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She smiles a devilish smile.
She does not like those shorts, that much I can guarantee.
But she sure loves that I hate them.
“They’re dress code.”
“Not for you, they’re not.” That little furrow forms in her brow.
“What does that mean?” she says.
“Missed you,” I say, ignoring her questions and moving her hair back from her shoulders. Her hair is gorgeous, so damned long, so damned blonde. Her skin is tan, and the combination is breathtaking.“How did you sleep last night?”
Her breathing gets heavier every time I get near her like this, a trait I fucking love. The way her body responds to me.
“It would have been better if I woke up with you,” she says, and . . . is that a pout? Gone is the angry siren, and in her place is the pouty brat I could devour.
“Soon enough, fiorella.”
“What does that mean? You keep saying shit like that.” She puts her hands on my chest to push me away, angry again, but I don’t budge. God, I love how volatile her emotions are, from one extreme to the next in the blink of an eye. I’ll never be bored with this woman, that’s for sure.
I use my hands to tip her head up, her breasts in that tiny thin top brushing my chest, heaving with each breath.
“Why the fuck should I trust you, Dante? I know nothing about you.” She whispers the words, so filled with rage and fire they nearly burn my skin.
“You might not be willing to trust me, but your body does,” I say, voice lower, head moving to her ear. “It trusts me to take care of you. To please you.”
She lets out a shaky breath.
“That’s different. Anyone—"
“Don’t you finish that sentence, baby,” I say, a hand on her hip pulling her sharply into me, my teeth clamping on her ear, making her yip. I smile as I use my tongue to soothe the pain. “No one controls your body like I do, you know that. I know that. And no one has ever controlled my body the way you do, Delilah.” I know that’s important to her, those scales being even, but they aren’t.
Not in the least.
If she needed to, if she had to, Delilah could walk away and live her old life or whatever version of her new life she could dream up and never look back.
The same cannot be said for me. If she were to choose to leave, I would crumble. The need, the obsession, the draw to her would win, would take over me. There is no plan B here for me. I shift, moving until my thigh is between her legs, one hand fisted in her curls, the other on her hip.
“You don’t understand, Delilah. You fucking own me. I will do whatever I have to do to give you what you want. To help you get even, get your revenge. You want an empire, baby? I’ll build it for you, brick by brick, on the backs of those who did you wrong. You want anyone who has hurt you, hurt your family, dead? I’ll carve their names into the bullet and hand you the gun.” My lips are on hers, kissing, tasting her. Her breathing quickens, and I use the hand on her hip to move her back and forth slowly, showing her how to grind her pussy on me. There are at least two layers of fabric between us, but the heat burns through them easily.
“Dante,” she whispers when I break the kiss.
“You don’t get it. But I’ll show you. You are all I think of. Every move I make on this wicked chessboard is for you. You might not like the moves right now, might not understand them, but one day you’ll see.” The hand on her hip starts to move her faster, and she pushes down, tipping her hips back until I know her clit is getting the full brunt of the movement.
A low moan falls from her lips, and my head moves to her ear, my own breathing heavy.
“That’s it, baby. Use me. Get yourself there. This is what I’ll always be. Giving you whatever you need, helping to get anything you want. Fucking use me, Delilah,” I murmur, but she’s already doing just that, using her hands on my shoulders as leverage to continue the movement.
“Dante,” she whispers, those nails digging into my shoulders.
“I know, baby,” I say before moving to kiss her, lips and tongue and teeth clashing. Her breathing is heavy, and I’m sure she’s close, so close to coming on my leg in my office, totally fucking clothed.
A knock comes on the door, and I break the kiss, Lilah still grinding on my leg. She looks gorgeous: her eyes hooded, her lips parted, and her breaths panting. But I should have known.
She’s always so damn responsive, a ticking time bomb calibrated just for me.
She’s also so damned lost, she doesn’t hear Paulie arguing in the hall, telling Marco to just open the damn door.
