Dante groans against my mouth. The sound vibrates through me, makes me desperate. I need more. Need to feel him. Need to be closer.
I push against his chest.
He pulls back, confusion flickering across his face.
"Marina—"
I don't let him finish.
I roll us.
Careful of his wound. Careful of the stitches. But I need to be on top. Need to feel in control of something after everything that's happened.
Dante lands on his back with a grunt.
I straddle his hips.
His hands find my thighs immediately. Grip hard. His eyes are black now, pupils blown wide, and he's looking at me like I'm something he wants to devour.
"Are you in pain?" I ask.
"No."
"Liar."
"I don't care about the pain."
I lean down.
Press my mouth to his.
He kisses me back with the same desperate hunger, his hands sliding up my thighs, over my hips, pulling me down against him. I feel him through the thin fabric of the sleep shorts Sophia gave me. Hard. Ready.
I gasp into his mouth.
Roll my hips.
Dante's fingers dig into my flesh.
"Careful," I whisper against his lips. "Your stitches?—"
"Fuck my stitches."
He kisses me again.
Harder.
His tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming, possessing. I melt into him. Forget about being careful. Forget about everything except the heat building between us.
His hands slide around to my ass.
Grab.
Squeeze.
I moan.
Dante pulls back just enough to look at me. His eyes are wild. His breathing ragged.
