I thrust my hips in time with the movement of my hand. A savage rhythm. Dry humping her with all the force of my frame, while my hand works her into a frenzy.
Every thrust of my hips sends a jolt of pure fire through my balls. The ache to rip my jeans open, to tear that scrap of lace aside, to plunge into her tight, wet heat and claim her fully. It is a physical agony.
But I cannot. Not yet.
We are in a war zone. I am the guard. I need to be ready to kill at a second's notice. If I bury myself inside her, I will be deaf and blind to everything else. I will lose myself in her walls, and that is a vulnerability I cannot afford right now.
My duty is to the door, but my body only cares about the woman in front of it.
"Dante! Fuck!" She thrashes against the wall. Her hips snap forward, chasing the friction of my palm, the hard ridge of my cock.
"I've got you," I rasp.
I slide my fingers under the edge of the black lace. The damp heat of her slick pussy coats my fingertips.
I find the swollen pearl of her clit with my thumb. Bare flesh.
She jerks violently.
I press down, circling the slick, sensitive bundle of nerves. The wetness coats my thumb. Her arousal is a slippery, hot mess.
"You like that, Gemma?" I growl, my lips grazing her earlobe. "You like my hands on you?"
"Yes," she sobs. "God, yes. Don't stop."
"I'm never stopping. You're mine now. Everything you are belongs to me."
I pinch her clit. Hard.
She screams into the dusty air. Her body bows off the wall, a perfect, tense arch of pure pleasure.
I swallow her scream with my mouth, plunging my tongue deep as my thumb works her mercilessly. The friction is raw. Relentless. I grind my hips against her simultaneously, the denim of my jeans crushing against her wet folds.
Her inner muscles clench. She spasms against me, through the lace, her whole body seizing as her climax tears her apart.
"Cum for me," I command against her mouth. "Give it to me."
She shudders, her nails digging bloody crescents into my neck. A long, drawn-out moan vibrates through her chest. The slick, hot rush of her climax floods my fingers.
Her body goes limp against mine. The only things holding her up are my hands gripping her thighs and her back against the wall.
I bury my face in her neck, inhaling the musky scent of sex and sweet orange. The cumin note is sharper now. Heated.
My own body is a coil of agonizing tension. My cock throbs against my zipper, demanding release. The ache in my balls is a leaden weight.
I slowly lower her feet to the floor. My muscles protest the loss of her weight.
She sways unsteadily. I keep one arm securely wrapped around her waist, anchoring her to my side.
Her chest rises and falls rapidly. The oversized shirt is bunched up around her ribs, exposing her soft, curvy stomach and the damp lace of her panties.
I reach down and tug the hem of the shirt down, covering her. Protecting her. Claiming her all over again.
I press my forehead against hers. We are both breathing heavily. The dust in the room settles around us.
"You're a menace," she whispers, her voice trembling. A small, shaky smile plays on her lips.
"I am a violent man," I say. My voice is deadly serious. "And you belong with me."
