I increase the pace, driving into her with a manic, unhinged desperation. My balls slap against her wet thighs. The friction is a blazing inferno. Her tight walls clench around my shaft, milking me.
"You're so tight," I growl, my teeth grazing her jawline. "Fucking perfect."
She wraps her arms around my neck, holding on for dear life as I pound her into the mattress. The world narrows down to the slick heat of her pussy, the frantic gasps escaping her lips, and the impending, explosive pressure building in my groin.
"Dante, please," she sobs, her body trembling violently. "I'm going to?—"
"Come for me," I command. "Give it to me."
I reach down between our bodies, finding the swollen nub of her clit. I rub it fiercely with my thumb while continuing to hammer into her tight walls.
The combination is devastating.
Gemma falls apart.
She screams, a loud, unabashed sound of pure ecstasy. Her inner walls clamp down on my cock like a vice. The violent spasmsripple through her body, milking my shaft with agonizing pressure. Hot wetness floods my cock, slicking my path as I deliver three more brutal, bone-jarring thrusts.
The intense pressure in my balls shatters.
"Mine!" I roar, burying myself to the absolute hilt.
I erupt inside her.
Hot ropes of seed shoot deep into her tight pussy. The release is a violent, soul-altering explosion. I pump my hips, grinding my pelvis against hers, ensuring every drop of my cum is planted deep inside my woman.
My frame goes rigid. The feral energy drains from my muscles in a sudden, crashing wave. I collapse on top of her, crushing her soft curves into the mattress.
I am spent. The guard is gone. The man is finally at peace.
Gemma's arms wrap tightly around my broad back. Her hands stroke the slick sweat from my skin. She doesn't complain about my weight crushing the breath out of her. She holds me, anchoring the monster to the earth.
My breathing is a ragged, harsh sound in the quiet room. My cock throbs inside her tight heat, still buried to the hilt. I refuse to pull out. I refuse to sever the connection.
I turn my head, resting my cheek against her soft breast. The rhythmic beating of her heart echoes in my ear.
"Dante," she whispers, her fingers tangling in my hair.
"Don't move," I rasp, my voice shot.
"I'm not going anywhere."
The absolute certainty in her tone wraps around my battered soul like an iron shield. She knows exactly what I am. She knows the violence I am capable of. She witnessed the slaughter in the Grand Continental hallway. She heard the broken, pathetic confessions of the boy who had been trapped for two decades.
She stayed.
She offered her body. She offered her loyalty. She claimed the beast.
Tomorrow, the sun will rise over Chicago. Tomorrow, Matteo will summon the family to the war room. Tomorrow, we will map out the destruction of the Bellanti empire. Blood will spill on the streets. Bullets will tear through concrete. The twenty-year war for Carlo's ghost, fought largely in the shadows away from Chicago, will finally reach its violent conclusion.
I will be the tip of the spear. I will gladly butcher every single man who wears a Bellanti crest.
But right now, in the pitch-black silence of the Costa compound, behind seven locked deadbolts, there is only peace.
I shift my weight, pulling out of her slick heat for just a second to turn her away from me. I pull her back tight against my chest, wrapping my arms around her waist, and sink back into her from behind.
The small scar below my right collarbone presses against her warm spine.
I bury my face in her dark hair. The warm scent of her skin fills my exhausted lungs.
