“You sure?” he asked one more time.
She looked up at him, eyes steady. “I’m not here to be saved.”
He nodded like that answer settled something inside him. Then he tugged her jeans down her legs, inch by inch, not rough but methodical. Her underwear went with them. She was naked before him, bare on the sheets, hair wet and tangled across her shoulders.
Dante stood just long enough to strip the rest of his clothes. His body was taut, hard, and roped with muscle—not sculpted for show but built for endurance.
He slid a hand down her thigh and parted her knees. She was already wet.
He leaned over her, breath against her ear. “I’m not here to save you. I’m here to see you.”
She pulled him down onto her. Dante didn’t rush. He never did, not in the field, not in a fight, and definitely not here, with her.
Shannon was naked in his bed, her chest rising and falling like the only thing anchoring her was his body pinning her there. She wasn’t timid, but he could feel the static under her skin. That edge of restlessness that had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with history.
His eyes traced every freckle across her shoulders. His hand rested, unmoving, over the curve of her hipbone, warm and steady. Her thighs shifted under his with tension. “You don’t have to be anyone right now.”
Her eyes flicked open and held his.
“No rank. No file. No ghost to live up to.” His hand moved slowly, his rough palm skimming over her stomach. “Just you.”
Her breath trembled out of her like she’d been holding it forever. “I don’t think I know how.”
“Just you.” He kissed her neck, right below her ear, not to tease, but to sayI’m here. Her fingers clenched his forearm, dragging nails lightly down his skin. That was all he needed.
His mouth moved lower—collarbone, sternum, the swell of one breast. He closed his lips around her nipple, slow pressure and nothing more, letting it tighten in his mouth as she arched. The other, he cupped with his palm, thumb grazing the peak in time with the roll of his tongue.
Her legs shifted, thighs spreading wider now, no hesitation. She pressed against him, skin to skin, the heat of her against his thigh. His cock was already hard and aching, but he didn’t push into her. Not yet.
He dragged his mouth lower, across her ribs, over the soft plane of her stomach. He kissed the inside of one hip, then the other. She gasped when his stubble scraped her skin, but she didn’t pull away.
“Tell me what you want,” he said, voice rough with restraint.
She blinked down at him, lips parted. Then, breathless: “You.”
He let his hand slide down, his fingers tracing through her wet heat. She jerked, hips rising off the mattress. Not shy, just unprepared.
“You’re soaked,” he murmured.
“I’ve been waiting a long time.”
He pressed one finger into her, slowly, shallowly. Just enough to feel her clench. Her head fell back. He added another, curling just slightly, thumb brushing her clit.
Her whole body shuddered, not from technique. From desire. No rush. Just fire.
Her hands fisted the sheets, knees falling further apart. Her hips rolled into him without thought. Months of tension were unraveling under his hands.
He leaned up, eyes locked on hers, his fingers still working slowly inside her. “I want to taste you.”
“Later,” she gasped. “Just please, I want you inside me.”
It hit him like a fucking gut punch. He pulled his hand back, reached for his jeans on the floor, then paused. He looked down at her again. “You said birth control.”
“I meant it,” she said. “No disease. You?”
His eyes didn’t leave hers. “None.” He gave her that last chance.
She reached for him, wrapping her hand around his cock, guiding him to her, heat against heat. “Then don’t make me wait anymore.”
