Page 49 of Broken Promises
Cold drops of water, remnants of a recent shower, trickle down his neck and drip onto my hot skin, introducing more goosebumps, more shivers, more squirming. Dante rests on his elbows, holding his arms along mine to trap me as if he never wants to lose sight of me again.
A greedy, lustful kiss burns a new dose of desire through my bloodstream. Like a boost of energy, it changes the calm, passionate moment into a heated battle. I free myself from the makeshift cage of his arms, drawing long lines on his back as the muscles in my abdomen tighten in anticipation.
We’ve been in bed for a while, but Dante’s not ready to let me come. He brings me sky-high, to the brink of an orgasm, and then stops at the crucial moment. Pleasant pain spreads in a wave of vibrations through my body when he stills, buried deep inside, denying me the release.
He sucks in a deep breath, combing my long, damp hair behind my ears. “You’re trembling, Star. And I didn’t even let you come yet.” Satisfaction paints his handsome face, but a cheeky smirk means he wants to torture me for a long time.
“I’ll be sore for days.” I press the back of my hand to my forehead. “Enough, please.” I brace against his chest to push him back and dictate the pace so I can take what I need.
“Don’t even think about it.” He straightens his elbows, hovering higher. “I love when you’re on top, but today I prefer the look on your face every time you’re so close.”
I trail my hand down my stomach, desperate to come. I expect Dante to stop my efforts, but he arches back further, dark eyes on me when I circle my clit with two fingers, mimicking his moves when he touches me like this. Gathering a handful of the sheets, I throw my head back, holding my moans on a tight leash.
Dante dives between my legs, guiding his hot tongue along my entrance. “You’re so fucking sexy, baby, don’t stop.”
Like a balloon filled with helium, I rise higher and higher, closer to the all-encompassing release. Dante slips two fingers inside, stroking my G spot. That does it. Stimulation overload. My moans bounce off the walls as I clench my thighs together, holding his head in place until the waves retreat.
I’m still shaking when Dante pushes my legs aside, climbing back to kiss me. The orgasm hasn’t completely faded yet, and I bite my lip instead of his, hands on his shoulders, when he slips his hard cock back inside, making me cry out.
“Eyes, Layla. Show me those gorgeous eyes.”
I look at him, smiling down at me. “This is too much...” Pleasure mixes with a sting of pain that has me writhing beneath him as another orgasm looms nearby.
“Too much? We’ve barely scratched the surface.”
He thrusts harder, igniting every nerve ending in my sensitive, exhausted body. I wrap my legs around his hips, disappearing into the depths of my own consciousness as my mind explodes with fireworks. Dante pins me to the mattress, pumping in and out to prolong and magnify the sensation. A brutal kiss bruises my lips before he stills, holding me in place as he sinks his fingers into my flesh.
His green eyes flutter shut, muscles shift beautifully under his skin, and lips part when he comes.
I have no strength left to embrace him. Dark spots in front of my eyes disturb the image of his handsome face inches from mine until he collapses beside me, wrapping one arm around my middle to haul me closer. I’m limp, a rag doll in his hands. I can’t move. All I can do is attempt to calm my heartbeat and catch enough air to remain conscious.
Dante comes to his senses first, as always.
A wrinkle marks his forehead when he rises on his elbow to look at me. His jaw clenches, andpuff, the satisfaction is gone, replaced by worry.
I lift my head from the pillow. “What’s wrong?”
“You bit your lip.”
I move my hand to touch it, but Dante stops me before my fingers come across the blood. The metallic, disgusting taste fills my mouth, and my stomach ties itself into a knot. I hate that. I hate that I can’t control this reaction or lessen the heavy feeling in my chest. A pang of anxiety replaces the last of my pleasure.
“Give me a sec.” He pulls on a pair of boxers, heading to the bathroom only to emerge back a minute later with a wet towel in hand. He sits on the edge of the bed, parting my lips with his thumb to wipe the cut clean.
“You should be happy,” I say. “I didn’t register the pain. Too much pleasure.”
“I’d rather you didn’t panic minutes after sex.”
“I think I might deal with blood better now that I know what triggered the phobia in the first place.”
He considers my words for a moment as if trying to find the answer for himself. Looks like he found the wrong one because anger taints his features. “Did Frank hurt—”
“No! No, he has nothing to do with it. I promise.”
“Okay, what is it then?”
“You... I was seven, and you got hit. Frankie was looking for a first-aid kit in the kitchen when I walked in.”
“I remember that. You were the cutest little thing. I hated seeing you cry.” He pulls me in and falls back, cuddling me to his chest. “I still hate it now.”
