He brings the dildo closer to his face.
And inhales.
"What thefuckare you doing?"
"Curious." He breathes in again. Slower this time. "About what you smell like."
My brain short-circuits.
He's smelling my?—
He's actually?—
"I have to say." His eyes close for a moment. When they open, they're black. Pupils blown wide. "Better than I imagined."
I move before I think.
Three steps. That's all it takes. I'm across the room and grabbing for the dildo, my hand closing around the silicone shaft.
"Give me that, you fucking?—"
Dante's other hand shoots out.
His fingers close around my wrist.
And hepulls.
I lose my balance. Pitch forward. My knee hits the mattress. My free hand lands on his chest to catch myself.
I'm half on top of him.
His wounded side is inches from my hip. His face is inches from mine. I can see every line around his mouth. The stubble that's grown in over the past two days.
He doesn't let go of my wrist.
I should move.
I should push off his chest and stand up and walk out of this room and never look back.
But I don't.
For one heartbeat. Two. Three.
I stay exactly where I am.
His breath is warm on my lips. His chest rises and falls under my palm. I can feel his heart beating. Fast. Faster than it should be for a man who's supposed to be resting.
His grip on my wrist loosens.
He's letting me go.
He's giving me the choice.
I hesitate.
One second too long.
Dante's mouth curves. That infuriating smirk that makes me want to slap him and kiss him in equal measure.
