Chapter Twenty-One

Adele

He stands there, looking like something straight out of my fantasy, his damp hair falling like a curtain around his face. His eyes flash with unmistakable heat as he takes in the sight of me—naked and touching myself and moaning his name while surrounded by the remnants of the shattered decanter. Only there's no shock in his eyes, no judgment. Just a calm understanding that shakes me to my core.

He gets me.

"Dante . . ." I feel a flush creep up my neck, spreading across my cheeks. He says nothing but simply holds my gaze, the intensity in his eyes pinning me in place as surely as any physical touch.

"Please," I breathe, the word catching on a sob. "I need . . ." But I don't even know how to finish that sentence. I don't know how to put into words the desperate, clawing hunger inside me.

Dante takes out his earbuds and lets them fall to the floor. Then he tosses what looks like balled-up T-shirts onto one of the couches in the room. He slowly sheds his suit jacket as he takes a step toward me, then another.

Finally, he crouches low right before me and wraps a big hand around my throat. Then he rises, gently bringing me to my feet with nothing but the hand around my throat.

"Tell me, tesoro ," he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. "Tell me what you need."

My hands clench into fists. The scald on my palms stings with the movement, a sharp reminder of reality amidst the surreal tension of the moment. Dante's other hand reaches out, fingers ghosting along my jaw. The touch is feather-light, barely there, but I feel it in my core. His thumb brushes over my bottom lip, and I can't help the small sigh that escapes me.

In one fluid motion, he grips the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair. It's not painful, but it's firm and assertive. He tilts my head back, forcing me to look up at him. Our faces are inches apart, and his breath is hot against my skin.

"Talk to me, Addy," he murmurs.

I want to speak, to explain, to apologize about tonight—but the words stick in my throat. Instead, I lean into his touch, seeking more contact. My hands finally uncurl, and I reach up to touch his face.

Dante catches my wrist before I can cup his jaw, then turns my palm up, examining the red raw skin. His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek.

"What have you done to yourself?" he asks, his tone unreadable.

I open my mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a choked sob. The tears I thought had run dry well up again, spilling over onto my cheeks. Dante releases my wrist, his hand coming up to cup my face. His thumb brushes away my tears, the gesture achingly tender.

The contrast between his gentle touches and the power emanating from him is intoxicating. I sway on my feet, lightheaded from a combination of grief and sheer want. Dante steadies me against him, his hand leaving my throat to wrap around my waist. The feel of his clothed body against my bare skin is electrifying, and I press closer, seeking more contact.

He allows it for a moment before pushing me back gently. "Words, Addy."

The loss of contact is almost a physical pain, and I can't suppress the whimper that escapes me as my body sways toward him again, drawn like a magnet. This time, Dante doesn't stop me.

I start to rub against him, moaning at the heady feeling of the hard planes of his muscles, loving the way his shirt buttons catch my nipples and his steely erection pushes against my stomach.

Dante's pupils swell at the sight and sound of my desire. The intensity of his gaze is almost too much to bear. I feel exposed and vulnerable—not just because I'm naked. It's as if he can see right through me, past all my defenses, to the darkest, most hidden parts of myself.

His free hand comes up to tangle in my hair again, tugging hard. The pain sends a jolt of pleasure through me.

"Tell me what you need, Addy. Now."

I shudder at his words, at the feel of his breath against my skin. What do I need? The answer is simple and terrifying all at once.

"You," I whisper. "A lot of you."

He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching mine. Whatever he sees there must satisfy him because the last vestiges of his control seem to snap.

In one swift movement, Dante carries me across the room until he's pressing me against the wall of mirrors. The cool surface is a shock against my overheated skin, making me gasp and arch into him.

He takes my mouth, swallowing my gasp. And then I feel his desperation for me too. It's in the way his mouth hovers over mine, the way he hungrily seeks out my tongue, the way he waits for me to exhale and then takes in my breath.

The guilt, grief, and confusion all fade into the background, overshadowed by the sheer force of our desire. His callused fingers leave a trail of fire as they stroke down my torso, following the dip of my waist to the flare of my hip.

And then he's cupping my ass cheeks in his big rough palms, kneading gently, then more firmly.

Nerve endings I never realized were there start to crackle. I moan into his mouth, arching into him. And when he squeezes harder, hard enough to hurt, to leave the prints of his fingers over my ass cheeks, I feel an answering throb in my clit and, surprisingly, a tension in the pucker of my ass. He's never touched me like this, and I never realized how much I want him to.

When I start to mewl, my leg lifting of its own volition to curl around his thigh, he runs a hand through my folds. I nearly shout with relief.

"Dio mio," he groans against my neck as he sucks on the sensitive skin there, then bites down hard as he slides two fingers inside my aching pussy.

I jerk. "Dante, please . . ." I'm not even sure what I'm asking for. All I know is that I need him, need this, need something to make the pain and the guilt go away.

He rears back to look at me. "Is this what you want?"

I can feel my heart pounding in my chest as Dante's fingers slide in and out, then curl inside me, hitting that spot that makes me jolt in pleasure.

"Dante," I gasp.

His response is to spank me hard, the sting of it sending a shockwave through my already sensitive nerve endings. I cry out, both in pain and pleasure, as he kisses me deeply, his tongue exploring every inch of my mouth while he spanks me again and again.

Tears sting my eyes even as pleasure ripples out from my pussy. And then he slips his fingers out of me while my own fingers dig into the back of his neck, silently begging him not to stop.

I can feel my wetness all over my thighs, the evidence of my arousal taunting me as I struggle to regain control. But I'm powerless against the insane craving that consumes me.

"Do you want my fingers back in your greedy pussy?" he whispers against my lips, his breath hot and heavy.

I nod frantically, my hips bucking against his hand, but he pulls away, denying me what I crave.

"No," he says. "I think you want to feel something else."

Dante's fingers glide over my folds, gathering moisture from my pussy. And then he's stroking the pucker of my ass.

"Ah. Ah." I sigh. The sensation is foreign and intoxicating, teasing me with the promise of more. I spread my legs wider, my ass moving to time with his strokes.

Dante emits a throaty growl, sucks on the skin of my neck, then breaches that forbidden hole, pushing his finger inside. My nails sink into his back as my breath hitches.

I'm trying to work out exactly how it feels when he starts to slowly thrust in and out. My thoughts scatter, and my body arches into his touch as he rears back his head to watch me intently, his eyes dark with desire.

"You want that?" he murmurs, and I nod. He bends and sinks his teeth into my collarbone, making me jerk in pleasure and pain, then follows the bite with a soothing slide of his tongue, only to do it again.

And again.

My eyes cross with the need to feel more. The need to chase that unfamiliar sensation blooming in my pelvis every time he slides his finger knuckle-deep.

Without thinking, I reach behind me and circle his wrist, then push it against me in a silent plea to go deeper.

"You're fucking perfect, aren't you? You gorgeous, dirty girl."

That's it. It's dirty. It's more than just a word. It's a feeling that kicks up my heart rate and makes my skin prickle with lust. It's the same way I felt when he fucked me up against his car in full view of his crew. I can't deny it anymore. This is who I am, who I've always been beneath the surface. With Dante, I can finally be myself, raw and unfiltered.

"Yes," I moan, my voice barely audible.

Dante smiles wickedly and adds a second finger, then plunges deeper, stretching me in a way I never thought possible.

"Ah, fuck!" I cry out, the sensation almost too much to bear. I can't believe I'm here, in this position, with Dante's fingers buried deep in my ass and me loving it and craving more.

I don't know if I can come like this, but I know I don't want him to stop. I want him to push me out of my comfort zone and take me out of my head. I bury my face in his fragrant shirt to muffle the moans pouring out of me.

His other hand trails into the hair at my nape, using it to pull my head back. "Look at me," he growls, his voice low and commanding as he starts to finger fuck my ass harder.

I feel completely exposed to him. The more he pumps his fingers in and out of me, the more I feel myself slipping into a state of pure pleasure. It's not just about what he's doing to me. It's about who he is and what I'll let him do. My eyes go hazy, but I continue to look into his gray eyes, pupils blown with lust.

And then my vision blurs as I feel my pussy tighten around nothing. A gush of wetness leaves me, and my moans grow louder as he continues to work his fingers in and out of my ass.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. "Dripping all over my hand. You were fucking made for this, baby."

I feel a surge of lust at his words, and with every slippery glide, every stretch of my tight, forbidden hole, the pleasure swells higher inside me, a wave that's threatening to crash. My cries are no longer muffled against his chest but right against his ears, in tune with his softly whispered curses.

His head is tilted close to me as if he wants to catch every whimper, every plea, every ragged moan as I completely unravel for him. I'm mindless with the need to come.

And then, I'm right there on the brink, my whole body taut.

"Oh God, Dante," I cry as I tether, desperate for my orgasm. Dante bites down on my neck again. Then his thumb presses hard over my swollen clit.

That single touch pushes me off the brink and sends me tumbling into ecstasy. My mouth opens on a soundless scream, and my vision goes black. My ass tightens around his fingers as he starts to rub my clit in tight perfect circles, drawing out my climax.

"Fuck!" The pleasure-laden cry tears out of me as my nails dig into his shoulder muscles, seeking purchase against the overwhelming pleasure blooming in my pelvis. I gasp in surprise when I feel wetness running down my thighs.

I've never come like this before, never this much, and I'm shocked by its intensity. I drift as I slowly recover from my climax, yet still suspended in a haze I can't quite name.

"You want more, Addy?"

I look up to meet Dante's gaze and take him in. His strength, his words, his warmth. It's as if he's unlocked something, a deep connection, an anchor even as grief threatens to pull me under.