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But I know that if I do, Dante will catch me.
He always does.
“It’s too good. Fuck, Dante, I’m gonna come,” I say frantically, barely any time later, but my body is so oversensitized with drink and lust and Dante. My hands are in his hair, my mind battling with if I want to pull him back or press him closer. He groans against me, his finger moving harder, like he wants me to get there, needs me to get there.
But I want more.
And I remember that in my own way, I am in control.
So unlike the last time we were like this, I tug at his hair, pulling his face back, only for him to give me a confused look.
“I want to come on your cock, Dante,” I say, my eyes hooded and my voice full of need and want but also, determination.
“Fuck,” he says, the side of his mouth tipping up in a smirk and that head shaking just a bit and leaning in.
“Dant—” I start to whine, but he presses a quick kiss to my clit, sending a bolt of heat through me before his hand comes to my ankle, moving it from his shoulder to the floor. He stands, his body close to mine.
One hand goes to the door next to my head while the other moves, the sound of a belt and zipper filling the tiled bathroom, the echo of it sending shivers down my spine.
“Up,” he says, his hands going to my hips and lifting me, pressing me to the wall as I continue to kiss his neck.
“I need you,” I whisper into the skin below his ear, the words throaty as he uses a hand to drag the head of his cock through me, tapping at my clit and making me moan again.
“I’ve got you, baby,” he says, then he slams in, both of us moaning as he fills me completely.
There’s something about this man being inside of me that makes me feel whole. Like this is how I was always supposed to be, like the tiny piece that’s been missing my entire life is back.
When he’s deep in me, he grinds against me, rubbing my clit with his pelvis, and I clamp down with need.
“Holy shit,” I murmur, the feeling he was already building in my belly getting hot.
I’m already so fucking close.
He pulls back and moves into me again, the groan he lets out urging me to tighten and wrap my legs around his hips. I'm desperate to get closer to him and get him deeper in me somehow.
“That’s, it baby,” he moans, his face in my neck.
“Dante,” I whisper, having a hard time getting air into my lungs. “It’s too good, fuck.”
“Love that. Love you moaning my name like that. Fuck.” He says the words through gritted teeth, his hips slamming into mine as he fucks me relentlessly, the heat building and cresting. “That’s it, Lilah. Squeeze my cock.”
“You’re gonna make me come,” I moan, my lips going to his neck and sucking there.
I hope I leave a mark, I think drunkenly. Something that will make people question, something that I’ll still see when his necklace holding his ring is tucked into his shirt and that tattoo is beneath clothes.
Marking him as mine.
“Come for me, Lilah,” he says, grinding once more against my clit, and this time, I can’t resist.
I come, my head falling back but not hitting the door, his hand there before it can even cause pain. I love that, how he always anticipates me, knows what I’ll need to stay safe without my even saying a word.
I moan as I quake against him, against the door, my legs tightening, but through it all, he holds my eyes, looking at me like what he’s witnessing is the most glorious thing in the world.
I love that, too. How he always looks at me like I’m some miracle, like he can’t believe he gets to see me in real life.
Like he can’t believe I’m his.
And then he pulls out again, fucking me more brutally now that he knows I got mine, chasing his own orgasm, and I can’t help but urge him on.
