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Don’t look back, Addy. Please.
After what feels like hours of battling with common sense, compulsion wins out, and I turn back, my eyes seeking out Dante.
He’s stepped out of the SUV and is leaning against the side of it, all coiled tension and barely restrained power. A cigarette glows between his fingers, the tip a bright ember in the darkness.
The thought of leaving like this, of never seeing Dante again, is unbearable. Before I realize it, I’m walking back to him.
Dante goes statue-still as I approach, but his eyes, much like a predator’s, track my every move.
“What do you want, Addy?” He bites out, his baritone rougher than usual.
“I hate it when you smoke,” I blurt.
His lips twitch with a ghost of a smile. “Is that what you came back here to tell me?”
“Yes,” I lie, my heart pounding against my ribs.
Dante holds my gaze for a long moment, then tosses the cigarette to the ground and slowly crushes it beneath his shoe.
“Done. You can leave now.” He nods toward the plane, his message clear.
But I can’t move. I can’t tear my eyes away from him. I stand there, drinking in the sight of him, committing every detail to memory.
After what feels like an eternity, Dante moves. In one fluid motion, he uncoils and pushes off the car, grabs my bag, and tosses it to the ground.
Then he pulls me roughly against him, and his mouth crashes down on mine in a kiss that sears me to my bones.
Chapter Eight
Adele
Dante crushes me against the car, his mouth devouring mine with a desperation that matches mine. The kiss is savage and electric, sending lightning bolts straight to my core.
His hands tangle in my hair as he tilts my head back to deepen the kiss, and I moan, arching into him.
It’s been so long, too long, and pent-up desire explodes between us.
His tongue traces the contour of my lower lip, demanding entry, and I open for him with a whispered curse. And then he invades my mouth, exploring every inch of me like he’s been starved for a decade. And maybe he has. Maybe I have too. The years apart melt away as our bodies collide in a frenzy.
His scent—musk and sandalwood—teases me, and I lose my breath, trying to suck in more of it. My fingers clutch at his shoulders, digging into the fabric of his jacket. I can feel the hard planes of his body, the restrained strength beneath the surface, and it sends another thrill through me.
Dante’s hands roam, skimming over my hips, my thighs, pulling me tight against him. I whimper as he grinds his arousal into my soft belly. Then he pulls back, his eyes dark with desire and growls low in his throat. “Fuck, I missed the way you taste.”
My response is a breathless laugh. “Did you really?”
He only licks his lips, and then his mouth claims mine again. This time, the kiss is deeper, wilder. Our teeth click together, our tongues falling back to our old rhythm, only it’s harder and more urgent.
His cock twitches against my lower belly, and I know I’d die if I don’t feel that solid length inside me again. He groans into my mouth as his hands grip my hips, and then he starts to slowly grind me against his cock.
Goosebumps cover my skin. I love it when Dante does that with my hips—uses me for his pleasure. Still driving me insane with his mouth, his hand slips beneath the hem of my skirt, then goes straight for the jagged scar on my right hip and starts to stroke it in slow, perfect arcs.
“Jesus. Dante. Please.” I sigh against his mouth.
He knows how sensitive I am over that knot of wrinkled skin and what would happen if he touched me like that. Dante is telling me he’s not messing around.
He wants me now. Here.
Mindless with lust, I tug at his jacket. With a roll of his shoulders, he shrugs it off and then tosses it on the ground. Then his hand slides under my shirt, stroking my belly and waist, and I shiver at the feel of his calluses.
