Chapter 20 His mouth moves from mine to trail down my throat, and I arch into him, my hands fisting in his shirt. The relief, the want I've been suppressing for years-it's all crashes together into something I can't resist. "Sofia," he breathes against my collarbone, and the reverence in his voice makes my heart stutter. My fingers find the buttons of his shirt, working them open with hands that shake slightly-not from fear, but from anticipation. When I spread the fabric apart, I see new bruises blooming across his chest and scabs from another bullet graze, evidence of our ordeal. "You're hurt," I whisper, my touch gentle as I trace the darkening marks. "So are you." His thumb brushes across the cut on my cheek then lower to where my shirt is torn. "We're both a mess." "I don't care." I meet his eyes. "Do you?" His answer is to lift me, carrying me toward the bedroom as I wrap my legs around his waist. The city lights paint silver patterns across bare skin. Dante's hands shake slightly as they trace my face, my neck, lower-like he can't quite believe this is real. "I've wanted this for so long," he whispers, his voice breaking on the words. "Dreamed about it. Hated myself for dreaming about it." "Don't hate yourself." I kiss the scar on his shoulder, one I imagine he received from protecting Marco or Mario. "I wanted it too. Want you." His breath catches, and I see something raw and vulnerable flash across his face. "Sofia..." His voice breaks on my name, and suddenly his hands are shaking for an entirely different reason. "You don't understand," he whispers, his forehead dropping to rest against mine. "I've wanted you since you were nineteen. Hated myself for it. Thought I was some kind of monster for⁠-" "You're not a monster." I cup his face, forcing him to meet my eyes. "You're the man who's protected me my whole life. The man who came for me when I was taken. The man who⁠-" He cuts me off with a kiss that tastes like desperation and gratitude and years of suppressed longing. Dante slowly pulls my shirt over my head, his movements and looks reverent as he gazes upon my bare skin. My skin heats-I've never been with anyone before. Oh god, I hope I don't fuck this up. "Beautiful," he murmurs, lowering his head to kiss my neck. "You're so beautiful," he breathes against my throat. "So perfect. I don't deserve this. Don't deserve you." "Yes, you do." I thread my fingers through his silky soft hair. "You deserve everything good in this world." His groan vibrates against my skin, and I feel powerful and vulnerable all at once. I pull his head back so I can see his face for the next thing I want to say. My heart hammers. "Make love to me, Dante. Make me yours." Dante stills as he stares at me. Time seems to stand still, and I can't help but notice just how impossibly handsome he is in the low light of the bedroom. Everything from the waist up is bare to me. I'm only in a bra and my leggings leave little to the imagination. But after what I just said, we might as well already be naked. I just asked him to make love to me. It's a vulnerable moment for me as Dante is the first-the only-person I want to be with. I'm ready and I know he's ready, and I also know, deep inside, that if he is okay with this, that it will be the first of many nights like this, tangled up together and basking in the glow of intimacy. If we survive this first. Dante draws in a shaky breath and runs his fingers through my loose hair once, twice, before speaking. "I'll give you everything, Sofia. Anything. How do you want it?" He drags his hands down my neck, my breasts, my stomach, leaving fire in his wake. I consider his question as I lean in and press my mouth to his, licking softly at the seam of his lips until he opens them for me. "I want you to give me everything." He moans and I catch it with my lips, devouring the sound and heat. Our tongues mingle and I revel in the now-familiar taste of him-darkness and promises and the faint hint of mint. Dante does as I ask and shifts our bodies so I'm on my back. We melt into each other, surrendering with every hitched breath, every shudder, every kiss. My breasts are heavy and sensitive with need when Dante finally shimmies down my body to remove my bra and lick and suck at my nipples. I shift my legs restlessly as he brings his thumb to brush against the pebbled peaks. Every touch stokes the heat building in my core, and Dante takes his time, lavishing each breast with attention. "Please," I whimper, tugging at the band of my leggings. Dante chuckles into my skin. "I'll take care of you," he reassures me, his voice ragged with desire. He gently bats away my hand, replacing it with his own. He slides his hand into my leggings, under my panties, and cups me. When he touches me-really touches me-I understand why people write poetry about this. Every nerve ending comes alive under his hands, and when I gasp his name, he looks at me like I've given him salvation. "Tell me to stop," he breathes against my skin. "Tell me this is wrong." Instead, I tilt my hips up, wanting more-needing more. That is all the encouragement Dante needs. Parting my legs, he dips a finger into my center and groans. "Fuck, Sofia, do you have any idea how wet you are?" I throw my head back against the pillow, a moan escaping my mouth. "More." He adds another finger, curling them both against my front walls. My hips jerk and I clutch onto the sheets on the bed. This feels so fucking good. I must have said that out loud because Dante chuckles. "This will also make you feel so fucking good," he says before he bends his head and sucks my nipples, rolling them with his tongue. It's too much. It's all too wonderfully much and my hips move without abandon, wildly moving against his hand as I thrash on the bed. "That's it, principessa," Dante croons. "Be a good girl and come for me." Like a tether, I snap and I'm free-falling, the first wave of it akin to a sudden drop in turbulent air and then resonant waves of pulsing, throbbing release. I am only half-aware of the staccato sounds I'm making, whimpery little gasps that somehow only add to my pleasure. When I finally come back to reality, I'm panting and Dante kisses me until I'm limp in his arms. Slowly, carefully, he removes his slick-coated fingers then brings them to his mouth where he cleans them in one expert swipe of his tongue. Goddamn. That's hot. I'm transfixed. Dante takes advantage of my daze and strips me of my leggings and underwear, baring me entirely to him for the first time. He sits back on his knees, his gaze hungry as he takes me in, raw desire personified. "You're beautiful," he says again. "Breathtaking." I can't stand that he's not touching me for another second. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pull him down to me, charting a path with my mouth across his scarred chest, up his neck, and finally to his lips. He kisses me back longingly, busying his hands while removing his pants and boxers. Then he's completely naked. This is, obviously, the first cock I'd ever seen in the flesh but I'm not wholly unprepared for the sight. I've read books and been to Europe. But pictures don't do justice to the experience of seeing one in person-specifically, one I've been dreaming to see. It has presence, and I'm instantly enthralled. I run my eyes over the length of him, darker slightly than the skin of his abdomen, with a pink head and a thick vein that appears to be almost throbbing. It's so goddamn beautiful. "Like what you see?" Dante asks, his voice gravelly. God, yes. "Make me come again, Dante," I tell him. "I want you." Dante swears before pulling me underneath him. He hovers over me and I lift my hips again, eager for him to make me feel full. "Fuck, you're so good," he says, dropping his forehead to mine as he slowly presses himself inside me for the first time. "Is this okay?" There's a momentary burst of pain, but I push past it. I don't want him to stop-I can't have him stop. "Keep going," I moan. He sinks deeper and deeper into me, kissing me, encouraging me, and praising me when I take all of him. He groans loudly as he thrusts in and out of me in long, gliding strokes. I run my fingernails down his back, barely grazing his bronzed skin at first, then harder as he groans with need. We are as close as two people can possibly be, but I want to be closer. Dante's hips slam against mine rhythmically and it's so good-so good. But I need more friction. I move his hand between us, urging his fingers to play with my clit. He gets the message immediately and strokes me there, gathering the wetness at my opening and applying the perfect amount of pressure. I close my eyes and let myself go, letting myself just feel. "You going to come for me again?" Dante asks. "Yes, yes. So good." Dante fastens his mouth to my neck, just below my ear and I buck against him wildly. He alternates between sucking and flicking his tongue against the tender skin there, and I'm too far gone to care that he's probably going to leave a mark. In a way, I welcome it. I want everyone to know that he is mine and I am his. I moan at the thought and Dante kisses me, his breaths coming in hard pants. His eyes are glazed with pleasure, his cheeks and chest washed with pink. The silver scars wink in the low light, and I want to run my fingertips over each one. But I'm close. So, so close. "Fuck, Sofia..." Just him saying my name sends me headlong into bliss once more, and I shatter with his name on my lips. All the tension leaves my body, and I float as if on a cloud, faintly aware of Dante calling my name as he fucks me through the last flutters of my ecstasy. The pace of his thrusts becomes hurried, frantic. I cling to his shoulders for dear life as his hips snap against mine. "Fuck, oh fuck," he grunts as he spills into me. The pulse of his cock as he fills me, sends aftershocks of delight through my core. After, wrapped in silk sheets and each other, we lie in comfortable silence. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my bare shoulder, and I feel more at peace than I have in days. "What are you thinking about?" I ask softly. "You. This. How I never thought I'd get to have something this good." His voice is quiet, contemplative. "I've spent so long believing I didn't deserve..." "Deserve what?" "Happiness. Love. A normal moment with someone who sees the best in me instead of just the worst." I press closer, offering comfort. "You deserve all of that and more." "Do I?" His arm tightens around me. "Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if I'd made different choices. If I'd been born into a different family." "But then you wouldn't be you," I point out. "And I happen to like who you are." His laugh is soft, genuine. "Even the dangerous parts?" "Especially the dangerous parts." I tilt my head up to meet his eyes. "They're what kept me alive." His expression grows more serious, thoughtful. "You know, I've never had someone say that to me before. Accept that part of me." I tilt my head, puzzled. "What do you mean?" Dante sighs. "Most people see what I do and they're either afraid or they try to pretend it doesn't exist. But you..." He traces my cheek gently. "You see all of me and you're not running." That is the dumbest thing I've heard, and I've heard a lot of stupid shit before. "Why would I run from the man who saved my life?" Something shifts in his eyes, like he's wrestling with whether to tell me something. "Sofia, there are things about my past...things I've done..." It's clear he wants to tell me but he's struggling to do so. "Do you want to tell me?" I ask gently. A long pause. Then, "Not tonight. Tonight is just us." He kisses me then, deep and desperate, rolling us so I'm beneath him again. This time is faster, harder, both of us needing to prove something. After, catching our breath, we lie tangled together. The city spreads out below us, millions of lights twinkling like stars. "We should probably," Dante starts, then sighs. "Mario. We should check in with Mario. Let him know we're not dead." "In a minute." I trace patterns on his chest, not ready to let the outside world intrude just yet. "Right now, I just want to stay here with you." He presses a kiss to the top of my head. "I'm not going anywhere." "Good." I tilt my head up to look at him. "Because after everything we've been through, I think we've earned this moment." "Definitely." His smile is soft, tender. "Though next time we do this?" His expression turns mischievous in the city lights. "Let's pick somewhere without security cameras." I follow his gaze to the corner of the room, where a tiny red light blinks. Heat floods my face as the full implications hit me. Mario-and probably his entire security team-just got a very intimate show courtesy of his surveillance system. I bury my face in Dante's chest, torn between mortification and laughter. "Probably." His chest rumbles with suppressed laughter. "Mario's paranoid about security." I lift my head to glare at him. "You're not helping." "Sorry." But he's grinning now, completely unrepentant. "Though I have to say, you don't look particularly upset about it." And he's right. I should be horrified, should be scrambling for clothes and demanding he find a way to delete the footage. Instead, I find myself laughing-a real, genuine laugh that bubbles up from somewhere deep inside. "I can't believe I just..." I gesture vaguely at the rumpled sheets, at our tangled limbs. "With cameras recording everything." "Any regrets?" His voice is carefully neutral, but I can see the uncertainty in his eyes. "About Mario having blackmail material on us for the rest of our lives?" I pretend to consider it seriously. "Mario's going to kill us," I groan. "Worth it," he says firmly, pulling me closer. And despite the cameras, despite the embarrassment, despite knowing that Mario will probably never let us live this down-I couldn't agree more. In a romance-themed observation show, several participants undergo a series of interactions and conflicts filled with love, misunderstandings, and power struggles. In the end, one couple rises to over...