He was methodical.That was what surprised me most.Not rushed or frantic or driven by uncontrolled lust.Every touch was deliberate.Every kiss placed with precision.He learned my body the way he probably learned everything -- through careful study and ruthless application of that knowledge.
When his hand slid between my thighs, I tried to close my legs instinctively.He forced them open, his grip firm but not painful.
“No hiding,” he said.“I get to see everything.Feel everything.Know exactly how you respond to me.”
His fingers found wetness I couldn’t hide or deny.His expression shifted to something smug.He circled my clit with just enough pressure to make me gasp but not enough to give relief.“You want this.Want me.You’re just too stubborn to admit it yet.”
I couldn’t form words.Could barely form thoughts.His fingers moved with expert skill, building pleasure I didn’t want to feel, making my body respond in ways I couldn’t control.
“That’s it,” he murmured, his mouth at my breast now, his tongue circling my nipple.“Stop fighting.Just feel.”
When his fingers pushed inside me, I cried out.Not from pain -- he was careful despite the possession -- but from the overwhelming sensation of being entered, claimed, owned.
He worked me methodically, his fingers curling to find spots that made me arch against him, his thumb maintaining steady pressure on my clit.The pleasure built despite my attempts to resist it, despite knowing I shouldn’t be responding like this, despite everything.
“Come for me,” he commanded.“Show me that you’re mine.”
I wanted to refuse.Wanted to deny him that satisfaction.But my body had other ideas, and when his teeth closed on my nipple at the exact moment his fingers hit some devastating spot inside me, I shattered.
The orgasm ripped through me with an intensity that bordered on pain.I heard myself cry out, heard Dante’s satisfied growl, felt his mouth on mine swallowing my sounds as I came apart under his hands.
When I came back to myself, he was above me, his body positioning between my thighs.I felt him there, hard and ready, and panic cut through the pleasure-fog.
“Dante --”
“Mine,” he said.Then he pushed inside with one firm thrust that stole my breath.
The sensation was overwhelming.Too much.Too full.I tried to process it, tried to adjust, but he was already moving, setting a rhythm that was demanding but somehow not cruel.His hands gripped my hips, holding me in place as he took what he’d claimed.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
I opened eyes I hadn’t realized I’d closed.Found him staring down at me with a passion that made everything else fade away.
“This is what belonging to me means,” he said, his voice strained but controlled even now.“This is what you agreed to.Complete possession.Total surrender.And Caterina” -- he thrust deeper.“You’re going to learn to love it.”
He was relentless.Building pleasure again.His hand found my clit again, working it with the same precise skill he’d shown before.
“Come again,” he commanded.“Show me I own every response you have.”
I couldn’t fight it.Couldn’t resist the pleasure he was forcing on me.When the second orgasm hit, it was even more devastating than the first.I felt myself clenching around him, felt my body betraying every attempt at control.
Dante groaned, his rhythm faltering for the first time.Then he was coming too, his grip on my hips bruising as he emptied himself inside me with a possession that felt absolute.
He collapsed beside me afterward, his breathing heavy, one arm thrown across my waist in continued ownership even in recovery.
I lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to process what had just happened.What I’d just allowed.What my body had done despite my mind’s protests.
Dante’s hand tightened on my waist.“We’re not done.That was just the beginning.I told you -- I’m not stopping until morning.”
And he wasn’t lying.
He took me again an hour later, this time from behind, his body covering mine as he whispered possessive words against my neck.Then again after that, slower this time but no less demanding.By the time dawn started lightening the sky outside the windows, I’d lost count of how many times he’d claimed me.How many times my body had responded despite my attempts to resist.
I lay on my side now, exhausted in ways I hadn’t known possible.Every muscle ached.My throat was raw from the sounds he’d pulled from me.My body felt marked, claimed, owned in ways that went deeper than skin.
Dante slept beside me, one arm still possessively across my waist even in unconsciousness.His face looked different in sleep -- younger, less dangerous.But I knew better.Knew what he was capable of.What he’d just spent the night proving.
And the worst part, the thing that made my stomach turn and my eyes burn with tears I refused to shed, was that my body had responded to him.Had found pleasure in the possession I’d tried to resist.Had betrayed every attempt at control by arching into his touch and crying out his name.
