“How does it feel?”
“It feels…” her voice was barely more than a gasp. “It feels lewd.”
His mouth curved against her thigh. His fingers pressed deeper.
"That's it," he murmured. "Let me see you."
April's hips rolled into his hand involuntarily, chasing more of that approval, more of his touch, more of whatever he was willing to give her. The slickness, the stretch, the way he touched her like he had every right—it was too much and not enough and she was going to lose her mind if he didn't—
"Now, principessa." It wasn't a request.
The orgasm tore through her like a security override, every lock gone, every system triggered at once. The room narrowed to his hand on the back of her neck and the pulse between her legs. Heat, noise, and a free-fall into sensation she'd chosen but couldn't steer.
When she came back, her first coherent thought was:I wonder if his desk has seen worse.
Dante’s smile was all sharp satisfaction, like a man watching his prediction prove true.
“Brava,” he said. “Exactly like I knew you would.”
The words hit her like a physical touch. Her body responded before her brain could catch up. A fresh rush of heat, her core clenching around nothing, wanting him inside her again already. She'd never thought she'd be into that kind of praise, but something about the way he said it. Approval mixed with possession mixed with promise that made her want to earn it again.
Before April could respond he flipped her over. The movement was effortless, his hands on her hips, turning her like she was something light and manageable. April's palms hit the cool mahogany. Face sideways on the desk. Ass up.
The position was filthy and exposed and she could see the haze of the poker table through the glass wall where the poker game continued like nothing was happening.
Behind her, Dante moved. His hands spread her open, baring her to the room behind the glass. She saw his reflection unbuckle his belt, calm as ever. He moved like a man who knew exactly what he was doing and had done it before and would do it again.
April discovered she liked watching him. Liked the purposefulness of it. She could see his shoulders shift as he freed himself. Could see the focus on his face, the same expression he'd worn during negotiation, but rawer now. His hand hit herback, holding her down, so there was nothing she could do but anticipate.
He filled her in one stroke.
The stretch locked her spine straight. Her fingers slipped against the desk, scrambling for purchase that wasn't there.
"Fuck—"
He held.
His hand settled on the back of her neck. "You know they heard you."
What?
"When you came on my fingers." His thumb traced her spine. "Every sound."
The poker game. The glass. The way she'd—
Oh god.
"They're still listening."
Heat flooded through her—sharp, mortifying, and something else that made her core clench around him.
His hand tightened on her hip. Waiting.
She pressed back. Took him deeper.
"Yes," he said.
Then he moved.
