Page 100 of The Mafia King's Lost Son
“I don’t want to sleep.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“I want you,” I blurt, and for a while neither of us utters a word.
Then his hand comes up to cup my face, his right thumb tracing along my cheekbone, and I lean into his palm.
“Scarlett,” he calls roughly, it almost sounds like a growl.
“Don’t think about the rescue,” I tell him. “Don’t think about Viktor or the cathedral or any of it. Just be here with me now, that’s all I’m asking.”
He stares at me silently and I meet his eyes, then his mouth comes down on mine.
The kiss is softer and slower now, his lips barely brushing mine like he’s asking for admission. I grab the front of his shirt and pull him closer, and that was it.
The kiss deepens and I taste whiskey and huskiness, and I want more.
His hands slide down my sides to my hips and he lifts me. My legs latch around his waist and he carries me toward the bed, his mouth never leaving mine. He lays me down on the mattress gently and pulls away to look at me.
“Are you sure about this?”
“Dante, if you ask me that one more time, I swear to god?—”
I barely finish before he shuts me up with another kiss, harder this time, and a different level of pleasure awakens in me.
His fingers find the hem of my shirt and pull it up over my head. The cool air in the room hits my skin, making my nipples taut, but his hands against my skin are warm, running up my stomach, over my ribs, and finally cupping my breasts through my bra. I lean into his touch and he makes a low masculine sound in his throat that sends heat pooling between my legs.
“Off,” I demand, pulling at his shirt. “Take it off.”
He obeys and sits back, pulling it over his head. I’ve seen his chest numerous times, but it still leaves my mouth watering each time. The scars in a crisscross pattern on his skin are so beautifully rough. I’ve never seen a sight so rough yet appealing.
I reach up and trace the longest one, a jagged line that runs from his collarbone down toward his heart.
“This one almost killed you.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it’s right over your heart. Wounds close to the heart are always fatal.”
He catches my hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to my palm. “But I am here.”
“Yeah,” I agree. You are.”
He lowers himself over me, and his mouth finds my neck, and he kisses a trail down to my collarbone, then lower, his breath hot against my skin as he works his way down my body.
My bra is suddenly nowhere to be found. I don’t even recall him unhooking it, just suddenly his mouth is on my breast and I’m gasping, my fingers digging into his shoulders. He takes his precious time there, his tongue swirling, teeth grazing,until I’m squirming underneath him and making sounds I’d be embarrassed about if I could think clearly.
“Dante, please.”
“Please what?”
“Stop teasing me.”
He laughs against my skin and the vibration makes me shiver more. “I’m not teasing,mi obsesión. I’m savoring.”
“Savor faster.”
His hand slides down my stomach and under the waistband of my pants. When his fingers find my core, I’m already dripping wet and aching for him. He groans in satisfaction, his eyes going dark.
