Her body responded with a grip that made him groan, his rhythm faltering. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only feel the waves of pleasure crashing through her while he kept moving, kept fucking her through it, wringing every last aftershock from her trembling body.
Dante groaned, his rhythm faltering.
“Merda.”The curse slipped out, before he could leash it. His composure snapped for just a second, eyes slamming shut, breath shuddering like she’d broken something deep.
He caught himself a heartbeat later, grip tightening on her hips, control slamming back into place. But she’d felt it. He’d cracked. Just for her. Dante's breathing had changed—rougher, less controlled. His grip shifted to both hips, pulling her back onto him with each thrust.
"I'm going to—" He didn't finish the sentence.
He pulled out suddenly, and April felt the hot spill of him across her back, marking her.
For a moment, neither of them moved. April's cheek pressed against the cool mahogany. Her breathing ragged, ass still stinging from his hand. Her body felt loose, used and satisfied in a way she'd never experienced.
Dante's palm settled on her lower back, spreading the evidence across her skin more deliberately. "They'll know you were claimed.”
“Do you want them to know?" he asked, satisfaction thick in his voice.
The question itself was incident, and hotter than it should be.
She licked her lips, "Yes."
Dante didn't step away. He drew her against his chest instead, one arm firm at her back.
April could feel his heartbeat against her cheek. His hand moved in slow circles on her back—holding her in the delay.
He was holding her.
Actual holding, not“transitioning to the next activity”holding.
The same man who just fucked her on his desk with six guys twenty feet away is now doing the emotional equivalent of a cool-down stretch. She hadn’t known those two things could exist in the same person.
Dante pulled tissues from another drawer and cleaned her back with the same measured focus he'd used while ruining her.
"You're a mess," he said, echoing his earlier assessment.
"You're the one who—"
"I know." He cleaned her like he was closing a deal—nothing careless, nothing unfinished
April’s chest ached. She'd walked in here angry. This had been a prank. A power play. A very well-timed orgasm. Just fun. Just a moment. Just… everything she hadn’t known she wanted.
It was too gentle. Too careful.
He turned her to face him, his hand cupping her jaw. "How do you feel?"
April's brain did a systems check. Everything was still attached. Mostly functional. Operating at reduced capacity but in a way that felt earned.
"Like I just got hit by a very expensive car," she said. "And it stopped to make sure I was okay after."
His mouth curved. "That's not an answer."
"I feel good," she said. Then, because he was still waiting: "Really good."
"Anything you didn't like?" His thumb traced her jaw.
The question itself was doing things to her. The way he asked it like her answer mattered, like he'd adjust the entire operation based on her feedback.
"No," she said. Then, because honesty was apparently her thing now: "You're very intense. I thought it might be too much." She bit her lip. "It wasn't."
