His voice is rough. Wrecked.
"You don't have to do this."
I blink.
"What?"
"You have every right not to want me." He swallows hard. "You don't have to kiss me because you feel sorry for me. Because of what I told you about my past."
I stare at him.
Is he serious right now?
"You think I kissed you out of pity?"
"I think you're kind," he says.
"Shut the fuck up."
The words come out sharp. Angry.
Dante's eyes flash.
His expression changes. The vulnerability disappears. He looks angry.
He moves fast.
His hand shoots out. Grabs my chin. Tilts my face up toward his.
"Careful," he says. His voice drops low. Dangerous. "I'm going to make you regret talking to me like that."
My heart slams against my ribs.
I should be scared.
I'm not.
"Make me," I whisper.
His grip tightens on my chin.
For one heartbeat, he just looks at me. His eyes burn into mine. Dark and intense and full of something I can't name.
Then he kisses me again.
His mouth claims mine. Demands. Takes. His teeth catch my lower lip and I gasp. He swallows the sound. His tongue sweeps into my mouth and I melt against him.
I can't think.
I can't breathe.
I can only feel.
His hand moves from my chin to my jaw. His thumb presses against my pulse point. He can feel how fast my heart is racing. He knows exactly what he's doing to me.
I grab his hair. Pull him closer. Kiss him back with everything I have.
Everything else burns away.
