Page 119 of Ruthless Vow
“This is fucking torture,” he mutters.
“What is?”
“Having you this close.” His thumb traces my lower lip. “Wanting you this much. And not being able to do anything about it.”
Heat floods through me. “You came that close to dying.”
“I’m aware.” His hand slides down my neck. Traces my collarbone. Stops just above the neckline of my dress. “Doesn’t make me want you less.”
“Dante.”
“I’ve been thinking about this for hours.” His fingers toy with the fabric. Not pulling. Just touching. “Lying here, watching you sleep in that chair. Thinking about all the ways I need to touch you when I’m strong enough.”
My breath hitches. “That’s not helping.”
“It’s not supposed to help.” He tugs me closer. Kisses the corner of my mouth. My jaw. The spot below my ear that makes my toes curl. “It’s supposed to make you come back tomorrow.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know.” His lips brush my throat. “But now you’ll be thinking about it too.”
I will. God, I will. I’m already thinking about it. About his hands on my skin. About his body pressing me into the mattress. About all the things we’ve done in the dark and all the things we haven’t done yet.
“You’re terrible,” I whisper.
“Mmm.” He kisses the hollow of my throat. “You love it.”
I do. I love all of it. I love him.
The words press against my teeth.
Not yet. Soon. When I can say it without sobbing. When I can make him feel it the way he just made me feel.
His mouth finds mine again. Slower this time. Deeper.
When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard. His forehead against mine. His hands still tangled in my hair.
“Stay,” he whispers.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I mean it.” His eyes find mine. “Whatever comes next. The Benedettis. The war. Whatever happens. Stay.”
“Dante.” I put my hand over his heart. It beats against my palm. Strong. Steady. Alive. “I’ve been staying since the moment I walked into your study. I’m not going to stop now.”
His whole body loosens. His grip on me eases from desperate to certain.
“Good.”
He pulls me down beside him. Slow. Until I’m curled against his side, my head on his chest, his arm wrapped around me.
His hand strokes through my hair. A rhythm that steadies me.
“I should let you rest,” I whisper.
“Don’t you dare move.”
A wet laugh escapes me.
