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He tears his mouth away, fingers holding me open as he surges upwards, the swollen head of his cock pressing eagerly against my soaked entrance in the instant before he thrusts inside of me.
The sound I make is almost a scream as he fills me, hot and hard, his hips meeting mine with almost vicious strokes as he crushes his mouth against mine again. There’s a desperation to it, an almost primalneedthat takes my breath away, and I tangle my legs with his as I meet his every thrust again and again.
It’s all I can do not to dig my nails into his shoulders and back. I tangle them in the blankets instead, back arching as my breasts press against his chest, and Dante’s hand weaves through my hair as he drags my mouth back to his again. “I don’t want to let you go, little bird,” he breathes, and I close my eyes, pleading with myself not to cry.
Not now. Not when this is the last moment we’re going to share—because ithasto be.
I can feel the tension in his muscles, the effort not to come yet. His thrusts slow, just a little, long, hot slides of skin against skin that leave me trembling underneath him.
“I want to always be in you,” he groans against my mouth, thrusting again hard and settling against me, his hips rolling against mine as if he can’t get deep enough. “I want you to be as unable to forget me as I am you.”
Another kiss, his tongue sliding possessively into my mouth, his hands planted on either side of my head as he surges into me again. “I’ll see you on my skin for the rest of my life, little bird. But there’s nothing I can leave you with to make you feel the same.”
I close my eyes, tears burning behind my eyelids. I want to tell him that there’s no possible way I could forget him, that even without a tattoo marking me the way his back is covered in my art now, I’ll feel him on my skin forever. No one has ever touched me like this. No one has ever made me feel this way.
I couldn’t forget him any more than I could forget my own name.
But if I say any of that, I’ll burst into tears. And if I start crying, I don’t know if I’ll ever stop.
I don’t want our last memory to be that.
When he kisses me again, his hand cupping the side of my face, I grip his upper arms. I can feel my nails bite into the skin as I arch against him, giving myself over to the sensations, wanting to feel everything one last time.
The orgasm bursts over me all at once, bowing my back and making me cry out his name as I clench around him, pulling him deeper. Dante groans, the sound almost pained as he buries his face in my neck, nipping and sucking at the soft flesh there as he thrusts into me once more, hard.
I feel him harden, thicker than I’ve ever felt, heat flooding me as he shudders above me and grazes his teeth over my shoulder, moaning my name as he comes. I can feel him throbbing inside of me, hips rocking as he holds me there beneath him, and I don’t want the moment to end.
We lay there like that for a long moment, both trying to catch our breath, Dante’s lips against my shoulder. And then he starts to slip out of me, and what we just did hits me like a punch to the gut.
We didn’t use a condom.
Panic flares in my chest, and I take a deep, shaky breath, pushing myself up on my elbows as Dante pulls away.It’s alright,I tell myself, trying to calm down.There’s the morning-after pill. It’ll be fine. I have options.
I don’t want to think about it right now. I want to savor these last few moments I have with Dante. And deep down, I don’t regret it.
I’ve never done that with someone before—had sex without any kind of barrier, skin to skin, each of us as close to the other as we could possibly be.
I’m glad the first time was with Dante. But it doesn’t change anything.
“I have to go.” I slide out from underneath him, feeling that solid throb of hurt lodging in my chest. “This is—we can’t do this again. This is goodbye, Dante.”
Dante is off the bed in a flash, and although he doesn’t block my way to the door, I can see that he wants to. That it’s a struggle for him to even consider letting me go.
For one brilliant moment, I want to let him solve my problems. All of them. The bills, Rico, my future—I want to let him pick up all those pieces and put them back together however he sees fit. With money, with violence, with blood—whatever shape that takes.
But that’s not the life I’ve lived. It’s not a life I’m okay with, one where the man I love threatens and hurts others in order to make things go the way he wants them to. I’m not okay with standing by while someone else shapes my life for me.
Isn’t that what I’m doing anyway, by letting Rico extort me?
The thought burns. But I tell myself that in this, at least, I have a choice. I can walk away while this is still something beautiful and perfect, while it’s still agoodmemory, and not one that ends with inevitable disappointment.
Because eventually, Dante will realize that I can’t be the kind of person that a man like him needs. And I would never ask him to change for me.
“Emma.” His voice rasps over my name, sending a shiver down my spine. “Don’t go. Talk to me. Tell me why we’re ending things like this.”
That emotion wells up in my throat again, hot and thick, and I grab my clothes. I yank them back on, unable to look him in the eye.
“We have to.” It’s all I can say before I flee for the stairs, wishing that he’ll come after me, relieved that he doesn’t. I don’t know if I can handle another goodbye.
