Layla
“Are you sure you want to leave?” Jean asks in a hushed voice, cross-legged on the hospital bed, playing with my fingers.
Doctor Mark signed my release papers and checked every one of my bruises, cuts, and stitches, leaving Dante with detailed instructions on how to take care of my dressings. Not that he needs the information. He was on the phone with Carlton earlier. He’ll pay us a home visit every forty-eight hours to check me over. Dante’s overreacting, but I won’t disagree with him just two hours after I got him back. I still can’t believe he’s here. That he had it in him to forgive me, to act as if there’s no one he wants or needs more than me.
The unease that settled in the pit of my stomach when Morte left the hospital disappeared when Dante arrived. I might not understand why he wants me, but I know he’ll bend over backward to keep me safe.
“You can stay with us forever, you know. It’s nice having you around even if you weren’t the most outgoing person lately,” Jean continues, almost pleading. Her gaze burns through my retinas. I think she’s waiting for a sign. A slight nod, a flicker of my eyes,anythingthat’d warrant her going full-on Hades on Dante and his men.
He agreed to let Jean, Rick, and Tayler in here so I could say goodbye. The get-together couldn’t go ahead without supervision, though.Hissupervision. He watches me from his casual lean by the window, outwardly relaxed. I treat myself to cursory glances his way every few seconds, unconsciously checking if he’s still there. It’d be nice if I could calm the panicked little girl inside my head; reassure her that Dante won’t go anywhere, but I can’t. We are one. I just hide my anxiety better than she does.
“I know.” I offer Jean a tight-lipped smile and a tight squeeze of her fingers, “But I don’t belong here.”
She narrows her eyes, still searching for a sign, her face stern, a no-bullshit attitude on display when she huffs and looks over her shoulder at Dante. It’s a ploy. She’s teasing him, and it would work a treat if not for the blooming smile that threatens to split her mouth from ear to ear.
Whatever Dante told them must’ve made an impression. Jean seems in awe of him, and so does Tayler. He watches Dante with respect sprinkled with a handful of fear. Only Rick’s eyes stay trained on me, making me uncomfortable. He’s the one who got out of the car crash unscratched, and, from what Dante told me after he spoke to them, he’s the one who killed Archer.
Jean points a finger at Dante. “I won’t wait another seven years to see her.”
“Once I get the situation under control, you’re welcome to visit anytime you want.” He glances at me, the look loaded with a silenttime to go. His eyes darken a notch, triggering a pleasant spasm that seizes the muscles in my abdomen.
Anticipation blooms between my thighs like a blood-red rose. We’re supposed to stay at a hotel until late evening before we get on the road to Chicago so the guys can recharge their batteries ahead of another ten-hour drive. Dante and I will be in bed too, but we sure won’t be sleeping.
Ten minutes later, I’m in the back seat of a matt black charger with Rookie in the driver’s seat. He seems happy to see me. Along with the rest of Dante’s men, they act as if the night I killed Frank never happened. I should be relieved. I should be glad, thankful, andhappy, but all I am is scared. Scared that none of them processed my betrayal. ThatDantehadn’t processed it, and at some point, it’ll detonate in his head like a delayed bomb.
Clearing the air is on the agenda. We need to talk through the subject, scream a little, and put it behind us but tonight is not the night.
I’m not ready to hold that conversation. Bringing up the fateful night is a risk I’m not willing to take yet. I need to be with him like this—peaceful, for at least a little while before we re-open hell’s gates.
“What time are we setting off tonight?” Rookie asks as he reverses into a parking spot outside of the hotel.
Dante looks into the rearview mirror. “Ten o’clock.”
It’s only one o’clock in the afternoon, so the guys have plenty of time for a good day’s sleep. We enter the monster of a building in the heart of Dallas: all glass, luxury, and LED lights. In the lobby, Spades waits at the reception desk with a handful of keycards in hand, hungry eyes on a young receptionist hidden behind a tall, oblong desk.
He holds one card out for Dante when we approach. A suggestive smirk on his lips. “You’re on the top floor in the Executive suite... far away from all of us.”
Dante leaves the remark without comment as he drags me toward the elevator, his touch urgent, impatient. The door slides shut, separating us from dull reality. Lust erupts below my skin, elevating desire to an almost unbearable level. I want him more than I’ve ever wanted him before.
We spent half an hour in the back seat of the Charger fidgeting, willing the journey away so we could be alone. Now, the elevator ride feels like a never-ending story. My breaths come in shallow, shaky bursts, my pulse accelerates, and the backs of my thighs tingle eagerly. Neither of us dares to speak; to belittle the tension.
Dante pumps his fingers around mine, pulling me behind him down a narrow corridor toward the room at the far end. He inserts the card into the slot and pushes the door open.
The bag in his hand lands on the floor two steps in.
The door slams shut.
Desire takes over.
He cups my face, pushes his fingers in my hair, and presses me against the wall with his big body. A lustful, demanding kiss bruises my lips.
We rush, grabbing handfuls of the moment, drunk on desire. He grips the sleeves of my cardigan, tugging until the soft fabric slides down my arms, sighing to the floor in a puddle of gray. With both hands, he grabs the white t-shirt I’m wearing and rips it open in the middle, his mouth on my neck, trailing a line of open-mouth kisses. It’s chaotic and demanding, but in the midst of mind-jarring urgency to get inside me, he remembers how bruised my body is when he lays me on the bed. He takes care of sliding my jeans off and kisses me around the dressing.
“No foreplay.” He strips off his clothes. Dark, ravenous eyes devour my naked breasts. “Not this time, Star.”
No foreplay is necessary. I’m wet, ready, and aching. I need him close, as close as I can get him as fast as possible. He kicks his boxers off, and his long, buzzing erection stands proudly, twitching with every move as he climbs back onto the bed to cover my body with his.
He rests the weight of his body on both elbows, spreading my legs with his knee, nestling himself between my thighs. The swollen head of his cock rubs against my clit a few times before he catches my lips with his and drives into me hard. Muscles in my abdomen contract. My stomach wrenches with an almost painful sting as a bolt of intense pleasure zaps my nerve endings. The familiarity, fullness, and warmth of him force a satisfied moan past my lips.