Is he telling the truth? Was some of it true?
His dark gaze tracked up her body with a possessiveness she should argue against, but she couldn’t find the breath or the words. Italian poured from his mouth, but she didn’t have the capacity to wonder what the fuck he was saying to her with that look on his face because he slammed the last few inches and stole everything but her need for more.
Dante kissed her again as he moved inside her. Not strokes, exactly, but pulses that had her writhing against him. It felt good, really good, but it was nowhere near enough. She tried to get leverage to move against him, but he had her pinned with his body weight and cock.
She broke the kiss enough to demand, “More.”
“All you have to do is ask, Rosa. I’ll give you anything. Everything.” He moved back again, depriving her of the delicious contact of his chest to hers, but instantly made up for it when he jerked her hips up with him.
“You want more? I’ll give you more.” Dante guided her legs over his arms, still maintaining the incline, and then he started fucking her properly. Long, seeking strokes that had him rubbing against her G-spot. The moment he found exactly the right angle and rhythm to have her eyes damn near rolling back in her head, he kept it up, driving her closer and closer to orgasm.
“Touch yourself, amata.”
She didn’t hesitate. She hadn’t hesitated since this all began. She just snaked her hand down her stomach and stroked her clit. Pleasure coiled so tightly through her, so strongly, it was almost pain. “Dante.”
“Say it again.”
She shouldn’t. She’d already yielded so much. This particular command felt even more personal than the others. It didn’t matter. He hit that spot deep inside her even as she stroked her clit, and her orgasm took her under. She cried out his name as she came around his cock.
Dante barely waited for her wave to crest before he covered her with his body and fucked her like salvation lay on the other side of his orgasm. She was so sensitized, she came again with a gasp that he kissed away. He ground into her, his expression nearly furious as he orgasmed. “Mine, Rosa.” Then he collapsed on top of her.
Holy shit. She stared at the ceiling as her heart fought to slow back to a normal pace and her body went loose and pliant from the echoes of pleasure. It had always been good with him, but this was on another level entirely. She shivered at the thought of what else he had up his sleeve when it came to sex. This whole experience was like fucking a stranger who already had your body memorized. There was no need to fumble through a first encounter because they had so much history. And yet this wasn’t the same as fucking Jackson. Not even a little bit.
She smacked his shoulder lightly. “I can’t believe you held out on me.”
He caught her mouth in a brief kiss. “I’m not the only one who held out.”
He…wasn’t wrong. “Dante…”
“I love it when you say my name like that, all sated and lazy.” He kissed her again and reached between them to hold the condom in place as he eased out of her.
She watched him walk out of the living room. A few seconds later, the water ran in the bathroom. Rose should get up, should move, should do something. Her body wouldn’t obey her sluggish mental commands, though. The best she could do was turn on her side and grab a fallen pillow from the ground to prop under her head.
Dante didn’t stay away for long. He reappeared still completely naked and eyed her. “Are you about to have regrets and cry about how this was a mistake?”
Just like that, reality slapped her in the face. What the fuck was she doing? Waiting for cuddles? Comparing having sex with Dante against their history and trying to look for evidence that he wasn’t lying when he said it was real for him, too?
She sure as hell couldn’t think about the arts festival or what he’d said. They were engaged in emotional warfare, and she was losing.
That got her moving. “I don’t cry over bullshit like fucking someone I shouldn’t.” She’d chosen this every step of the way. She could tell herself she hadn’t had another option, but it wasn’t the truth and they both knew it. Rose might lie to Dante, and happily, but she wouldn’t lie to herself.
She’d loved fucking him.
She wanted to do it again.
She…missed him.
It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. All the orgasms in the world didn’t change who Dante was or what he’d done. Or what happened next. He would die, and she would return to New York to marry Romeo Capparelli like some kind of fucked-up tragedy. In the past three months of planning and strategy meetings, Rose hadn’t paused long enough to mourn the loss her marriage represented. She wasn’t the type to worry overmuch about a love match, not when she had so many other priorities to focus on. Who cared that she needed to marry a stranger if it meant her family and their people remained safe?
She didn’t love Dante—she didn’t even know him, not really—but she couldn’t deny they shared a spark that was entirely absent between her and Romeo. She was destined for a cold marriage to someone that was truly a stranger. It was her duty, and she’d do it.
She just didn’t expect to mourn the loss of a future she’d barely let herself consider.
Dante gave her a surprisingly happy grin. “In that case, why don’t I make us something to eat, and you can put a movie on?”
The words were familiar. How many times after they’d had sex had he put forth the same offer? Dante was brilliant in the kitchen, even on what had appeared to be a low budget. He’d cook for her, slowly seducing her again with delicious smells and then amazing food. After they ate, they’d cuddle together while watching whatever random movie she’d picked from his various streaming channels. The movie never mattered, because they never made it through the whole thing before having sex again.
Her chest ached with a sudden longing that made her dizzy. “Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
“You said I’m the liar, but what the fuck are you?” Rose pushed to her feet and ran her fingers through her hair. Her body still ached with the aftermath of pleasure, a bell chiming to a tune only Dante could match. “You don’t get to manipulate me using my history with Jackson.” She had to keep them separate. She had to. Because if she had the intimacy she shared with Jackson and the brutal truths and intense sex she had with Dante… That combination scared her right down her to her bruised heart.
Dante gave her a long look. “It wasn’t all a lie.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It wasn’t,” he insisted. “Do you really think my assignment was to date you for months? To cook for you? To watch hundreds of movies and bicker about the different characters and plot choices? To tag along to all those weird ass festivals and events you managed to find?”
He had been overly invested in the morally gray characters, but so were millions of people. There was a reason those types did so well. And the festivals? It had become something of an inside joke between them, and she’d enjoyed searching out the weirdest ones within drivable distance to take him to, just to see the look of vague horror on his face and hear his low, snarky comments as they explored. It was like a secret just for the two of them.