“Do you know what you’re doing, tesorina?” Dante asks slowly, in a low voice.
And I realise that I’m writhing against him like a cat in heat. I’m being an absolute animal, inappropriate in every way.
“Sorry, I’m really…” I try to wriggle away, frantic, embarrassed, my cheeks burning. But Dante’s grip on me tightens. “Sorry…” I finish uncertainly, as he draws me closer, and closer still, until the top of my thigh which had been partly over his leg, touches a hot, hard bar.
I gasp in shock. Sheer, stars-behind-my-eyes thrill goes through me.
He’s aroused. He’s got a hard-on. For me? Is Dante attracted to me? His accidental wife?
“It’s okay,” he says with strain and reassurance in his tone. “I meant what I said about your virginity.”
“Oh.” No. No, no, no. I am an idiot.
“I won’t take that from you, but let me give to you, tesorina.”
“Mmmn!” I make a wordless squeak of agreement.
“Are you needy? Are you wet and desperate for friction on your little clit?”
I whimper. Actually whimper like the out-of-her-head turned-on creature I am.
I’m rubbing against him again, so aware of that solid bar of his erection. I really, really want to take it in my hand. Lower my mouth to it and have him comb his fingers into my hair and hold me still as he works himself on me.
I’m a mess of desires, because I’m also basically humping his leg now. The cotton of my pyjamas and the slippery material of his shorts not enough, even with his muscled thigh giving me traction. Dante brings his hand up to my head, and strokes my hair in a gesture that is probably meant to be soothing, but actually makes me moan at how nice it feels.
“Tell me you want me to make you come, and I will, Ruby,” he rasps. “Say the words, and trust me, and I’ll make you explode. I promise.”
“Yes.” That is definitely what I want. Literally anything and everything Dante offers, I want it.
“Use your words. No misunderstandings,” he replies firmly.
That authoritative tone does something magical to me.
Dominant. Knowing. He’s in control of this, even as he makes me own my desires and confess them to him in the dark and security of his bed.
“I want you to make me come,” I whisper. “I trust you.”
“Good girl.” He kisses the top of my head gently, then with ruthless efficiency, he’s tipped me onto my back. His knees are between mine, keeping my legs apart and that detail is unexpectedly arousing, causing a surge of heat. He slides my pyjama bottoms off in one seamless motion, and pushes the vest up so my breasts are exposed, rubbing his thumb carelessly over my nipple and making me whine with need. Then he dives down so his big shoulders are between my thighs. He’s underneath the covers, and I am too, still snug and warm.
What is he doing?!
Then he presses his face to my inner thigh and any capacity I might have had for reasoned thought disappears.
“I can’t wait to taste you,” he growls, and his kiss becomes a lick, which becomes a suck that makes me jump. He rumbles a laugh, and rubs his stubbled jaw against the sensitive skin of my thigh, and I gasp. The pin-prick of pain enhances the pleasure when he presses his lips to me. Like a bit of salt in a sweet recipe, or the silver in his black hair, the contrast makes it better.
The darkness makes this secret, almost as though we’re hiding from reality, or ourselves. There’s no denying our passion, even if this is an accidental, temporary marriage.
Did I say I was cold? I am not cold. I am burning up with desire for this man. He kisses me like there’s a time limit and he has to get as much in as he can before an imaginary bell rings. Then he hooks his arms under my legs to hold me at amore advantageous angle for him, and purrs with anticipation. He licks me. Greedily. One long lick all the way up my seam, and I buck with the shock of bliss it spikes into me.
“Fucking delicious.” He seals his mouth over my clit and sucks.
I practically levitate off the bed. It’s brutal in how effective it is. I’m instantly on the edge of orgasm, from being turned-on and having little shocks, to choking and on the brink.
“So wet, such a good girl for me,” he says, before pressing his lips to my core again, tugging at my clit with his mouth as though he could tear the climax from me.
And perhaps he can, because he doesn’t let up, and I don’t know how long he does it, because time and space have ceased to have any meaning for me, but his insistent mouth crashes me over the edge.
I scream. I clutch the sheets. The pleasure sweeps down my body over and over, each pulse wrecking me more.
