I do. Inhale. Exhale. Feel my body adjust around him.
“Good girl.” He starts to move. Slow at first, letting me adjust, letting my body learn the rhythm of his. “That’s it. Just like that.”
Long, deep strokes that drag against every nerve ending. Each time he pushes in, the base of his cock grinds against my clit. Each time he pulls out, the emptiness aches.
“Dante.” My nails dig into his shoulders. “More.”
“More what?”
“More you. Harder. Please.”
But the slowness doesn’t last. Can’t last. Not with weeks of tension breaking free at last.
His hips snap harder. Faster. He grips me, spreads me, and the new angle shatters something loose inside my chest.
The sounds filling the room are obscene. The wet slap of skin. Our ragged gasps. Every noise between us raw and unfiltered.
“Tell me you feel it.” He holds my focus, so close I can see the gold flecks in his irises. “Tell me you feel what this is.”
I should lie. Should protect myself. Should remember that this is temporary, that I’m still the replacement bride, that none of this was supposed to be real.
“I feel it.” I’m gasping, breaking, falling apart beneath him. “I feel you everywhere.”
“Dante.” His name tears out of me without permission.
He growls. An actual growl. And then his touch is between us, rubbing my clit in tight circles while he drives into me.
“Let go.” His voice shreds apart. Ruined. “Give it to me, Cassia.”
“It’s too much. I can’t.”
“You can.” He kisses me, hard and claiming. “I want to feel you shatter.”
I shatter.
My back arches off the bed. My legs lock around his hips. His name tears from my throat as wave after wave crashes through me.
“Fuck, yes.” He thrusts harder, faster, chasing his own release.
“That’s it. That’s my girl.”
Three more strokes. Four. Then he buries himself to the hilt and groans, low and broken, as he spills inside me.
We collapse together. Tangled limbs and pounding hearts slowing by degrees.
His fingers slide into my hair. My throat tightens.
“Cassia.”
“Mm.”
He shifts. Looks down at me. And then he gives me that expression. The one I’m starting to live for.
My heart stutters.
“I can’t get enough of you.”
Before I can respond, he kisses me again. Softer now. A promise rather than a demand.
