More, it felt right to have his hand bracketing her throat.
She spread her legs wider, giving him better access, and he rewarded her by pressing two fingers into her. They both exhaled in unison at the intrusion. He encompassed her with his body, cradling her even as he overpowered her nonexistent resistance. He explored her slowly, thoroughly, as if this were the first time all over again, finally landing on her G-spot with a muttered statement in Italian that sounded extremely satisfied. He rubbed his fingertips against it, kissing her temple when her knees went weak. The sweetness perfectly contrasted the way his other hand pulsed against her throat. Claiming her in a way she never would have allowed outside the bedroom.
His tone changed, but she still couldn’t understand the words. In the end, it didn’t matter because he released her throat and skated that hand down her stomach to stroke her clit. Having both his hands on—in—her pussy, his breathing harsh on her neck, his cock pressed against her ass…
God, she was going to come. And soon.
She couldn’t pretend she didn’t want this. He’d given her an out. Two? Three? All she had to do is say no, and she firmly believed he would have stopped.
Because apparently Dante Verducci actually planned on marrying her, and while he wasn’t above kidnapping or dragging her around like some secondhand toy, he drew the line at forcing her. She shouldn’t like that. She hadn’t chosen to be here in the house, in this shower, and yet in that moment, it was everything she could do not to beg him to fuck her.
He didn’t pick up his pace, didn’t try to rush her through her orgasm. No, he seemed perfectly content to keep finger fucking her for time unknowable, and that only made her need spike higher. So high, she almost missed that he’d switched back to English. His words were tinged with an accent for the first time since she’d met him, low and rough and somehow still musical. “Do you like that, la mia fidanzata?” He kissed her neck. “You don’t have to tell me with words. I can feel your pussy fluttering around my fingers. You’re close.”
“Dante,” she gasped.
“I like it when you say my name. My real name. No more masks between us, amata.” He edged her closer and closer to the point of no return. He was almost entirely holding her up by his hold on her pussy at this point. “I could leave you like this, Rosa. Leave you on the edge and make you beg for it.”
“Don’t!”
She felt him grin against her skin. “My stubborn girl finally tells the truth.” And then there was no more space for talking because she was too busy coming. She cried out, and Dante cursed. He didn’t stop, though. He kept her orgasm going, wave after wave, until she had to press her forehead to the tile to keep herself upright. She barely noticed him shifting one hand away from her pussy until she felt his knuckles brush her ass.
Rose tensed, but Dante wasn’t trying to fuck her. She roused herself enough to look over her shoulder as he jacked himself, his fingers slick from her coming. He picked up his pace as she watched, almost as if driven by her eyes on him.
Then he came across her ass and lower back in great spurts.
She should be pissed about that. She maybe she would be in a moment. But right now, she just stood there, leaning hard on the wall, and let him rub his come into her skin, still crooning in Italian. She dragged in a breath. “This doesn’t mean anything.” It couldn’t mean anything. She wasn’t even sure how they’d gotten to this place to begin with, how her determination to give him pain was flipped and reversed into him giving her pleasure.
“Liar.” He said it almost fondly. “It means everything.”
“No.” A word she should have said earlier. Why didn’t she say it? She couldn’t pretend he’d forced or even coerced her. She wanted this… She just didn’t want the consequences.
Rose concentrated on tensing her body—quite the trick when her bones felt like liquid—and put as much ice into her tone as she could. “Let me go.”
Dante, the bastard, chuckled. “You sure? It would be a shame if your dramatic exit was ruined by your legs giving out.”
I know he did not just say that.
This time, she didn’t have to try as hard to sound cold. “Get your hands off me. Now.”
For a moment, she thought he might ignore her. But he finally sighed as if she were the one being ridiculous and eased his hands from her body. He took a single step away and, for one horrible pause, she thought her body might make a liar out of her.
Her knees held.
Thank god.
She took thirty seconds to wash the mess off her ass and then moved past him. Every muscle in her body quivered, but she ignored the weakness as best she could. A stack of surprisingly fluffy towels sat next to the sink, and she took advantage of two of them. Twisting her hair into one and wrapping the other around her body. Behind her, the water shut off, but she ignored it just like she ignored Dante. More or less.
He might be the most interesting thing in the room to look at, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of watching him dry off. Instead, she turned and surveyed the bathroom properly for the first time.
When they’d landed on that isolated air strip and then hiked through the fucking forest to get here, she’d honestly expected a cabin out of a horror movie. Something infested with spiders and mice and possessing an inch of grime on every surface. A building that was possibly even haunted, as all murder-cabins must be.
Then this place came into view, and she’d had to readjust her expectations. It was a cabin, sure, but a rich person’s cabin. It didn’t mean it wasn’t a murder-cabin, though. That lock that appeared to function for both interior and exterior meant only Dante could come and go as he pleased. He was capable of torture and murder; she didn’t doubt that for a second. That said, she highly doubted he planned either after everything he’d said and what just happened in the shower.
Focus on something else. Literally anything else.
This bathroom was easily larger than the one she had at home, and the tiled-in shower was… Well, best not to think too hard about it now. But the whole thing screamed forest-chic, with dark-green walls, exposed beams overhead in a vaulted ceiling, and the gray tiled floors and shower. The sink was all marble and more exposed beams. It was…nice. The kind of place where she could easily imagine escaping to for a weekend to get away from city life and her responsibilities for a bit.
If only she weren’t trapped here.
She moved past Dante and out of the bathroom. The bedroom was more of the same, luxury in a vaguely cabin sort of way. The bed itself looked like heaven, but she wasn’t ready to think about that yet.
Rose had been Dante’s captive for less than twenty-four hours and she’d already come all over his hand. She didn’t like her odds of spending the night in the same bed without riding his cock. Maybe the couch would be comfortable enough?
She had to do better than this. She’d already proven she couldn’t touch him, even in violence, without him taking it as an invitation to touch her right back. It would be simpler if he dealt pain, because then she could hate him. When he gave her pleasure instead, it got her wires all crossed.
Best to put as much distance between them as possible.
The living room was honestly really nice. Big picture windows overlooked the hill down into the trees, offering a view of the path Dante had carried her up earlier. The trees were too tall to see too far, so she couldn’t gauge their actual location. Not that she’d be able to determine much even if she could see for miles.