my legs to the floor abruptly, making me stagger.
Dante gets to his feet, his hands moving to his jeans. “Come here, Caterina.”
“Testa di cazzo,” I hiss back at him, and he tsks, clicking his tongue.
“That wasn’t very nice. Don’t you want to come?”
I’m fucking dripping, sagging against the door as he pulls his cock out, tattooed hands stroking it up and down. I wassofucking close.
“I hate you,” I throw at him, and he grins. “I know. That’s what makes this so fucking good.”
I don’t fight as he hoists me again, notching the head of his cock against my entrance and thrusting inside. My forehead presses against his shoulder as he fucks me roughly, the sound of our bodies slapping together in the air and my door thudding behind us. Dante’s movements pick up, and he presses his lips to my shoulder, making me twist away.
“Just sex,” I gasp, and I’m rewarded with a particularly hard thrust.
“Fottuta tentazione,” he snarls, and I cry out as teeth sink into my neck, the sharp bite of pain yanking my climax from me with force as I shake, Dante’s arms holding me upright as I hold onto him. His release follows moments after, his groan guttural in my ear as I feel the wet heat of him between my legs.
I give myself a few seconds to catch my breath. A few, short seconds of pretending that this is anything else than an itch to be scratched before I shove at his shoulders. “Put me down.”
“Give a man a minute at least,” he mutters. His hands loosen, my feet dropping down to the floor as I disentangle myself,trying to drag back together the pieces that make up Caterina Corvo. The pieces that Dante has to see. I’m careful to wipe any expression from my face, any possible giveaway before I turn to him.
“You know where the door is. Apparently.” I duck under his arm, ignoring his muttered curse as I head towards the bathroom. “Don’t come here again, V’Arezzo.”
I slam the door behind me, pressing my back against it as I take a deep breath and listen. There’s a rustling, the sound of Dante pulling his jeans up. And a pause.
“Pretend all you want,tentazione,” he calls, and I close my eyes. “But your body can’t lie to me.”
I bite back the argument on my tongue, shove down the urge to storm back out and shout at him again until we’re tangled up in bedding, our bodies locked together in savage, fluid movement. Until I can forget the smell of blood in my nose, the feel of my blade embedded in flesh.
The feeling of taking a life. Another tick for the devil’s tally.
But that’s a fool’s dream. My front door slams shut, and thirty seconds later, I’m buried under hot water, scrubbing away any lingering traces of Anton and of the man who just spent an hour buried between my thighs.
Washing away my sins. It’s hard to know which is worse.
For one, I’m answerable to whatever deity is up there. Or down there, depending on how you look at these things.
For the other, I’m answerable to my family.
I know which I’d prefer. It takes longer than I’d like to admit to put myself back together, my hair braided tightly against my face. I collect a new pair of black shiny stilettos from my wardrobe, slowly sliding my daggers into them.
