Page 129 of Ruthless Vow
The wet heat against my breast, the scrape of stubble against sensitive skin, the thick drag of him inside me.
Too much. Everything is too much.
“Oh God.” I claw at his shoulders. “Dante. I can’t.”
“Come for me. Let me feel it.”
The pleasure crests.
I shatter.
The orgasm rips through me in waves, my pussy clenching around him, pulling a scream from my throat that I muffle against his shoulder. I’m shaking, unraveling in his arms while he keeps working my clit, keeps stroking me through every pulse and tremor.
“Right there.” He growls it against my ear. “Give me all of it. Every fucking drop.”
Before I’ve finished trembling, he seizes my hips and thrusts up. Hard. Once. Twice.
His rhythm turns ragged, stutters, and then he’s burying himself to the hilt with a sound that’s my name torn in half.
“Cassia.” Broken. Shattered. “Cazzo.”
I feel every pulse. Every hot rush of him filling me.
His arms lock around my waist, his face presses into my neck, and his teeth graze my throat. Not biting, just holding. His whole body shudders against mine as he empties himself inside me.
We stay like that. Locked together.
Him softening inside me, my pussy still fluttering with aftershocks, both of us wrung out.
He traces a slow line up my spine, vertebra by vertebra, and the tenderness after the roughness undoes me more than the sex did.
“Damn,” he says, voice muffled against my throat.
I laugh. It comes out shaky. Undone.
“Yeah.”
“Pretty sure I pulled something.”
“I told you to be careful.”
He lifts his head. He’s smiling. A real smile. Rare and devastating and unfair.
“Worth it,” he says.
I kiss him because I can’t not. Because he’s mine. My husband. For real this time.
He cups the back of my neck, holds me there longer than necessary, his forehead resting against mine.
Later, we lie tangled in the ruined sheets.
His heartbeat thuds steady under my ear. Sixty-two beats per minute. Strong. Steady. His.
I trace idle patterns across his chest. His arm is draped over my waist, heavy and warm, his thumb still moving in absent circles against my hip.
The slick of him lingers between my thighs. I need a shower. I can’t bring myself to move.
The room is quiet. Safe. The compound hums with life below us. Voices, footsteps, the sounds of a household that kept running while its Don recovered.
