“Just leave me alone!” She tries to force my hands from her, but I shift my grip to her arms, hold her tight, look down at her. Water runs over the planes of her body, soft, full breasts, hard nipples. Her too-flat belly. She’s scratched up from the rocks.
She looks at me, too, and I let her. I hold her there and I let her. And when she meets my gaze again, I realize I don’t care about anything but this moment. Her. I can’t not kiss her. Can’t not have her.
I cup the back of her head, pull her to me and close my mouth over hers. I kiss her hard, water pelting the back of my head as I devour her. I want her. I have never wanted anyone like I want her. As wrong as it is, I fucking want her.
Her hands come to my chest, my biceps. I draw back, lift her up, press her back to the glass wall. She wraps her legs around me and I’m at her entrance. And all I can do is look at her as I decide.
Because this is the moment to decide. The line is clear. I’m toeing it, have been since day one.
Now, my cock at her warm entrance, I have to decide.
And I do.
I already have. Hell, maybe I had since day one.
I thrust in hard and watch her gasp. Her hands wrap around my shoulders, and she opens her eyes, looks at me.
I draw out and thrust again. And fuck. Fuck, she feels good. So good. So tight. So fucking perfect. Perfect for me. As if she was made just for me. I don’t bother switching off the water when I carry her out, her legs still wrapped around my waist. I lay her dripping wet on my bed, tug her to the edge and grip her ankles to push her legs wide, opening her, looking at her. And then I’m inside her again, fucking her, fucking the past out of her.
And I know this is right. I know this is the only thing right in this fucked up situation. This fucked up world.
Her. Here. In my bed.
Mine.
Fucking mine.
I lean closer, needing to kiss her again, to taste her mouth, suck on her tongue. And when I do, she wraps her hands around the back of my head and gives me everything. Her breath, her body, her fucking soul. Because I will have everything. Every part of her.
And when that breath catches, I draw away to look at her, watch her come undone, face tensing, mouth open, eyes dark, black pupils ringed with a fine line of the most beautiful blue.
“Dante,” she gasps, biting her lip, fingers pulling my hair as she closes those eyes and turns her head a little. The walls of her pussy pulsate around my cock, taking me to the edge of oblivion. I call out her name and make her look at me again. I need to see her eyes again as I empty inside her, laying claim to her, taking her for myself.
Because she belongs to me. She has always belonged to me.
29
Dante
It’s only when I pull out that the reality of what we’ve done, what I’ve done, sinks in. I look down at her, see her soft, relaxed face. I slowly release her legs.
She lies still, spent, but I see her pulse beating at her throat.
“Did I hurt you?” I finally ask, my voice sounding strange, grainy like sand, not my own.
She shakes her head, reaches up a hand to brush hair back from my face. I’m not sure if it’s wet from the shower or sweat.
Relieved, I nod, walk into the bathroom because I need to be away from her for a minute. Away from those eyes. I switch off the still running shower, clean myself off, then hold a washcloth under warm water and carry that and a bath towel back into the bedroom.
She’s lying exactly where I left her, legs dangling off the bed, her expression soft, sleepy. Her body boneless. She blinks as if her eyelids are too heavy, her eyes tracking me as I cross the room. Looking at her like this, lying naked on my bed, makes my cock stir again. I push one leg open, and she doesn’t resist when I clean her. I notice a little smear of pink on her thigh and shift my gaze back up to hers as guilt settles in my gut.
“I did hurt you. You should have said—”
“You didn’t.”
It’s not her words that silence me. More her tone. Different than usual. More sure.
I finish cleaning her then dry off what’s left of the water from the shower. I look at the cuts on her chest, stomach and thighs, then pick up one of her feet to see the cuts on the bottom. I shift my gaze up to hers.