Page 64 of Ruthless

Whoever this person is, I like her.

When I finish clearing the putty from his face and start to retreat, he snags my wrist with lightning speed. My heart lurches as his thumb strokes my palm.

As he zeroes in on the fake ring, his breath hitches, and his expression softens in the way I’ve dreamed about for what seems like forever. My chest aches, both for the future we might have shared and for lost time.

I could easily drown in nostalgia, but the restless, giddy energy pumping through my veins prevents me from lingering in the past. Like a magnet seeking metal, my body sways toward his, and I press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “We make a pretty good team, huh?”

I kiss him a second time, and our breaths intermingle. Slow, drugging heat flows through my veins. He growls into my parted lips, a deep rumble slipping from his mouth into mine as if he’s feeding me his desire with every ragged exhale.

My body lights up with desperate yearning, because these kisses bear no resemblance to our previous ones. No anger, no deception. I’m so tired of us hurting one another, tired of fighting what’s right in front of us.

Or at least what’s in front of me.

Undeniable, irrefutable love.

I’m smart enough to realize that naming the emotions swirling between us will only push him away. Instead, I try to inject my hope and adoration into the brush of my lips and into my hands as they stroke his skin.

With a tortured groan, Dante maneuvers me until I’m straddling his lap. My dress rides up my thighs, and as I rise over him, I give thanks for the divider blocking us from Gregor’s view.

“Did you enjoy torturing me in that fucking dress?” One of Dante’s hands dives into my hair, keeping me in place as our tongues intertwine. The other, rough and calloused, yanksthe bodice down, exposing my bare breasts. He buries his face against me, nipping and sucking against my sensitive flesh. Weak with need, I reach between us to unfasten his pants. His cock is thick in my hands, and my core instantly clenches in anticipation.

Wriggling out of his grasp, I sink back to my knees on the floor of the limo and welcome him into my mouth. He tastes like salt and skin. Holding his eyes, I drag my teeth lightly over the velvety head, then lave the delicate underside with my tongue. When he shudders, I swallow him down, my lips stretching around his width.

For once, he’s the one at my mercy.The great Dante Argento is squirming because ofme.How many women have inspired him to feel like this? How many have gotten the chance toseehim like this? I’d like to think that he doesn’t allow himself to be this vulnerable with anyone else, but I’m not that naive. A strange possessiveness seizes me, urging me to accept more of him. To show him what onlyIcan do.

I take my time, creating intentional pathways up and down his shaft, flattening my tongue along the bottom and swirling it around the top. I savor his gruff, rumbling baritone as he mutters in Italian. The veins along his length form ridges I’m all too happy to trace, and on the next pass, I inch my way down until he rests at the back of my throat. Then, I hum.

Dante’s hips buck. “Fuck!” He hauls me off the floor of the limo before I can continue, and I shimmy back onto his lap, my heart beating a wild drum against my ribs.

His fingers, thick and blunt, dive beneath my skirt, shifting my panties to one side while his eyes find mine. Still staring at me from less than an inch away, he teases my entrance, smearing my excitement across my clit and rubbing in quick little circles until adrenaline leaves my body hot and wanting.

My breathing hitches, and he hisses as his finger delves into my pussy. “You’re so wet for me.”

Bracing my hands on his shoulders, I rise to my knees so that he can replace his fingers with his cock, entering inch by glorious inch. As he fills me up, suddenly, nothing else matters.

It doesn’t matter who he’s been with before this because he’s here with me now. This is the first time he’s let me be on top. When I rock my hips forward and then back, his cock presses against my cervix, the length of him rubbing my G-spot.

My head falls back. Dante wraps an arm around my waist and leans into the padded bench seat, the leather crackling with our motion. “Ride me,bella.”

His gruff order does wicked things to my self-control, so I whimper and do just that, my thighs straining as I raise myself up only to slam myself back down. I want to engrave myself in him. To join our bodies as souls so thoroughly that the space where I end and he begins vanishes, leaving nothing but the rhythmic, aching pulse of a single shared heartbeat.

Dante squeezes my waist, his hands guiding me, urging me faster and then slower until we’re bucking against one another, our bodies straining for release.

My nails rake down his shoulder, carving red trails in their wake, and I lean forward to bury my face in his neck, kissing as many of his scars as possible. I rise until my pussy hugs just the tip of his cock, my hips dancing in controlled motions that wrench a thundering moan from his throat.

Burying my face in the crook of his shoulder to dampen my cries, I struggle to maintain the exquisitely lazy pace. I’m wholly at his mercy. It’s almost laughable to imagine that I ever had any power over this man at all. But as a steady stream of hoarse curses pours from him, I know that this man, who’s dripping with pleasure and trembling from his approaching climax, is allmine. “You feel so good around me,tesoro. So fucking tight. So warm.Cazzo, quanto sei bagnata.”

I can only manage a whimper in response. His fingers dig into my hips, and somewhere within my hazy, overstimulated senses, I both feel and embrace the pain. I want him to gift finger-shaped bruises where no one else can see. I want him to mark me, to claim me so there’s no question of whom I belong to.

I know he’s close when I feel him swell inside me, so I start to let go, chasing my own high as he holds me still so he can thrust up into me, brutally and mercilessly, just like I need it. When his thumb manipulates my oversensitive nub, it only takes another second before I cinch around him and contract. “Dante!”

He slams me down by the hips, his head tips back as he comes. I don’t think I’ve ever heard such labored breathing from him. I can hardly draw in enough air myself as the proof of his desire leaks out of me and slicks my thighs.

After, we collapse along the limo seat, still entangled but sated, akin to how it used to be before everything turned upside down. This felt like the old days, or maybe even better, and my chest aches at the reminder of what we lost.

This is how it’d feel to love this violent, vengeful version of Dante without worrying about the past or what anything means.

I wish we could stay like this forever, but the music trickling through from the front seat reminds me we aren’t alone.