When he traces my opening through the silk of my panties, he finds me wet. Approval and possessive satisfaction set into his features. My pulse spikes when he fists his fingers in the elastic and twists his wrist. The fabric pulls tight against my clit, the stimulation almost too much. The ripping of fabric sounds as he tears the underwear off my body.
He lifts the torn scrap of silk to his nose and inhales deeply. Knowing this turns him on only makes me wetter. Gripping the base of his cock, I position the crest at my entrance. I hold on to his shoulder for balance as I lower myself slowly onto him. I’m still sore from last night, but the way he fills me feels so good that I want to make the moment last.
Once I’ve taken him fully, I move.
“Tatiana,” he growls, brushing the hair from my cheeks and cupping my face.
When I rotate my hips, he utters a groan and slides his hands down my sides before locking them around my waist.
I arch my back, showing him how good he makes me feel. He reciprocates by clamping his teeth on a nipple through the silk of my nightdress, gently nipping the tip. After giving the other breast the same treatment, he stretches one hand over my back and the other around my nape, holding me in place as he kisses me as if there’s no tomorrow.
We break the kiss when I increase my pace. He allows me to set the rhythm, content to let his gaze roam my face and breasts. He only takes over when I tell him I’m close.
Burrowing his fingers in my waist, he bounces me in his lap until I cry out my release.
“That’s my good girl,” he says in a low, husky voice. “Such a needy girl, coming all over my dick.” He lifts me off him. “Look at the mess you’ve made.”
My cheeks burn at his dirty talk, but I’ve always liked it.
He reaches over and takes a condom from his nightstand drawer. Always enjoying watching him, I get ready for the show, but once he’s torn the packet open, he hands me the condom.
His command is gruff. “Put it on me.”
I’ve never done this before, not that I can remember. We didn’t use condoms when we started sleeping together. He never made a secret of the fact that he wanted to make me pregnant.
I take his hard, warm flesh in my hands. His cock jerks at the contact. I battle a bit to roll on the condom, but he doesn’t help me. He watches my face, letting me struggle.
When I’ve finally managed, he spins me around so that I’m on my knees, facing the headboard. He pushes me down with a hand on my back and lifts the nightdress up to my waist.
I grip the headboard, bracing myself, but I’m still not prepared for the stretch or the pleasure as he slides his length inside me, not stopping until he’s buried to the hilt.
“Dante.”
As always, his thrusts are controlled, his pace perfectly timed.
Every cell in my body thrums with intolerable pleasure, but I want him to give me the parts he’s withholding from me. I want him to give me everything. No more holding back.
I push back harder and move faster.
“Tatiana.” He slips a hand around my chest and fills his palm with my breast. “Slow down, darling. I don’t want to hurt you.”
I glance over my shoulder at him. “Maybe I want you to.”
My words do something to him, something wild that reflects in his eyes. For the first time since I’ve met Dante Morici, I see him without the armor of his steely control. The chains break, and the beast is finally free from its cage.
I think he may break me in two when he lets himself go, pounding into me without keeping his force in check. His movements are rough, frenzied, and completely selfish. For once, he’s listening to his body and not to mine. For once, he’s taking what he needs from me without putting constraints on himself.
The way he’s pivoting his hips is brutal and raw. Honest. Beautiful. I love the sight of my strong, invincible husband losing himself. I love letting him use me. There are many different types of sex, lazy Sunday morning sex, urgent sex, and romantic sex. We’ve done it all. He’s had me in every position and each way possible, but never like this, never abandoning all his self-restraint and giving me the naked truth, the uncensored version of himself.
He slams home one last time before his body pulls taut. The power of his climax destroys him. I can see it in the uninhibited, vicious gleam of his golden eyes and in how he shakes as if this is taking everything from him. I’m battered and aching, a dull pain spreading inside me, but this is the first time since Dante took me into his bed that I have him completely slain at my feet.
The knowledge passes through his eyes as our gazes remain locked. He knows it. He knows I’ve shattered his infallible control and broken down his walls. And as much as the victory thrills me, he hates it.
A dark emotion twists his features before he adopts an expressionless mask. Withdrawing physically as well as emotionally, he breaks our eye contact and pulls out of me.
The room turns cold.
I feel empty.
