He forces his eyes open instantly. The raw need in them steals what little resolve I have left.
I squeeze him gently. “I want you. No more waiting.”
Something fractures in his expression, relief so sharp, it looks like agony. He nods once, jerkily, then reaches between us to take his cock from me. His hand wraps around the base of it, guiding himself to my entrance. The blunt head nudges against me, hot and thick, and we both gasp at the contact.
He holds it there, letting me feel him, letting me feel the promise of the stretch I’m about to take. The way he’ll fill me until there’s no room left for anything else.
“Tell me you want this,” he murmurs, breath ragged.
I lift my hips, trying to take him deeper. “I’ve never not wanted you. Give it to me.”
He exhales slowly and then thrusts slowly inside, inch by devastating inch.
The stretch burns in the best way, overwhelming and so fucking perfect. My thighs clamp around his hips, heels digging into the small of his back to urge him deeper until he’s seated to the hilt and we’re both trembling.
He stills there, buried inside me, and then leans forward. His forehead drops to my shoulder, his breath hitching as his cock twitches inside me. I can feel every inch of him throbbing,stretching me wide open, claiming every empty space I’ve carried since he left.
“Fuck,” he chokes out again. “You feel… fuck, you feel like home.”
Then he shifts with just a small roll of his hips, the friction sending sparks racing up my spine. I moan, something that he answers with a groan that vibrates against my neck. Each thrust drags against every sensitive place inside me until I’m whimpering continuously.
“Harder,” I beg.
He snaps.
The restraint he’s been clinging to since the moment this all started shatters. He pulls back almost all the way and then slams back in. The couch creaks violently beneath us. His hips snap forward again and again, driving into me with a rhythm that’s pure desperation, years of pent-up longing finally unleashed.
I can’t think. I can only feel him filling me, stretching me, claiming me in the fullest sense. The slap of skin on skin and the wet glide of our bodies is almost overwhelming. The way his cock hits that spot inside me over and over until stars burst behind my eyes nearly drives me to the brink of insanity.
His teeth graze my pulse. “Come for me. Come on my cock like you know how to do, Elena. Let me feel you.”
The command is all it takes.
I shatter around him, harder than before, my walls clamping down like a vise. They flutter and pulse, milking him as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me. I scream his name,back bowing off the cushions, thighs shaking so badly, I can’t control them.
He fucks me through it, rough and relentless, drawing it out until I’m a sobbing, oversensitive mess still coming in helpless little aftershocks. His thrusts turn erratic, hips slamming deep a few more times before he groans my name.
Heat floods me in hot, thick pulses that seem to go on forever. He trembles above me, every muscle locked tight as he drains himself inside me. He collapses onto me, keeping his face buried in the crook of my neck. I wrap myself around him, holding him as tightly as he’s holding me. He doesn’t pull out. He just stays inside me, softening slowly, still twitching with aftershocks.
I feel the first tear slip from the corner of his eye onto my collarbone.
For a moment, I don’t understand what I’m feeling, just register a faint warmth against my skin and the slow path it takes as it disappears onto the cushion beneath me. I could mistake it for sweat.
I almost do.
Dante has never been the kind of man who allows himself to fracture. At least not where anyone can see it happen. He is control carved into flesh, discipline honed into instinct. Even when Matteo died, his grief had been contained and wielded rather than surrendered to.
My heart twists painfully as realization settles over me. I lift my hand slowly and cradle the back of his head, my fingers sliding into his hair.
He doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans closer, his forehead pressing into the curve of my shoulder as another breath leaves him, shaky this time. Carefully, I tilt my head until my cheek rests against his temple. My thumb brushes a slow path along the back of his neck, the same way I used to when the weight of the world threatened to drag him under.
In that fragile closeness, I realize something that makes my throat burn. This might be the first time in years that Dante has allowed himself to be held instead of being the one who holds everything together.
“I’m right here,” I murmur softly.
For a long moment, he says nothing. It isn’t until my eyes grow heavy and my body starts to slowly drift that his arms tighten where they rest around me, his fingers curling gently along my curves.
He breathes me in, his voice soft.
