Chapter Twenty-Two

Adele

I can't look away from Dante's eyes. Large, black pupils rimmed with molten silver irises that make me feel like I'm tumbling into a bottomless pool. It's both unnerving and exhilarating.

"Addy. Do you want more?" Dante's voice is hoarse with need. His raw tone jerks me out of my trance. I also hear the undertone of grief beneath his tightly restrained desire, and I know he needs to lose himself in me, too.

I swallow and whisper, "Yes."

"Louder," he demands, wiping his hand on my thighs and spreading my wetness everywhere. If it wasn't clear how much I squirted just now, I just got a clear idea.

My hips buck against the hand that's still between my thighs as I grow more desperate for his touch. "Yes! Fuck me like you mean it, Dante."

"Alright." Dante steps back and starts to unbutton his shirt, and cocks his head at the bed. "On your knees," he commands. "I want your arms stretched out and your cheek right against the pillow."

My heart races as I scramble to obey, my face turned to watch him undress. The play of his muscles makes my mouth water with the need to trace each precisely cut one with my tongue, marveling at how each one stands in stark relief against the ink on his torso.

My arousal swells as Dante bares more of his skin. The moment his long, thick, veiny cock springs into view, I start to squirm.

Thankfully, he doesn't make me wait. He gets on the bed behind me and folds himself right over my back. I arch into him, seeking fuller contact, but he winds his fist around my hair to hold me down. A mixture of pain and pleasure courses through me, and I raise my hips, silently begging for more.

Dante rears back and enters me in a single long, unending thrust. My body stiffens, and I let out a loud whimper as he fills me completely. Immediately he starts to thrust into me, fast and deep, his hips slapping against my ass, his balls hitting my swollen clit.

My fingers clench into the sheets, my cries muffling into the pillow. Each stroke is masterful, stretching and filling me and slamming hard enough to set me right on the knife edge of pain and pleasure. My mind goes blank, emptying of everything except the feel of him as the tension starts to coil and stretch inside me.

Dante tightens his grip on my hair and pulls my head back so hard that it brings tears to my eyes. But the pain only heightens the pleasure, and I whimper, my body seizing beneath his.

"Let me hear you scream my name, tesoro."

And that's when I realize what I've been crying out almost non stop into the pillow.

His name.

My mouth snaps shut, heat spreading over my face and neck. But when he pulls my hips back against his cock and changes the angle of his thrusts, pleasure washes over me, so intense it makes me tremble. I do as I'm told, too far gone to care about anything else except surviving my impending climax.

Dante gets louder, too, each harsh breath punctuated by a curse every time he bottoms out inside me. His other hand leaves my hair and slides beneath me to cup my breast, his fingers pinching my hard nipple.

"Ah, fuck! Dante," I scream as I orgasm, my trembling turning into full-body shudders.

My knees buckle, and I'm about to collapse on the bed, lost in pleasure, but Dante holds me up and sinks his cock balls-deep.

"Don't go anywhere. Stay right there and milk my cock, Addy," he commands, holding me tight against him while I helplessly convulse around him.

His hand slips into my hair again, gripping tight. "I want to feel every squeeze. Every last twitch of your tight sweet cunt."

It feels too much. Too intense. The way he goes completely still, watching me, taking in my orgasm while I shatter around him. This is the part of Dante that both excites and scares me. There's something utterly irresistible about the way he hyperfocuses. It draws me like a moth every single time he does it.

When I'm completely spent, Dante releases his grip on my hair and then lets me go. I crumple onto the bed in a boneless heap. Dante leans over me, and I feel his warm breath on my neck as he whispers deliciously filthy things that make me tighten around his still-hard cock.

Within a few minutes, he has me aching and squirming for more just from his words alone. Then he pulls out of me, turns me onto my back, then smoothly enters me again. My back arches off the bed, and I gasp.

I'm sore from all the pounding I just took, but the sensation of his weight on me, the sight of him, the desire in his heavy-lidded eyes, his gorgeous face tight with pleasure, his big, ripped torso brushing over my tight nipples are enough to have me spreading my legs wide for him to take what he wants again.

However he wants it.

I'm so wet that he glides in easily. But instead of hard thrusts, he holds himself still inside me and then starts to kiss me softly. His tenderness is a sharp contrast with his earlier roughness, and it breaks me open.

I whimper softly as his lips trail over my cheekbones, my jaw, and my collarbone. And then he links our fingers together and puts his forehead to mine, his hair falling like a dark curtain around us. His gray eyes bore deep into mine, then slowly, ever so slowly, he starts to move, angling his cock so he's hitting my G-spot with almost clinical precision.

I shiver in pleasure and something else. I'm completely bared to him, and it's as if he's taking everything I have to give. And then offering himself to me in return.

"Ah, Dante," I moan, "I can't." I can't lose myself in you.

He chuckles wickedly. "Yes, you can do it, tesoro . You already are."

When my lids start to flutter closed, he tightens his hands around my fingers painfully, and my eyes fly open again.

"Addy," he rasps.

"Hmm?"

"No more running. No more hiding under tables. Do you understand?"

My chest tightens. He's stripping me. I'm scared of stepping into Dante's world, but I can't exactly run back to mine, which is even more terrifying. It's like being trapped on a crumbling cliff.

Dante pauses mid-thrust and waits until I meet his scorching hot gaze. "Do you understand?"

I shake my head as my chest goes tight. "I—I'm afraid."

"Then let's make it easier for you. How about this: you're mine. Body and soul."

Oh shit. That's supposed to be easier? "Only if you're mine, too," I reply.

Dante smiles. " Tesoro , I've always been yours."

If my chest goes any tighter, I might start to choke. "Dante. I—" I whisper, completely lost for words.

"It's settled then." He goes to resume thrusting, but I stop him.

"Wait, what's settled?"

He simply cocks an eyebrow. "If you ever run from me again, I'll fucking find you and drag you all the way back here by your pretty hair."

I must be sick because the image his words conjure makes my pussy tighten around his cock as a low whimper escapes me. Heat spreads across my cheeks, and my gaze flies to his, somehow hoping he didn't notice my reaction to his fierce declaration.

Of course, I'm not that lucky. Smirking, he tuts as he rears up, then wraps my legs around his waist. "And here I was trying to make love to you, but you have to go and get all slutty on me."

I bite my lip as my pussy goes rogue again. "Oh fuck." And then I can't help lifting my hips in a plea for more. "Dante, please."

"Fine." He heaves an exaggerated, put-upon sigh and stretches my arms high over my head, holding both my wrists in his big hand. I grow tense with anticipation as he drags his callused palm down the side of my face, neck, and lower still, until he cups a full breast. His fingers close around my nipple, and he starts to pinch again, hard. His mouth covers mine, swallowing my cries as he begins slamming his hips into me, deep, fast, and punishing.

Pain and pleasure merge, and another orgasm suddenly crashes over me, so powerful it steals my breath. Dante fucks me through it, hard and relentless.

"Fuck!" he swears, when I start to shudder beneath him again. He bends to trail kisses down my jaw to my earlobe, sucking and biting. When his cock gets even harder and his thrusts are almost violent in their intensity, I know he's about to come too.

He rears up then, his hair falling in subtle waves around his face as he stares at me. His gaze rakes over me from where his glistening cock sinks in and out of me, to the curve of my belly, to my bouncing breasts and reddened nipples, and finally, his eyes lock with mine, moments before he emits a tortured growl and starts to come.

I gasp at the force of Dante's release. The pleasure on his gorgeous face is so intense, so overwhelming, it triggers a response deep inside me. I can't believe how sensitive I am, how easily he's setting me off again, and I find myself rolling my eyes at my own body's responsiveness even as another small wave of ecstasy hits me.

"Christ, Addy," Dante groans through gritted teeth, his voice rough and raw. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, his teeth sinking into my skin again and his breath coming in harsh pants as he rides out his climax.

"Tesoro," he whispers in my ear, his voice still ragged from his release. "You take me so fucking well."

Sated and exhausted, I bask in the warmth of his praise. But as I lay there, Dante's substantial weight on me, his words come back. I belong to Dante, and I own him in return.

What the hell does that mean besides the fact that he won't let me run away from my feelings? Are we back to where we left off two years ago when he was trying to bring me to his world? And if we are, how on earth do I exist in Dante Vitelli's world without losing my own identity?

As I drift off to a dreamless sleep, a mocking voice asks me what exactly that identity is.

I wake up to the sensation of heat, an insistent itch, then pins and needles rippling out from my right hip as callused fingers trail over my scar. Then the aroma of sex and Dante's unique scent and the warmth of his skin envelop me.

My lids slowly flutter open to meet his flinty gray irises. He's leaning on his elbow, watching me sleep. His eyes are glassy with tears, red-rimmed, and there are dark circles under them. Something tightens in my chest at the sight of his grief, stark and unhidden.

"I'm sorry, Dante," I whisper miserably, the guilt starting to creep back. "About Pietro."

He shakes his head slowly, his eyes never leaving mine as he starts to trace the thin red scar between my breasts, raising goosebumps on my skin. "I'm not sorry."

My breath catches in my throat, and I have to shut my eyes against the surge of emotion in my chest.

How is it that this man knows me so well? Well enough to utter the words I didn't realize I needed to hear. Three words that right everything in my world.

"Thank you," I whisper. "I know you two were close."

He smiles sadly. "I think you would have been good friends, too, if he'd stuck around."

"Somehow, I doubt that our paths would have crossed again after last night."

"I was coming to take you away from Boston last night."

"No way!"

"True. You surprised me by showing up. Although looks like someone wasn't surprised you were at Resin. They knew which car was yours and rigged it with a bomb."

Hearing Dante say those words out loud brings a chilling reality to it. I can't imagine who'd want me dead.

"Your father must have some enemies," Dante states.

"You mean someone he ripped off?"

Dante's eyes harden, and a muscle ticks in his jaw. I get the feeling he wants to tell me something, then thinks better of it. An inexplicable urge to snatch the words out of his mouth hits me, and I'm about to demand he tells me what he's thinking when he flops back onto the pillow and stares intently at the intricately carved murals on the ceiling. "It's entirely possible."

"Dante, I don't think it's someone from Boston, though."

He tenses. "Why do you say that?"

"My dad. You know he's always been paranoid about me leaving Boston. But earlier this week, he specifically told me someone was out to get me. Someone in Chicago."

To my surprise, Dante only scoffs. "Of course, he'd tell you that. It's not true, though. No one in Chicago would be stupid enough to let history repeat itself. And trying to kill another Irish woman on our turf would be doing just that."

My brow furrows in confusion as my heart starts to pound. I have about fifty follow-up questions, but one stands out like a beacon.

"What do you mean, history repeating itself?"

Dante runs a hand through his hair, disheveling it further, then turns to me. "It's not pretty, tesoro ." His gray eyes search mine, seeking permission to tell me something I might find disturbing.

"Tell me," I plead, needing him to cement the puzzle already falling into place in my head.

"Some time ago," he begins, his voice tight, "Naomi Ritter, an Irish woman, and her child were brutally murdered on Brackendown Street in downtown Chicago. The son of a bitch emptied a whole magazine of bullets into them while they were asleep in bed."

Dante glances at me, no doubt checking that I'm not going green. "Naomi seemed like a simple bookstore owner, but it came to light after she died that she had hidden connections to the Boston Mob—the Irish version of the mafia," Dante clarifies for me.

My mother had connections to the Irish mafia? Through who?

Something tells me I already know, but I shove that thought to the same dark place I've kept all the questions my afternoon with Benjamin O'Shea roused in my mind.

Dante continues. "It sparked off the worst mafia war in the Outfit's history. The Irish were screaming for blood and revenge. They haven't forgotten to this day. I doubt they ever will. No one keeps a grudge like them, and that was a massive blow to their heart."

Goosebumps rise on my arms despite the warmth of the room. "Dante, Naomi Ritter's murder, was it eighteen years ago?"

Dante's eyes whip to mine. "Yes. Did your father tell you about it?"

"He's not my father."

"What?"

I nod, a sob catching in my throat. "I never told you this, but he's my uncle. He adopted me when I was five. He made me believe he was my father's brother, but he's really my mother's brother. He lied to me, Dante. My whole life has been a lie."

"Okay." Dante has gone as still as a stone now. "What else did Benjamin O'Shea tell you?"

The words pour out of me in a torrent. "He said that I wasn't born in Boston. That this," I trace the line between my breasts, "wasn't the only injury I sustained as a result of a gunshot."

I point to my right hip. "I didn't shatter my hip in an accident, and I didn't tear up my back falling on broken glass." I take a deep breath and continue. "Dante. I was deliberately shot six times when I was five years old."

"Holy mother of fuck!" Dante's face, already drained of color, twitches with shock.

"It was you."