I should.
IknowI should.
There are still a thousand reasons doing this would be disastrous. We will ruin each other all over again because that’s the way it always goes. It’s inevitable.
But I’m so damn tired of being careful.
I frame his face with shaking hands, my thumbs brushing along the defined lines of his cheekbones. I look straight into thosegreen-gray eyes that he shares with our son and let the truth fall past my parted lips.
“I never stopped wanting you, even when I hated you. I want you now so much, it hurts,” I whisper.
A tremor rolls through his whole body. I have no time to react before he’s kissing me again. His mouth moves desperately on mine, punishing in its tenderness that bleeds into desire. His teeth graze my lower lip as his tongue strokes along the seam of my mouth, plunging inside as soon as they part for him.
I arch into him, my nails digging into his skin while the need to be closer overrides everything else. The couch creaks beneath us when he shifts us, turning us around until my back is laid flat against it. He hovers over me, his mouth still fused to mine. His fingers find bare skin at the small of my back when he slips his fingers under my shirt, and I whimper into his mouth shamelessly.
This is all I ever wanted.
The thought crashes through me like a wave I can’t outrun, dragging me out to sea where every buried emotion floods to the surface until I’m drowning in it. His weight presses me into the cushions and I arch again, dragging him down with me.
Dante breaks the kiss only to sweep his tongue down the side of my throat, his teeth grazing the spot just below my pulse. He finds the spot that always made my knees buckle back then, the one he mapped out years ago when we were still young and foolish, and he bites down hard enough to mark it.
He lifts his head just enough to look at me. His eyes are near-black with want, pupils blown so wide, there’s almost no color left. He makes a low, broken sound deep in his throat and surgesback down to kiss me again. His hand slides higher beneath my shirt, callused palm skimming the curve of my ribs, thumb brushing the underside of my bra before slipping under the cup to touch my breast.
I gasp into his mouth, hips jerking up instinctively, seeking the hard length of him pressed between my thighs.
He groans against my mouth, pulling back just enough to say, “You feel that?”
He rocks forward once, letting me feel exactly how badly he wants this—wantsme. Tears burn behind my eyes. I clutch at his shoulders, needing to hold on to something solid while the truth of his words rips me wide open.
“That’s what you do to me. Every fucking day since you left. Every night I tried to forget you and failed,” he growls.
“I tried so hard to hate you… to hate this. But it was always you. Always,” I choke out.
His hand leaves my back only long enough to shove my shirt up and over my head in one rough motion. Cool air hits my skin, making me shiver, but his mouth is already there kissing the hollow of my throat, the slope of my collarbone, down to the swell of my breasts, worshipful and ravenous all at once.
When his lips close around my nipple through the thin lace of my bra, I cry out, my back bowing off the couch. He switches sides, teeth grazing me through the lace while his other hand works the clasp at my back. The bra is tugged off me and tossed and then he’s on me again, the contact is so overwhelming I nearly sob.
His tongue drags over one of my nipples before both of his lips wrap around it. A choked cry is ripped from me before I can stop it. Every nerve in my body seems to reroute straight to the point where his lips seal around me. His teeth scrape just enough to sting, making the pleasure and pain blur into something blinding.
My fingers fist in his hair, not guiding him at all, just holding on for dear life as he switches to the other side, giving the neglected bud the same ruthless attention. Wet heat drags over it, then the sudden sharp tug of suction that makes my thighs clench around his hips.
“Dante…” I don’t even know what I’m asking for. More? Less? Mercy?
Maybe all of it at once.
His free hand slides down my side, rough palm mapping every trembling inch of me like he’s trying to memorize me all over again. Fingers dig into my hip in order to hold me still so he can rock against me again, each one a promise of exactly what he plans to do to me once there’s nothing left between us.
I’m shaking so badly, I can feel it in my teeth.
When he pops his mouth off me, he lifts it just enough to look at me. His lips are slightly swollen, glistening from what he’s done to me. The sight of him undone like this sends another fresh wave of heat crashing through my core.
His hand leaves my breast only to slide down my stomach, fingers splaying wide and possessive. When his palm cups me through my pants, the heel of his hand presses firmly over where my clit is. He rocks it there with enough pressure to make my hips jerk but not enough to let me chase any kind of release.
Teasing, torturing… all of it to remind me who’s in control.
I’m so desperate, I start to beg. “Please, Dante. Touch me. Please. I need?—”
He doesn’t let me finish the sentence.
