“Last chance to be sensible,” Dante says softly. His hands continue their careful exploration, gentle but insistent. I’ve never known that safety could feel like freedom, like falling.
“Sensible is overrated,” I whisper, drawing him into me as my thighs encircle his hips. Something primal awakens beneath my skin, a version of myself I’ve kept caged until now. The risk of discovery sends lightning through my veins.
I unravel against him, my consciousness narrowing to each point where his fingertips claim me.
“Then I’m going to make you forget there’s a world outside this door,” he promises, teeth grazing my throat, tugging at his ring around my pearls.
His lips brush my pulse point as his hands slide higher. His warmth moves through me like a current, and I surrender completely.
“You make me feel so good,” I gasp, my palm sliding over the impressive length straining against his slacks. My boldness surprises me, but there’s a raw, thrilling freedom in it.
“It’s so natural with you.”
More knocks come, but I shut them out. My blood rushes in my ears, drowning out everything but the sensation of his skin against mine. I’m burning up, fever-hot, each point of contact between us sending tiny earthquakes through my body.
“I want to be selfish again,” I say. My hands tangle in his hair, directing his mouth down my body.
“Fuck, that makes me so hard, Reese.”
He parts my thighs with deliberate slowness, pushing up my skirt.
“Please do what you did to me last time,” I beg. A blush spreads across my chest, up my neck, painting me in shades of want.
I buck toward him as he yanks down my panties, my behind pressed against the counter. The cool marble sends a shock through me, contrasting with the heat of his touch. I’m caught between embarrassment and desire, the thrill of doing something so forbidden making me dizzy.
He cups my breasts, squeezing my hardened nipples, then he’s trailing up my throat. He spins the pearl necklace around his pointer finger before bringing his polished index finger to my lips.
“Spit.”
“What?” My eyes widen.
“You heard me.”
I do as he says, dampening his fingers.
“Look at you,” he says. “Always so perfectly put together. Now I get to make it all come undone.”
His hand disappears beneath my ripped skirt, and I gasp as two of his fingers find my sensitive spot. My back arches involuntarily against the faucet. “Oh my god,” I breathe as he circles my clit. The tension in my body is already begging to be set free, like I’m simultaneously expanding and contracting, my whole world reduced to his touch.
“You’re…” He pauses, watching my reaction. “There’s nothing like you. Nothing comes close.”
I barely recognize the sounds coming from my own throat. My usual overthinking dissolves into pure sensation. “Dante, I—” But I can’t finish, can’t find words for this feeling.
I’m too lost in my pleasure.
Too lost at how he knows my body like the back of his hand.
“That’s it, stay with me,” he instructs. “Just like that.” His authoritative tone commands my full surrender, and I trust him to guide me through this.
Euphoria consumes me. I’m so close.
“I’m gonna—”
“Yes, you are,” he demands. “Come all over my fingers. Come for me, Reese.”
His touch is everywhere at once, featherlight kisses trailing fire down my neck while his fingers work their magic.
The pressure builds exquisitely, intensifying until it breaks over me in waves. Everything else disappears—the persistent knocking, the party beyond the door, my carefully constructed public persona—leaving only this brilliant pleasure.
