Page 73 of A Betrothal So Bloody

“Will you think of me, the next time you touch yourself?” Dante asks breathlessly.

My response catches in my throat as he slams into me. I can feel his rhythm becoming more urgent, my walls tightening around him again. Everything inside me is building, building—

“Yes,” I cry, a confession readily shared. I’d say anything he wanted to hear right now, anyway. I’m putty in his hands, my head spinning. “Yes, Dante.”

He growls roughly when I say his name, and I’m present enough to be touched by the sentiment. I’ve never seen him like this—so starved for someone’s touch, someone’s voice.

Starved for me.

I can only pray that a lifetime of saving others and devotion to Corvus’ mission might grant me forgiveness for this delicious sin.

I spill over the edge with a strangled gasp, my eyes fluttering as the orgasm ripples through me. Dante’s face is buried in my neck and I cling to him, pulling his hair as waves of ecstasy crash again and again.

No, I’m definitely going to hell, I think as my head slowly begins to clear.

He’s still pumping inside me, but I feel a shift, catch his eyes roll toward the ceiling. It dawns on me that he’s about to finish, too.

Dante pulls out of me with urgency, and I can only gape blearily as he fists his cock and cums on my stomach, long shoots of it ribboning over my bare skin.

He freezes, knees still locked around my thighs, shoulders rising and falling with labored breaths.

“Sorry, I…” He pants, trailing off as I drag a finger through a line of it and bring it to my mouth, tasting him. Saltiness and musk wash over my tongue.

I let my finger hover there against my parted lips, smiling nervously as I gauge his expression—have I done something wrong? Dante’s mouth opens and shuts, blinking as lust evidently crashes into him all over again.

“My filthy angel,” he breathes, all but tackling me in his urgency to cradle my face in his hands, crushing his lips to mine.

I shriek with laughter as he rolls on his side, pulling me with him.

twenty-three

Ijust fucked a vampire .

As the ludicrous thought clangs around my mind, I brace myself for a vile sensation—the understanding that I am a terrible, unholy thing. But…even as I grasp for tendrils of self-hatred, all I come up with is elation. Regret is bound to come later.

For now, I allow myself to revel in the afterglow. The feeling of having him. Of feeling more alive than I thought possible.

Like an anchor reminding me that this is real, Dante’s head is a pleasant weight on my chest. I never considered myself impressively blessed in that area, but he’s content to bury himself there, seemingly incapable of resurfacing. I breathe slow and deep as I reach down to stroke his tousled hair, combing my fingers through the golden locks.

The moan at the back of his throat is a soft, contented rumble. The arm slung across me reaches up to play with the bite marks on my neck. He traces his fingertips over the healing puncture wounds like he wants to memorize them. Pride radiates off of him in waves.

He inhales deeply. “Fuck, you’re warm,” he sighs. “And soft.” After giving me a squeeze, he adjusts himself to spoon me. He clutches me like it’s a familiar position, his larger body wrapping around mine, molding together like we were made to fit. I feel surrounded, safe beyond words.

I roll around to nuzzle under his chin, my nose to his chest. His fond chuckle rumbles through me and God, I could melt into him. I could vanish into this crushing embrace—only momentarily jarred by the absence of a heartbeat thudding under my cheek.

My eyes flutter open, still lulled by Dante’s slow petting through my wild hair. His own fang scars are staring back at me—the silvery marks etched into the base of his neck. I brush my fingers over the place reverently. Dante stiffens at first, but allows me to continue.

“How old were you when he turned you?”

He gives a small laugh through his nose. “Darling, if you’re about to tell me you don’t prefer older men…” I playfully shove his chest, and he quiets again. His body tenses slightly around me, as though suddenly uncomfortable in the plush bedding. “Thirty-four. I was poised to take over operations of my father’s empire and marry in the same year.”

“Marry?” I peel away from him, jaw slack. Dante’s shadowed expression flickers with amusement, and I stammer for composure. “Sorry, it’s just… You don’t strike me as the sort.”

“It was an arranged union, I’ll grant you that, but a fine one. Well—it would’ve been. I’d known the girl nearly my whole life. Cecilia.”

I falter, air whooshing from my lungs. That name he’d mentioned when he’d confessed to me in the witch’s cottage…

She begged me, pleaded with me.