Page 58 of Blood Vows

“Elena.” She crossed the room, and Dante didn't move. That was his first mistake. She stopped directly in front of him.

“Tell me you don't want me,” she said. His entire body tightened. She knew exactly what she was doing.

“That's not the issue,” Dante breathed. Wanting her had become as easy as breathing since that kiss, but there was no way that he’d tell her that.

“Tell me what the issue is then,” she insisted.

“No,” he whispered.

“Why not?” she asked. “I mean, if you want me, then what’s the hang-up? Why not just give in to what we both want?” she asked.

“Because it would be a lie.” Her lips parted. That was the closest to the truth that he could get without telling her everything. Because if he was being honest, he’d tell her that he should have stopped himself from kissing her, but he hadn’t, and now he was going to make the same mistake again.

His hand went to her waist. “Elena, if we cross this line, I don't know how to uncross it.”

“Maybe I don't want to uncross it, Dante,” she breathed, looking up at him. That destroyed what was left of his restraint. He kissed her and Elena met him without hesitation. There was no surprise this time, and no uncertainty.

Her arms wrapped around his neck as Dante pulled her against him. The kiss turned hungry almost immediately. Everything he'd held back in the kitchen earlier came roaring to the surface—want, fear, and even possession. He also felt something dangerously close to need, and he never needed anyone before. He had wanted women, but never needed them, as he did with Elena.

She pulled back just enough to breathe. “Still think this is a mistake?”

“Yes,” he answered honestly.

She smiled against his mouth. “Good.” Dante laughed and kissed her again. He lifted her, and she wrapped herself around him as naturally as if she'd done it a hundred times. He carried her upstairs, not to the guest room, but to his room. He stopped beside the bed, giving her one last chance to turn him away. He was holding on loosely to one last piece of control.

Dante looked at her. “Tell me to stop,” he ordered.

Elena reached for him instead. “I don't want you to stop.” That was all he needed. He had given her the chance to change her mind, and she didn’t. He kissed her again, slower this time, giving her every chance to change her mind as they undressed each other between kisses and whispered curses.

There was nothing gentle about the need between them, but Dante refused to rush her. Not after everything she had endured. Not when this was the first decision in days that belonged completely to her. He watched her face, listened when she pulled him closer, and stopped when she needed him to give her a few seconds to catch her breath. And when Elena finally whispered his name and dragged him back to her, Dante stopped fighting what he wanted. All the tension that had been building since the moment she'd challenged him—messy, desperate, intimate in a way Dante hadn't expected had slipped away, leaving just the two of them.

That was what nearly undid him. Not the desire or the thought of having her beneath him, but the way that she looked at him with so much trust in her eyes. Elena trusted him even after the threats, the suspicion, and the orders that he had barked at her. She trusted him after seeing exactly what kind of man he was. She trusted him enough to be vulnerable with him, and Dante had no fucking idea what to do with that.

Raw need consumed him as he kissed his way down her bare body. “This is going to be fast, honey,” he said. “I need you too much. I promise to make it better for you next time.”

“I want you too, Dante,” she whispered. “I just want you to make me yours,” she said. That was all he needed to hear from her. He pulled her up against his body, loving the way that she straddled his cock, just before he sank into her hot pussy.

“You feel so fucking good,” he said, as she moaned out his name.

He pressed her back against the wall, and she hissed out her breath. “You good, honey?” he asked.

“More than good,” she whispered. “Fuck me, Dante.” God, he loved a woman with a dirty mouth, and the way that she was talking to him and giving him orders turned him inside out with need.

He pumped in and out of her body, taking what she was offering him. When she cried out his name, Dante quickly followed her over, losing himself deep inside of her. They stood there for what felt like an eternity—still joined, and both of them trying to catch their breath. Dante wasn’t sure if what they had just done was a good or bad idea anymore, but he didn’t care. She was his now, and there was no fucking way that he’d ever let her forget that fact.

He carried her over to the bed and laid her down. Dante got in next to her and pulled Elena into his body, loving the way that she seemed to fit there. She lay curled against his chest beneath the sheets as he stared at the ceiling. This was all so new to him. He didn't bring women here, and didn't sleep beside them, or hold them afterward. Yet his arm was around Elena, and every time he considered moving it, he found a reason not to.

“You're thinking too loud,” she murmured. Dante looked down at her lying on his chest. Her eyes were closed, and her hair was spread over his torso, and she looked so fucking beautiful.

“That doesn't make sense,” he said.

“It does with you,” she mumbled.

He ran his thumb absently over her shoulder. “You okay?”

Her eyes opened. “Yes.”

“How’s your arm?” he asked. She moved it and winced in pain.