“I missed you so fucking much, Layla... never leave me.” He jerks his hips back and slams into me again, introducing a hasty, frenzied rhythm as he holds my head in place. “Say it. Say you won’t fucking leave me. Say you love me.”
“I love you.” I draw long lines down his shoulder blades every time he thrusts deep, up to the hilt. Each thrust pushes me further up the bed. “I won’t ever leave you.”
“Good girl.” He dips his head to kiss my neck. “Mine. All mine. You belong with me.” He nips my ear, sucking the delicate earlobe as he buries himself in me time and time again, hitting the perfect spot. “No one will touch you. No one will hurt you. No one will get to you.”
Every word spilling from his lips is a quiet growl, sounding like a prayer, a vow, an unbreakable promise.
I push him onto his back, flinging one leg over his to sit on him, my hands on his chest as I lower myself on top of him. I love when he’s in charge, but dominating fills me with a certain kind of courage I don’t usually feel. Endorphins spike my pleasure, numbing the pain screaming up my thigh, but it grows every time I fall on top of Dante, taking him in deep while upholding the hasty pace he introduced.
The hunger glistening in his eyes, the insistence of his hands grasping my hips to rush my moves, sends me toward the edge inside of three minutes. I grit my teeth and ignore the sting of stitches pulling my skin. I push through the pain, desperate to come and make him come too. Dante’s not easily fooled, though. Not even two minutes later, he grips my waist, halting my moves.
“Your leg hurts.” A note of annoyance weaved with accusation stains his hoarse voice.
“It’s okay. I have painkillers.”
He lifts me up, sliding his cock out in the process. “It’snotokay. Get on your knees and turn around.” He cuffs my wrists to clasp my hands on the headrest. “Hold on tight, baby.”
Kneeling in front of the wall, I feel Dante get into position behind me. He drapes my hair over one shoulder, exposing the nape of my neck, one hand between my breasts and pressing hard to hold my back flush against his chest. With the other, he holds onto the headrest for support, his forehead against the back of my head when he thrusts his hips forward, filling me in one move. I arch back, tilting my head to reach his lips.
“You’re so wet for me,” he mutters in my hair. “So soft.”
We’re no longer rushing, no longer greedy, to take everything in the shortest time possible. Dante changes the pace; slows down his frantic thrusts enough that I’m not jolted half-upright every time he buries himself up to the hilt. The moment evolves into passion and love that swells within us, and my moans are no longer a breathless staccato.
“I won’t let anyone hurt you.” He ghosts his fingers down my stomach, stopping at the bundle of nerves on the apex of my thighs. “You’re mine, Star. Always mine.” He circles my clit to bring me closer, and my long, erotic moans fill the room. “Don’t hold back. I miss feeling you come.”
He circles faster, sliding in and out, and hits the right spot every time. The release comes suddenly. Violent. Glorious. My body vibrates uncontrollably as dark spots twinkle before my eyes. Dante turns my head to the side with a satisfied smile before he drinks my moans straight from my lips. He holds me flush against his chest as my knees buckle.
“I’m not done with you, Star... I never will be.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Layla
I’m a princess locked in the highest tower, waiting for prince charming to conquer the archenemy. Just... instead of a tower, there’s a bulletproof house. And the archenemy is already dead, taunting me from the underworld. In this tale, the prince may well be the archenemy himself. He carries a gun, talks dirty, fucks angry, and loves fiercely. He’s also the one who locked me in the bulletproof house.
Not that I mind.
We’ve been back in Chicago for twenty-four hours now. Julij organized the security detail before we arrived. Six armed men secure the perimeter of Dante’s house, two more stand their ground at the gate, and three Rottweilers growl, bark, and bolt toward the slightest movement out of the ordinary.
In a see-through, lacey nightdress, which covers... well, not much, I stand under the noisy smoke alarm in the kitchen, waving a cloth. The idea was to prepare breakfast for Dante, but it backfired fast. He was sound asleep while I tossed and turned in bed for an hour before I decided to surprise him with scrambled eggs. Unfortunately, my culinary skills are sound asleep, just like Dante. With the grace of a proverbial bull in a China shop, I turned the kitchen intoHell’s Kitchen.
Gordon wouldn’t approve.
Not only have I made a mess, but I also forgot to whisk the eggs. They burned, and black smoke triggered the alarm—an awfully sensitive, far too loud thingamajig.
The front door bangs against the wall, stopping me dead in my tracks. A second passes, and the sound of footsteps suddenly comes from not one but two directions: the corridor and the stairs. I tug the lacey fabric, covering my butt as much as the short nightdress allows. Unfortunately, despite the effort, I still show much more skin than Dante’s men should see. Too bad I didn’t think about modesty before entering the kitchen, ready to cook breakfast dressed like Victoria’s Secret model.
Jackson stops in the doorway, eyes sweeping the room. Once his gaze falls on me, he stumbles back, face bright red, eyes flying to the floor, the ceiling, and back to me in a frantic, uncoordinated way. I think this must be the very first time I’ve had the doubtful pleasure of seeing a man blush.
He turns to the front door, holding his hand out to halt whoever else is approaching. “It’s fine. She just burned the eggs. Turn off the alarm.”
Taking advantage of a moment of his inattention, I scout the kitchen in search of an apron or a large cutting board, but short of hiding in one of the cupboards, there’s not much I can cover myself with. For the lack of better options, I unfold the cloth, holding it to my chest. The shrill beeping of the alarm dies away, leaving an unpleasant ringing in my ears.
Dante joins Jackson in the doorway, stormy, green eyes on me, hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. “Get out,” he snaps at Jackson, staring at the back of his skull until the front door closes with a click.
With the cloth firmly against my chest, I feel both the warmth of my cheeks and Dante’s burning gaze.
“What are you doing?” His voice drips with unrestrained annoyance, jaw locked tight to stop an outburst.