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She knew something was wrong the moment she saw him at her door in the middle of the day. He never came to her during the day.
“Dante-” his mouth was on hers before she could utter more, the urgency in his kiss infusing her blood, the taste of him after weeks, weeks of not seeing him, aphrodisiac in her veins. She hadn’t seen him since the night they had the heated falling out over her telling Morana the truth about Tristan. He had come to her that night, both their tempers high, and fucked her all night through in anger that had blown into exhaustion.
He pushed her into her new apartment – the one she’d bought herself three months ago – pushing the door close with his foot, turning her to press her against it, hard. Her balance tottered in her heels – heels she’d come to love because of how confident and powerful they made her feel, but also because every time she put one on, it reminded her of that first time.
Before she could catch a breath, he was on his knees, her legs over his broad shoulders, her panties a scrap of fabric in his hands, ripped and discarded, and his mouth was between her legs.
A man who ate his girl out solely for his pleasure was a different breed of dangerous, and Dante Maroni was the most dangerous of all. In all the years they had been doing this, Amara had lost count of how many times she’d woken up with his mouth between her thighs, how many times he’d bent her over just to taste her, how many times he’d pushed her against the wall to make out with her pussy. He did it for no other reason than he loved it, and he’d made her addicted to his skilled mouth, ravishing her tryst after tryst, orgasm after orgasm, hour after hour, just because he could.
Her pussy knew him, recognized him, and drenched for him within seconds. Amara pushed her head back against the wall, his hands the only things holding her upright, and saw Lulu watching them curiously from the doorway.
A strangled laugh escaped her, ending on a moan as he pushed his tongue inside her, his hand wrapping around her thigh to rub her clit. Fuck, he was good. So, so good.
Amara bit her lip, grinding against his mouth, chasing her pleasure, unashamed of her body’s desire after so long with him. Some days, she still felt a twinge of guilt for never having told him the extent of her assault, or how it still affected her, how she still woke some nights drenched in sweat, a heartbeat away from screaming, and how Lulu – her sweet, loving Lulu who had grown up to her full furry body – always climbed on her chest and started purring like a motor to calm her down, her big green eyes on Amara.
“Lulu is watching us,” she told him, tugging at his hair.
“Let her watch,” he growled, looking up at her, the sight of him on his knees before her making her melt. “Let her watch how I’m going to fuck her mom hard against the door.”
Oh my.
With that, he straightened to his full height, having grown a few inches taller somehow, broader, more filled out, still towering over her in her heels. Dante Maroni as a boy had been her unrequited; Dante Maroni as a man was her undoing.
His hands went under her ass as she unzipped his pants, taking out his hard, familiar length, feeling the heavy weight throb in her palm. He lifted her easily, lined himself up against her, and thrust home.
Home.
He felt like home.
Amara felt her eyes burn and closed them, her body shuddering with the pleasure of connecting with him, her heart weeping knowing he would leave after. She shouldn’t keep doing this. She couldn’t stop doing this.
His mouth took hers, her taste on his lips making her clench around his cock, the kiss wet, sloppy, perfect. He pulled out an inch before pistoning his cock in, her walls fluttering around him in greeting, gripping him tight, keeping him.
“Missed you,” he pressed his forehead into hers, his eyes dark and heavy on hers. “I missed you so fucking much, dirty girl.”
Amara felt a lump in her throat. “I missed you too,” she whispered, and his eyes roved over her face, as though memorizing her, trying to trace if anything had changed since the last time he’d seen her. The last time they’d been in the same space, tempers had been high and she’d called him a coward in her frustration of being stuck in the same loop with him because he either wasn’t moving them forward or wasn’t telling her. They hadn’t talked much that night.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, taking in the slash of his dark brows, the wide forehead, his strong nose, shaven jaw, swollen mouth, his hair that was usually slicked back from his face falling forward as he fucked her. She took every part of him in, seeing how much he’d changed physically from a decade ago, from the twenty-year-old boy who had rooted himself in her life to the thirty-year-old man he had become.
She knew he understood what she meant. But something was wrong. His eyes were too dark, too heavy. She’d spent enough time learning the browns in them – how the sunlight hit every fleck, turning them to burnished gold; how night made them black holes, sucking everything they saw into themselves. She knew his eyes like the scars on her wrist – every little bit memorized, imprinted on her heart.
“Dante,” she rasped out.
He kissed her, silencing any question on her lips, picking up his pace, lifting her higher so he hit that magical spot deep inside her, turning her liquid in his arms. Tilting her head back, she gripped his shoulders as he kissed down her neck, licking her scar like he loved to do, his mouth wrecking her heart. Over the years, he had kissed every inch of her body, seen every one of her physical scars, and lavished them with love like they were the most beautiful badges of bravery. They were her veins of gold, he’d said so many times.
Losing herself to the pleasure, Amara felt the tingling start in her toes, heat scorching the base of her spine as the friction drove her deeper and deeper into the abyss.
“Fuck, your pussy has been hungry,” Dante muttered, his own pleasure loosening the filthy thoughts in his head. “She’s missed me, hasn’t she?”
“Yeah,” Amara panted, trying to push back against him but he kept her pinned in place, hammering into her, the door shaking behind her with each thrust.
“Fuc
k yeah,” he licked the line of her neck, biting her pulse point, sending sparks of ecstasy through her bloodstream. “So horny, you’re dripping all over me.”
Dirty-talking Dante was her kryptonite. She went crazy when he talked like that.
“What are you going to do about it?” she challenged, clamping her walls deliberately around him as he entered her again.
