Page 58 of Ruthless Vow
His grip tightens. A fraction. A silent question.
I let my legs fall open. Just an inch. A silent answer.
He goes still. The sound is faint, but I hear it. A catch in his throat.
The SUV turns onto the private road leading to the compound. Two minutes. Maybe three.
His fingers slide higher. Brush the edge of my underwear.
I’m already wet. Have been since the emerald dress, maybe before.
The gates swing open. The car rolls up the drive. Stops.
Dante is out before the engine dies. He rounds the vehicle, yanks open my door, and pulls me out with a grip wrapped around my wrist.
“Inside.” The word scrapes out of him. “Now.”
We make it through the front door. Just.
His mouth crashes into mine the second the door closes behind us. He tastes like coffee and desperation, and I open for him without thinking. His tongue slides against mine and the sound that escapes me is shameless.
Finally.
He walks me backward. My spine hits the wall. He’s everywhere. My hips, my waist, sliding up my ribs to cup my breasts through the fabric of my dress. He rolls my nipples, already hard and aching, until I gasp.
“Tell me to stop.” He drags his teeth down my throat, scraping my pulse point. “Tell me to stop and I will.”
I curl into his jacket. Pull him closer. “Don’t you dare.”
The last thread in him gives way.
He hoists me up. My legs wrap around his waist on instinct, and then he’s carrying me, still kissing me, up the stairs two at a time. His grip on my ass is hard enough to bruise.
I don’t care. Let there be marks. Evidence that this is real.
Our bedroom door slams open. He crosses the room and drops me onto the bed, following me down, covering my body with his.
“Three days.” He’s pulling at my dress, yanking the zipper down with shaking hands. “Three fucking days of watching you in that study and not touching you.”
“I know.” I help him, shoving the fabric down my hips.
He freezes. Looks at me.
His jaw works. Something flickers through his expression. Recognition, maybe. Understanding.
He unbuttons his shirt. Shrugs it off. The planes of his chest are golden in the fading light, ink and scars telling stories my tongue aches to learn.
“Every time you lean over that desk,” he says, unfastening his belt. “Every time you bite your lip when you’re thinking. Every fucking time you look at me like you’re not sure I’m real.”
“Dante—“
“Do you know what that does to me?”
The belt hisses through the loops. He strips away his pants, his boxer briefs, and then he’s naked and I can see exactly what it does to him.
“Show me.”
His stare darkens. He reaches for me, unhooking my bra with one hand, dragging the lace down my arms.
