Page 80 of Vow Of Fire

For me.

“No one’s ever come back for me before,” I whispered, gazing up at him.

I saw his jaw flex, like he was trying to hold onto the last shred of restraint he had left.

“Jesus, Ophelia. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

I blinked back tears.

“And don’t you fucking cry.”

“I’m not crying.”

“Fuck,” he growled, pulling me in, crushing my body against his until I felt every inch of his hard, taut chest. I was still reeling when his lips came down on mine.

Nothing could have prepared me for the way Dante was kissing me now. The first time had been a scathing show of dominance, a punishment. He’d wanted to make me beg. The second, when he’d crouched in front of my chair… I wasn’t sure what that had been.

But neither came close to this.

His mouth was hot and hungry, and I opened to him instantly. I felt rather than heard the growl in his throat his tongue claimed mine.

There was nothing gentle about this kiss either. It was desperate and feverish, and I loved every second of it.

I breathed him in as his hand snuck up my back and into my hair. He cupped my head and held me firm, so he could delve in again and again until I couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t think at all.

All I could do was feel.

He held me close, his other hand pressing into the small of my back, so my stomach was flush against his. I felt the hard abs underneath his shirt moving as he pressed me to him.

My breasts were pinned against his chest, aching under my top. I was on fire. Heat flowed from his mouth, through my body, coiling into a tight knot down below. I was so wet for him.

God, I wanted him.

I kissed him back with everything I had. Matching his tongue thrust for thrust, drinking him in as thirstily as he consumed me. It spurred us both on.

His right hand fisted in my hair while his left trailed over my sweatshirt, pausing at my aching breast. I trembled as he cupped it over the fabric and squeezed. Hard.

Heat unfurled low in my belly, and my knees threatened to buckle. But I wanted more. Needed to feel his hands on my bare skin.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, allowing my sweatshirt to rise up and give him access. His hand slipped underneath, just like I’d hoped. Without asking permission, he pushed up my bra. I sucked in a breath as his touch found my bare breast.

“Jesus, Ophelia. You’re killing me,” he groaned against my mouth, as he caressed my bullet-hard nipple.

I didn’t have to ask what he meant. I could feel his substantial erection digging into my lower belly, even under his jeans. He was rock hard, and judging by the sizable bulge, very well endowed. It turned me on even more knowing that was for me.

I didn’t care that he was a criminal, or that he’d used my gallery, or even that he’d once planned to kill me. The only thing that mattered was that he’d come back for me. That he was protecting me. That he wanted me as much as I wanted him.

I knew we shouldn’t. That this was a bad decision. But right now, I didn’t seem to care. The truth was, neither of us could stop it, even if we’d wanted to.

I was hopelessly aroused, and when he played with my nipple, I couldn’t help the deep, throaty moan that escaped me. He swallowed the sound, squeezing harder, fisting my hair tighter, and abusing my mouth with his own.

There was a messy, desperate edge to it, which surprised me. He was usually so controlled. I, however, had lost any semblance a long time ago. I reached between us and cupped his cock, relishing the groan he emitted.

“Fuck.”

I rubbed along the length of his shaft over his jeans, until the groan turned to a growl and his body tensed.