Page 67 of The Mafia's Broken Vows

And her dark, desperate need for me

Chapter Twenty-One

Adele

He stands there, looking like something straight out of my fantasy, his damp hair falling like a curtain around his face. His eyes flash with unmistakable heat as he takes in the sight of me—naked and touching myself and moaning his name while surrounded by the remnants of the shattered decanter. Only there’s no shock in his eyes, no judgment. Just a calm understanding that shakes me to my core.

He gets me.

“Dante . . .” I feel a flush creep up my neck, spreading across my cheeks. He says nothing but simply holds my gaze, the intensity in his eyes pinning me in place as surely as any physical touch.

“Please,” I breathe, the word catching on a sob. “I need . . .” But I don’t even know how to finish that sentence. I don’t know how to put into words the desperate, clawing hunger inside me.

Dante takes out his earbuds and lets them fall to the floor. Then he tosses what looks like balled-up T-shirts onto one of the couches in the room. He slowly sheds his suit jacket as he takes a step toward me, then another.

Finally, he crouches low right before me and wraps a big hand around my throat. Then he rises, gently bringing me to my feet with nothing but the hand around my throat.

“Tell me, tesoro,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “Tell me what you need.”

My hands clench into fists. The scald on my palms stings with the movement, a sharp reminder of reality amidst the surreal tension of the moment. Dante’s other hand reaches out, fingers ghosting along my jaw. The touch is feather-light, barely there, but I feel it in my core. His thumb brushes over my bottom lip, and I can’t help the small sigh that escapes me.

In one fluid motion, he grips the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair. It’s not painful, but it’s firm and assertive. He tilts my head back, forcing me to look up at him. Our faces are inches apart, and his breath is hot against my skin.

“Talk to me, Addy,” he murmurs.

I want to speak, to explain, to apologize about tonight—but the words stick in my throat. Instead, I lean into his touch, seeking more contact. My hands finally uncurl, and I reach up to touch his face.

Dante catches my wrist before I can cup his jaw, then turns my palm up, examining the red raw skin. His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek.

“What have you done to yourself?” he asks, his tone unreadable.

I open my mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a choked sob. The tears I thought had run dry well up again, spilling over onto my cheeks. Dante releases my wrist, his hand coming up to cup my face. His thumb brushes away my tears, the gesture achingly tender.

The contrast between his gentle touches and the power emanating from him is intoxicating. I sway on my feet, lightheaded from a combination of grief and sheer want. Dante steadies me against him, his hand leaving my throat to wrap around my waist. The feel of his clothed body against my bare skin is electrifying, and I press closer, seeking more contact.

He allows it for a moment before pushing me back gently. “Words, Addy.”

The loss of contact is almost a physical pain, and I can’t suppress the whimper that escapes me as my body sways toward him again, drawn like a magnet. This time, Dante doesn’t stop me.

I start to rub against him, moaning at the heady feeling of the hard planes of his muscles, loving the way his shirt buttons catch my nipples and his steely erection pushes against my stomach.

Dante’s pupils swell at the sight and sound of my desire. The intensity of his gaze is almost too much to bear. I feel exposed and vulnerable—not just because I’m naked. It’s as if he can see right through me, past all my defenses, to the darkest, most hidden parts of myself.

His free hand comes up to tangle in my hair again, tugging hard. The pain sends a jolt of pleasure through me.

“Tell me what you need, Addy. Now.”

I shudder at his words, at the feel of his breath against my skin. What do I need? The answer is simple and terrifying all at once.

“You,” I whisper. “A lot of you.”

He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching mine. Whatever he sees there must satisfy him because the last vestiges of his control seem to snap.

In one swift movement, Dante carries me across the room until he’s pressing me against the wall of mirrors. The cool surface is a shock against my overheated skin, making me gasp and arch into him.

He takes my mouth, swallowing my gasp. And then I feel his desperation for me too. It’s in the way his mouth hovers over mine, the way he hungrily seeks out my tongue, the way he waits for me to exhale and then takes in my breath.

The guilt, grief, and confusion all fade into the background, overshadowed by the sheer force of our desire. His callused fingers leave a trail of fire as they stroke down my torso, following the dip of my waist to the flare of my hip.

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