Page 45 of Dante

Dante grips a tangle of my hair, the other hand tipping the Beretta toward the seam of my ass.

I moan, and Dante’s strong hand covers my mouth.

Then I hear him unzip.

The first stroke pushes the breath out of me. Dante’s all the way in, all at once.

No mercy.

I see him in the mirror. Face dark over my shoulder. Jaw set. The Beretta still in his right hand, propped against my ribs where he can use it.

“Look at me,” he says.

I do.

He pulls back and drives into me.

The glass fogs against my cheek.

He sets a rhythm I can’t keep up with. Hard. Full. The muzzle traces my breast on every stroke, cold across my nipple, while his cock fills me.

“Good girl. Take it.”

The city blurs through the window. My pulse races. I hear myself whimpering against his hand, against the glass, my hips chasing his every time he pulls back.

He slows. Then almost stops.

I push back.

He laughs — low, hungry. The Beretta drags down my belly and circles my clit, just the rim of it, light enough that I shake.

“Now —” I gasp.

“Quiet.”

He makes me wait. Three breaths. Four. The cold ring of the muzzle holds me at the edge.

Then he moves. Hard. The Beretta presses flat against my pelvis as he fucks me through it, and I come around his cock, clenching, shuddering, my legs going limp.

He doesn’t stop.

“Mine,” he says against my ear, and his hand leaves my mouth so I can hear it.

A few more strokes and he explodes, saying my name low with his lips pressed against my hair, his hips locked against mine.

The Beretta still warm from my skin in his hand.

We stay like that. Glass against my cheek, his weight at my back, his cock still inside me.

Then he pulls out and leaves me for the shower.

What seems like just moments later, he’s in bed beside me, stroking my hair.

“Rest,” he says. “We’ve both had a day. In a little while, we’ll order something to eat.”

I snuggle in and lose myself in Dante’s warm, protective arms.

CHAPTER 17