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He starts to fuck me harder and I grab onto the headboard with one hand, pushing back against him to get him deeper. He fills me up so completely that it always starts outalmostuncomfortable, but then quickly turns to pleasure that I’ve only been able to imagine before now.
“I’m not going to last,” he warns, and I whimper.
“Me either.” I’m quickly vaulting to my orgasm and it hits me like a train, making my head feel light and dizzy.
Dante growls as he comes inside of me, biting down on my shoulder again.
I run my hand along the bite. “That’s going to leave a mark.”
“Good,” he murmurs. “Want everyone to know you’re mine.”
Heat floods through my body. Whatever worries I’d had about Dante and his “reputation” are fading away quickly.
I’m getting married to Dante Ricci, and I’m happy.
7
DANTE
My father’s service comes too quickly. It’s Saturday before I know it, and Mia is getting dressed in a black dress that trails all the way to her ankles. It’s modest but still looks beautiful on her. I’m wearing my best black suit and my father’s cufflinks.
I’ve been sleeping next to Mia for the better part of a week now, and yet I still haven’t gotten to know her any better. Mostly, because I can’t keep my damn hands off her.
We usually end up making love immediately, and then maybe having a bit of pillow talk. I’ve used her body and her strength to get through this week before my father’s service, I have to admit.
I feel almost bad about it. Almost.
Mia finishes dressing before I do, her auburn hair plaited down her back, and she walks downstairs.
“Which car are we taking?” she asks.
“Nico is picking us up,” I call downstairs, following her down.
When we get in the limousine, she puts her hand high up on my thigh and I cover it with my own hand, squeezing hers lightly.
She smiles up at me and squeezes back.
“It’s going to be a beautiful service, Dante.”
My father wanted to be cremated, so we won’t be having an open casket, just a gold-plated coffin filled with his ashes. I’m supposed to give the eulogy, but I’m not sure I can without breaking down.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I say in a hushed whisper.
Mia leans her head against my shoulder.
“You’ll do fine, Dante. I know how much you loved and respected your father.”
Tears catch in my throat. Mia knows the right thing to say, almost all the time, and I’ve been maybe a little wary of getting closer to her. I can’t imagine falling for her, but at the same time, isn’t that what happens? When you let women in?
I wouldn’t know. I’ve never done it.
So, I don’t talk about my father. I don’t talk about anything serious, regaling Mia with some stories from my youth, how I’d gotten arrested, the crew I hung around with. All funny, exciting stories. Nothing serious.
She’d trailed her hand along the knife scar on my back a couple of nights ago.
“How did you get this?” she asked, and I chuckled, shaking my head.
“A story for another time,” I lied, not planning on ever telling her that story.
