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Every thrust feels exquisite. It’s as if he’s touching places inside of me that I didn’t know existed, his cock rubbing over every raw nerve as he slides out to the tip and thrusts back in, first slowly, and then faster. His mouth is all over my skin—my neck, my chest, his tongue dragging over my collarbone. He cups one small breast, molding it upwards as his back arches, and he bends his mouth to my nipple, sucking it between his lips. The sudden space between our bodies allows me to look down, to see his thick cock pistoning in and out of me, the sweaty flex of his muscles as he thrusts, and I realize with a sort of dim shock that I’m building to another orgasm.
I half-think I’m dreaming. That this gorgeous man fucking me like this can’t possibly be real.
If it is, I don’t want to wake up.
His teeth graze against my nipple, lips sucking hard at my breast before he moves to repeat it on the other side. I moan, gasping for breath as my hand tangles in his hair again, my hips moving to match his rhythm as he starts to fuck me faster, harder.
“Come for me again, little bird,” Dante breathes. “I want to feel you come on my cock.Fuck,come for me—”
He thrusts hard, grinding his hips against mine, his cock buried so deeply inside of me that his pelvis rubs against my clit, tipping me over the edge.
I throw my head back, letting out a keening wail as the orgasm seizes every muscle in my body, my pussy clenching and rippling down the length of his cock as I come hard for him. I have one half-conscious moment to remember that he didn’t use a condom, that he shouldn’t come inside of me—before Dante lets out a pained sound and jerks himself free, his hand wrapping around his throbbing cock as I feel the hot spurt of cum across my belly.
I’m still trembling with the aftershocks as I watch him come, the sight sending another wave of desire through me. His hand stutters along his throbbing, swollen length, his reddened cockhead flaring as cum spurts over my skin, his body tense and shaking. His face is taut, his full lips parted as he looks down at me like he’s never seen anything more erotic, his cock spilling over my bare skin. “Fuck, fuck—” He groans, squeezing his cock, gasping for breath as he pushes the tip against my skin, rubbing it against me. “God, I wanted to come in you. I wanted to fill you up—”’
“Probably a good thing you didn’t,” I whisper weakly. I’m still trembling, and I don’t think I could get up if the house were on fire. Just the thought of him coming inside of me has a fresh wave of desire curling hotly inside my belly. No one has ever done that. I’ve always been meticulous about using a condom with anyone I’ve slept with. I have no desire for an unwanted surprise, and I’ve never thought to do anything other than practice safe sex. But just the thought of Dante thrusting into me and feeling the hot rush of his cum inside of me, feeling him pushing it deeper, the warmth of it on my thighs after he pulls out—
Sex with this man is dangerous. It’s too good. It makes me want things that I unequivocally shouldn’t.
He rolls to one side, the couch ridiculously wide enough for two, trailing a finger down the space between my breasts. His cock has softened, lying harmlessly against his thigh, but it’s still bigger than any I’ve ever encountered before. Dante props himself up on one elbow, looking down at me, and I wonder what I must look like. Probably wrecked, if the way I feel is any indication. I almost want to fall asleep like this, curled up against him on the couch.
But I’m willing to bet men like Dante don’t do things like that. They don’t fall asleep spontaneously on their couch; they sleep on ten-thousand-count Egyptian cotton sheets in king-size beds. And I don’t think they cuddle, either.
Although what Dante is doing right now feels very much like cuddling.
“I don’t suppose the tattoo session I booked you for is still on the table?” His mouth quirks up in a half-smile.
I almost laugh, it’s so unexpected, as is the almost-innocent expression on his face. He looks so genuine that I have to remind myself that the man I’m lying naked with right now is the same man who broke my boss’s nose. Who broke into his house. Who is capable of violence that should give me pause at even coming here, let alone sleeping with him.
This shouldn’t happen again.
“You’d have to take a shower.” I look up at him, fighting the urge to tug him back on top of me and kiss him until he’s hard again. “We both probably should, to be honest.”
Dante grins. It makes him look younger and softens the handsome sharpness of his features. “Only if you come with me.”
“You want me to shower with you?”
“If you saw my shower, you wouldn’t be hesitating.” He smirks, and there’s that glint of arrogance again.
I shouldn’t get in the shower with this man. I should wait for him to be finished, or better yet, call it a night and go home. I should do the tattoo another night, when it’s strictly professional, after having a long talk with myself about self-control and boundaries.
The leather under my bare skin feels butter-soft. The house smells like sandalwood and jasmine, like those expensive candles they sell at department stores that cost as much as my electric bill. The clothes Dante discarded on the floor were probably three times that.
I don’t belong here. He can’t fit into my world. Anything we try to do together that isn’t business is only going to end in heartache—because I can already feel myself wanting to say yes to his proposition of a shower, just because I don’t want this to end. I want more of his skin against mine, more of this closeness. It’s been a long time since I’ve allowed myself any affection.
“Alright.” I hear myself saying it before I can talk myself out of it. “Let’s go get cleaned up, then.”
Dante slides off of the couch, offering me a hand up—a very gentlemanly thing to do, I find myself thinking. I take it, mainly because my knees still feel like they’ve been turned to water.
I scoop my clothes up off of the floor, following him to the stairs. Having shared the home I have lived in for so long, it feels strangely licentious to be walking around the house naked, but Dante does so with the ease of someone who has probably lived alone for years. He grabs his clothes, too, leading the way, all the way up to a loft-style bedroom.
It’s exactly as luxurious as I expected. Dark hardwood floors, a platform bed that must be bigger than king-sized, made up with a black tufted comforter and soft-looking white sheets, piled with pillows. The furniture is all dark mahogany, and I see a huge window on the left side of the room, the black velvet drapes drawn back. The door to the bathroom is cracked open, and as Dante walks to it and flicks on the light, I see that it’s equally oversized. There’s a huge soaking tub and a large two-person shower with dark tiled mosaic. When I step into the room, I realize the floor is heated.
I’ve never been in a bathroom like this before. Hell, I’ve never been in an apartment like Dante’s, althoughapartmenthardly feels like the right word for his penthouse. I realize I’m standing there staring as Dante turns the water on, and I try to shake it off, not wanting to look as idiotic as I feel.
I’m horribly out of place here, and I’m aware of it. But I also don’t want to leave.
Dante opens the glass door, already fogged with steam, and I take a moment to appreciate the muscled flex of his ass as he steps inside. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a more gorgeous man.
