“This is yours.” I motion at my body as I kick off my shoes. “Take it.”
He doesn’t let me invite him twice. He scoops me up into his arms and carries me down the hallway. In the bedroom, he lowers me onto the bed.
He undresses quickly, leaving his clothes and gun on the chair, before climbing over me. He’s a beautiful portrait of ink and muscles, a man defined by darkness and sin. Taking his time, he removes first the bra and then the panties. When I’m naked, he bends my knee and hooks it over his shoulder. Like that first time, he doesn’t allow me to hide beneath the covers or from his unabashedly bold stare as he studies every inch of me.
Supporting his weight on one arm, he slips his free hand between my legs. I’m wet already. The discovery darkens his eyes, making the amber color appear like molten gold.
I’m wet enough to take him, all of him, and this isn’t the first time when he had to be careful with me. He guides his cock to my folds and enters me with a decisive shove of his hips. The position in which he holds me opens me wider and gives him deeper access. I feel him everywhere inside me, filling all the spaces in my heart.
“Dante,” I moan, biting my lip to stifle the scream threatening to escape.
“Tell me.” He pulls back and slides in again, igniting a fire beneath my skin and flames in the pit of my belly. “Don’t deprive me, Tatiana. Tell me how it feels.”
I arch my back, unable to articulate in sound the intensity of the sensations coursing through me. I want to give him what he’s asking for, but I’m not capable of more than a deep, throaty, “Ah.”
He splays his hand over my belly in a possessive touch, holding it there for a moment as he starts to move his hips. The warmth of his broad palm bleeds into my skin. The touch is anchoring and soothing. I imagine him cupping my round belly when I was pregnant with Noah, but for some reason, the image refuses to fully take shape. I have a bizarre notion that I never experienced that intimacy with the father of my baby.
But then he strokes his hand up my body to cup my breast, and all logical thoughts abandon me.
“Tell me,” he says, increasing his pace. “Tell me who you belong to.”
I don’t hesitate. “I’m yours.”
And there’s something so right with that statement, a feeling of safety knowing my place is with him, that I belong here, in his arms. When I’m with him, I always experience a profound sense of peace.
He brushes his knuckles over my nipple, teasing it into a hard point. “That’s the only right answer there can ever be.”
I grip his shoulders as he lowers his head and flicks his tongue over the tip before sucking it into his mouth. He explores my breast with kisses and nips, doing so at his leisure before moving to my other breast.
Not breaking his rhythm, he wraps his fingers around my neck and anchors me to the bed as he crashes our lips together. The kiss is violent and tender at the same time, not only stealing my breath but also what little is left of my reason.
“I fucking love your body,” he says in a harsh tone against my lips. “I can never get enough of being inside you.”
I kiss him again. “Then don’t.”
He pulls away a little, watching me with a fierce expression. “I want to come inside you.”
“Dante,” I whisper. “We said we’d wait.”
“I waited, Tatiana.” He clenches his jaw. “You have no idea.” He reaches over me and takes something from the nightstand, a foil packet that he tears open with his teeth. “But you’re right. You’re not ready, and we should wait.”
He placed that condom there on purpose, making sure it would be in reach when he needed it, which means he came here to prepare before meeting me at the cemetery. But why didn’t he simply take one out of his pocket before he undressed? Maybe he wanted to do an inspection to be sure the place was still up to his standards, or maybe he stocked the fridge. He definitely would’ve done a security check.
Whatever the case, the fact that this was a premeditated plan is hot. If he wanted to make love to me here, our first time must hold the same special meaning to him than it does for me.
He pulls out and sits back on his heels. His cock juts out, hard and embossed with veins, the crest glistening with his pre-cum and my arousal. Gripping my ankle in a tender hold, he removes my leg carefully from his shoulder and rolls on the condom. I watch him quietly, finding the act of him sheathing himself strangely erotic.
When he’s done, he intertwines our fingers and lifts my arms above my head. He pins me down in that position for the final stretch, taking as much of me as he can, thrusting deep and moving fast.
I sometimes forget how extraordinary his stamina is. I can hardly keep up with his grueling pace. By the time he flips me over onto my stomach and pulls me onto my knees, my skin is covered with a fine sheen of perspiration, and my legs are already wobbly.
I cry out in pleasure as he stretches me from this angle. Always knowing what I need, he moves a hand between my thighs while locking the other on my hip to keep me in place for his deep but lazy strokes. The only sounds in the room are the slapping of our flesh as he slams his groin against my ass and the moans that pierce my panting.
He takes me hard, yet he doesn’t rush it. Ever so slowly, he pushes me closer to the edge. He seems to be reading me like a roadmap, knowing when to slow down and when to speed up. He adjusts his movements to my body’s reactions and holds back his own pleasure to synchronize our release.
When I come, he finally lets himself go to climax with me. It’s only then, as he empties himself in the condom, that I realize how enormous his control truly is. Dante has always been exceptionally careful with me, and I’ve always taken that for granted. I never understood the strain it put on him or the price it cost him until he grips my chin and forces me to look at him over my shoulder.
A storm plays out in the golden depths of his eyes as my orgasm fizzles out to ripple through me in aftershocks. Dante is a dangerous and calculated man. He can be as cold as he can be passionate. Yet for me, he’s always forced control. He’s always given me the beautiful face of the man, but he’s never let me see the terrifying face of the monster. He’s like a beast in a fashionable three-piece suit, a gentleman on the outside with a darkness lurking inside him.
