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“You” thrust “are” thrust “mine”.
With that he picked up the pace, hammering his hips against her, his pelvis pushing her clit on every downward motion, his eyes, those beautiful, dark eyes, steady on hers, seeing her completely laid bare and naked and vulnerable and open in every way that she could be. He saw it and he took it, and she gave and gave and gave, the intimacy of their bodies, their gazes, their hearts all connecting in one tandem until she didn’t know where she ended and where he began. That look in his eyes – pure unadulterated desire for everything – pushed her over the edge again.
She felt him jerk inside her, his growl rough as he came, his cock pushing as deep into her as it could go, making her walls weep around him.
Their bodies came down from the high of their orgasm slowly, sweaty, and spent. He got up and went to the bathroom, and she just lay there unmoving, staring at the ceiling, waiting for her heart to gradually calm down.
The feel of something wet between her legs had her looking down, to see him cleaning her with a wet towel, and she felt her heart squeeze in her chest. Why did he have to be so perfect for her?
He threw the towel to the side, stripping out of his clothes, exposing his entire body to her eyes for the first time up close.
Amara watched the muscles and ridges on his body – the broad shoulders she’d held on to multiple times as he carried her, the strong arms that made her feel the safest she’d ever felt, the beautiful chest she wanted to use as a pillow for the rest of her life. She watched him – from his big, beautiful feet to his muscled thighs, to his semi-hard cock, to his happy trail, to his abs, to his pecs, to his neck, and finally, to his eyes.
He leaned down and kissed her softly, stretching out beside her.
“You okay, baby?” he asked against her lips as she cupped his jaw. She went from ‘dirty girl’ to ‘baby’ and she loved it. The brain was such a weird thing. She would’ve thought being called a dirty girl would have possibly triggered her. But when he said it like that, in his voice of warm chocolate and twisted sheets, his dark eyes worshipping her skin, ‘dirty girl’ felt like ‘goddess’. She loved it. How could she ever stand a chance against this man when he made her feel like this?
She nodded to his question. “How is my mom?”
“Safe. Enjoying the challenge of trying to get into Tristan’s house. Mine is pretty boring for her.”
Amara huffed a laugh, imagining it vividly. “How is he doing?”
“Same old,” he told her, playing with her hair, his fingers holding a wild curl. “He actually bought a property in the city.”
“In Tenebrae?”
He shook his head. “In Shadow Port. It’s not that far from here. You should go sometime. I think he’ll like that.”
Amara felt a flutter of excitement in her system, her heart aching at the thought of having a friend in the city, even though Tristan wasn’t a conventional one. “Does that mean he’ll be here often?”
“I think he’ll be here a lot,” he said, his eyes taking a measure of her. “You know Gabriel Vitalio?”
She nodded. Of course, she knew the infamous Vitalio. She was in his city.
“He has a daughter – Morana,” he hesitated. “Tristan has a history with her. Let’s leave it at that for now.”
Amara knew he wanted to share, but she didn’t push, knowing he would tell her if he wanted to. Changing the topic, she asked, “What about your brother? How is he?”
There was silence for a beat before he pulled her leg over his hip, their bodies pressed together, his eyes on the ceiling. “Damien is doing good. He’s almost your age but his brain is extraordinary. His Asperger’s diagnosis has been confirmed by another doctor so they’re making special learning modules for him.”
Amara rubbed the line of his chest. “Is he safe?”
“Yeah,” Dante took her hand, interlinking their fingers together. “I faked his death so my fucking father wouldn’t use him as a pawn anymore. But I can’t see him for a long time. Not until Daddy dearest is dead.”
Amara felt her heart pound, her mind absorbing the lengths this man could go to, to protect the people he loved. She forgot sometimes, in moments like this when he was soft with her, that he was still the same ruthless Dante Maroni who was rumored to have interrogated a guy for thirty hours without getting a speck of blood on his clothes. Without his clothes, naked as he was now, Amara saw him in his entirety – the man and the beast.
“What’s that look for?” he asked quietly, tracing the palm of her smaller hand with his thumb.
“Is it the same with me?” she asked her voice nothing more than a whisper. “That I’m off the board until your father is dead?” Yeah, she felt no remorse for thinking about the death of that man.
Dante turned back to the ceiling, his mouth curling. “You remember what I told you about chess pieces? That I didn’t know what piece you were?”
“Yes.”
He turned his neck to put his eyes on hers. “You’re the queen on the board, Amara. You’re my most powerful piece, but my most vulnerable. They get you, they get me, and the game is over. So, I’ll do whatever I need to make sure they never get you. Even if that means hiding you like my dirty little secret for the time being.”
