Page 81 of Dante

I growl through clenched teeth, driving into her harder. Pressure builds at the base of my spine, my balls tightening.

Though this session was meant to be Gina’s punishment, she’s enjoying it entirely too much. She’s just moments from her own orgasm, and I want to make it good for her.

I reposition myself so that I stimulate her clit with my fingers between thrusts.

It’s a first for her, as she goes wild as she explodes.

I continue the stimulation as she arches her back to better ride through her orgasm.

When I come, it’s like nothing I’ve felt before.

My entire body jerks as pleasure rips through me, making my vision blur. My cock pulses inside her, shooting hot cum.

I groan, gripping her hips harder as the intense waves crash through me.

When I’m spent, I fall against her.

We remain like that a few moments, catching our breath. Then I lift her into my arms and carry her toward her bathroom for a well-deserved bath.

“You’re mine, Gina,” I whisper against her temple.

“And I’ll always protect what’s mine. Even from myself.”

She sighs and nestles closer.

“Good girl.”

CHAPTER 30

GINA

The Academy of Visual Arts looks more like a gothic church than an institution of higher learning.

“Here you are, Mrs. Ricci,” says Thomas, quickly parking the car so he can swing around and open my door. “I’ll stay here, waiting for your call to return.”

“Thanks,” I tell him, looking at the institution where I’ll be working on my graduate degree.

I walk toward the interior, and a pretty girl about my age emerges from one of the offices. “Gina Ricci?” she says brightly.

“That’s me.”

“Hi! I’m Chelsea Brown. Welcome to the Academy. I’m here to give you a short tour before bringing you to Professor Washington’s office. Is this your dog?”

“Yes. His name is Biscotti.”

Biscotti yips from his Vuitton carrier.

“Oh my God, he’s adorable,” Chelsea coos. “Will you be bringing him to class?”

“Am I allowed to?”

“Why not?” She shrugs. “You’re allowed to do anything until you’re told not to. That’s my rule.”

I smile as Chelsea leads me into the building. “Let’s start with my favorite room,” she says, swinging open a set of giant double doors. “This is the ballroom.”

“It’s dazzling,” I say.

“Special, right? The original owner built this place in the 1880s to feature the finest opera singers and musicians from Europe.”