Breaking Him (Love is War #1)(61)

My hand reached up to grab the wrist of the hand that held my face, my nails digging in as I got closer to my end.

My grip was as savage as his was gentle, scoring deep scratches into his flesh.

More marks I’d be leaving on him, more proof of my ownership that wouldn’t fade with morning.

I tripped over into my release with a helpless sob.

It was so good. Nothing could compare.

Sex with Dante was so acutely satisfying that it felt both essential and damaging.

I wanted to thank him and curse him out both.

I did neither. It was something. At least I didn’t say anything I’d regret later. Instead, I only did—many, many things I could regret later.

He wasn’t far behind me, rooting deeply just five, six, seven more heady times, keeping me worked up and in distress with him, clenching around him, coming even while it felt I might peak again.

He held himself deep as he emptied inside of me, staying there while I milked out every last drop, holding my legs split open like that, stretching me so wide and for so long that I knew I’d be sore in several places come morning.

I could have slept after that. Could have passed out cold and slept deeper than I had in months.

In fact, I tried to, but he wasn’t finished. Not even close.

He’d only just begun to slake his great thirst on me, to assuage his terrible hunger.

He pulled out of me slowly, with great hesitation, dislodging himself with regret, lingering at it, moving not just out but around, shifting inside of me, making his presence and its exit known and felt.

When he was finally free of me, he flipped me onto my back like a rag doll, pushed my thighs wide apart and climbed between.

He started kissing my neck, making his way down until he was licking my nipples.

My back arched off the bed.

“So responsive,” he murmured into my skin a beat before he sucked one needy nub into his mouth. “So sensitive. Never get enough,” he muttered, his big hands pushing my breasts together so he could feast.

He kneaded with his big hands and suckled with his perfect mouth until I was crying out his name.

“Yes,” he said against my nipple. “Say that to me, Scarlett. Say yes. Yes, Dante.” He went back to sucking.

“Yes, Dante, yes,” I complied.

“Now say please for me,” he urged. “Please, Dante.”

I was scratching at the top of his back, but I couldn’t hold back what he asked for, “Please, Dante.”

He groaned, moving up my body. “I want to feel your naked breasts against my chest when I take you this time.

Without an ounce of resistance, my body in full rut, I let him have me again, our chests rubbing together, his weight heavy on me, in me, my face in his hands, his mouth possessing mine.

I cried when I came. He kissed my tears away.

It was just too bittersweet, the pleasure and the pain of it, and at my very weakest, when all my defenses were stripped away, there were things even I could not deny.

The brutal, unrelenting truth was all too apparent to me in these moments.

I belonged to him. I was his.

I’d never stopped being his.

It was a cruel, unbearable, and undeniable fact.

He dragged my pliant, naked body into the adjoining bathroom, drawing a bath and tugging me in to straddle him.

I tried to lay my cheek on his chest, but he gripped my face with both hands and started kissing me. Not an idle, satisfied kiss, either. His mouth devoured mine like he hadn’t just had me. Twice.

His hunger reignited my own, and in spite of myself I was grabbing his neck and kissing him back with equal fervor.

I’d never been able to get enough of him like this, when he was so wildly passionate for me. Hungry to the point of desperate.

As ever, I answered that hunger in kind.

I don’t need food. I don’t need air or shelter. I just need this, my body told me with each fevered throb.

His proximity. His touch. His own all-consuming need. Nothing felt more vital to me.

He held me captive like that for a very long time, with his gentle hands and his desperate kiss, devouring me from the outside in, insinuating his all-encompassing craving into every part of me until I was a mindless slave to it.

Eventually the kissing led to more. I had my thighs on either side of his hips, and gradually he worked me closer, his hardness pushing insistently between my legs, ramming teasingly, and then harder against my sex, finally entering me, working in slow inch by slow inch, sucking in each needy breath I gasped out as he invaded me, my cunt sucking in each needy thick inch of his cock.

I tried to move on him, to create the friction that would relieve us both, but his hands let go of my face, snaking down to grip my hips and hold me flush and unmoving, keeping still and buried to the hilt.

All the while, his mouth was unstoppable on mine, kissing, licking, sucking, gasping out the words he knew would get to me the most and the fastest.

I was whimpering by the time he let up, his hands on my hips working me against his thick length in small, jarring movements.

“More,” I managed to get out, but barely. Passion made him vocal, but for me it was the opposite. I was a blithering mess of in-articulation when I was this far gone.

He rewarded me with a few more hard thrusts then began to pull me off.

I protested, but he shushed me, gave me one last long kiss, then lifted me clean out of the bath and perched me on the lip of it.