“You and I, Amara, we will never be anyone else’s,” he murmured, his words ghosting over her lips. “We could fuck a hundred other people but this, this will never go away. Do you feel it pulsing between us?”
Her heart was thundering by the time he finished speaking, his chest an inch away from her heaving breasts. She did feel it, much stronger than it had ever been before. Amara looked up at his lips, the mouth she had tasted on hers in so many different ways, just a command away.
“Are you going to fight for us?” she whispered, the wound of his words still bleeding in her chest.
“I am, Amara,” he told her, his eyes burning, taking in her face. “But I can’t give you more than that right now. I tried staying away, letting you live your life. Fuck, I’ve tried-” he pressed his forehead to hers. “I can’t, Amara. You’re the beat to my fucking heart.”
And he was hers.
Amara felt her eyes burning, remembering the feeling of love and safety she’d felt him, the deep pain of loneliness that had become her constant over the last few months, her nose twitching.
She believed him. For whatever reason, her heart had known even when breaking that he’d not done it out of disregard. And watching him, the anguish on his face, she believed him.
But she didn’t know if this meant anything, or what tomorrow would bring. But she knew she wanted him, wanted everything with this man.
Swallowing down her nerves, her face still cupped in his large, warm palms, Amara stood up on her toes, her nose brushing hers, and spoke the words out.
“Kiss me.”
His lips crashed on hers before she had finished speaking, swallowing the last of her word.
Finally.
Her body trembled.
Amara stretched higher on her toes, the pressure of his mouth making a shiver run down her spine. He tilted her head to the side, slashing his lips more firmly across hers, and licked at the seams of her closed mouth, the taste of him – smoke and wine and him – filling the gnawing hunger inside her. She felt her lips part on a soft moan, and he took the invitation, swooping in, tangling his tongue with hers.
Dante’s kiss was fire through her veins, not the kind that burned her down to cinders and ashes, but the kind that warmed her from the inside out in places she hadn’t known she’d been cold and shivering. It lit up the corners in her being that had been shrouded in darkness, forcing everything malefic to the shadows as she basked in the warmth.
He guided her mouth and she followed, this dance of a different kind, one they’d danced so many times before.
He pulled back, and she opened her eyes, taking in his lips, painted the shade of hers, wet from her mouth. It sent a tendril of something possessive dispersing inside her, watching him wear the evidence of herself on his flesh. She wanted him to be marked with her, just as he had marked her on the inside.
He moved his thumb over her lips, the touch rough.
Before she knew what she was doing, she opened her mouth and sucked it in.
His eyes darkened. “You need to stop if you don’t want to be fucked, Amara.”
Heat snaked inside her body, coiling low in her belly, melting her insides.
She wanted to be fucked. She wanted to be fucked by him. But she didn’t want to panic in the middle of it.
She bit down on his thumb, keeping her eyes steady on his. “Go slow, please.”
His eyes flared and suddenly, she was flat on her back on the bed, her legs dangling over the edge, Dante kneeling between them, his gaze on hers, his mouth a heartbeat away from her panties.
“Do you want me to stop?”
She shook her head mutely, her heart hammering in a way that sent wetness pooling between her legs.
He took a hold of her panties, pulling them down her legs and throwing them on the bed, his fingers finding her folds. “Fuck, you’re drenched.”
His rough, hard voice noting that with his rough, hard fingers on her flesh just made her wetter. She pushed a hand in his hair, moaning. “Dante.”
She felt his hands get a hold under her knees, pushing her legs back towards her on the bed, splaying her wide open to his eyes. “I’m going to eat this pussy until they bury me in the ground,” he stated, his mouth falling on her folds.
Amara arched off the bed, her hands gripping his hair, liquid heat moving through her body, spiraling to the spot his mouth devoured her. And he devoured her, his tongue plunging inside, tasting her, learning her spots, one of his hands coming down on her little nub of flesh, his thumb rubbing her vigorously as he ate her out like it was his sole purpose in life.
It was her first time being eaten out, and god she loved it. This pleasure was nothing like anything she’d felt before, not even the few times she’d tried to touch herself since the assault. She had never been this wet; the orgasm had never been this close. Writhing against his face, noises of pleasure escaping her throat, Amara pulled his mouth closer, never wanting him to move away.
“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged her, making out with her pussy like it was the last time he would have it. “Ride my face. Fuck, you taste so good. Use my tongue.”
God, he was a talker. A dirty, nasty talker under those suits. It turned her on even more.
His tongue swirled around her clit, side to side, round and round, diagonally, every which way, and Amara felt a wave so intense crash over her it made her scream, the cords in her throat straining as pleasure flooded her, her legs spasming out of control as she came all over him.
He held her down through it all, letting her ride the wave, keeping her rooted to the bed as she slowly came down.
She felt limp. Heavy, like her bones weighed a ton, but in the best way.
Blinking, she looked up as he hovered over her, between her legs, still in his suit, looking down at her with a look so visceral it made something in her heart clench.
“Hi,” she whispered, her chest heaving.
His lips, still wet from her, tilted upwards. “Hi. You okay?”
She licked her lips. She could feel the bulge in his pants pressed against her naked heat and knew she was probably leaving a wet spot over him. And while the evidence of his arousal itself made memories want to resurface, she wanted nothing more than this man, buried as deep as he could be inside her, one with her in every way he could be.
She had to do this. She needed to do this. Keeping their gazes locked, strengthened by the possessive heat in those brown eyes, knowing he would rather cut off his arm than physically hurt her, she knew he would let her.
“Two things-” she told him softly “-don’t ever take me from behind, and don’t call me a slut.”
He raised his eyebrows slightly, and he hesitated for a second. “Is there something I should know before we do this?”
Amara felt her palms get clammy. “No.” She could never tell him, not when that shame still curled in her gut.
“You sure?”
She nodded. Raising her hands, she slowly started to undo the buttons on his shirt, exposing inch after inch of delicious male flesh he hid under those expensive suits of his until he hovered over her with his jacket on and shirt gaping open, his chest covered by a sparse smattering of hair, trailing down to solid abs, down to his belt and the bulge under it.
She pushed on his shoulders. “Lie back,” she told him quietly and saw his lips pull up in his typical smirk.