Page 107 of Made for Saints

Dante’s lips pressed against mine again softly, almost hesitantly, as if he was giving me the chance to pull away this time. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Instead, I leaned into him, my fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. His hand slid up my back, steady and grounding, while his other hand rested lightly on my hip, holding me as if I might break under the weight of his touch.

The softness of the kiss didn’t last long. It shifted, deepened, becoming something hungrier, something that stole the breath from my lungs and made my heart pound so loudly I was sure he could hear it. His teeth grazed my bottom lip, coaxing a soft gasp from me, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue brushing against mine in a way that made my knees weak.

Before I could catch my breath, Dante’s hands moved to grip my thighs, lifting me effortlessly. My legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, and I felt the solid strength of him beneath me, his body taut with restraint. My arms looped around his neck as he carried me, his lips never leaving mine, the kiss growing more feverish with every step.

I wasn’t sure how we made it to his bedroom. All I knew was the feeling of his hands on me, the heat of his body pressed against mine, and the way his lips seemed to erase every coherent thought from my mind. When he finally stopped, I realized he’d sat us down on the edge of his bed, his stronghands still gripping my thighs as I straddled him.

The room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the city lights streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The faint glow cast shadows across his sharp features, making him look even more dangerous, more untouchable. But here, in this moment, he wasn’t untouchable. He was…mine. And I was his.

His lips left mine, trailing down my jaw to the sensitive spot just below my ear. My breath hitched as his teeth grazed the skin there, his tongue soothing the faint sting before he pressed a soft kiss to the spot. “Emilia,” he murmured against my skin, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Hmm?” I managed, my fingers tightening in his hair as he continued his slow, torturous exploration of my neck.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he said between kisses, his words at odds with the way his hands gripped my hips, holding me firmly against him. “Not after everything you’ve been through tonight.”

I pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze. His dark eyes were filled with conflict, the storm in them swirling with equal parts desire and restraint. “I’m not fragile, Dante,” I said softly, my voice steadier than I felt. “I’m not going to break.”

His jaw tightened, and I could feel the tension radiating off him, the war he was waging with himself. “You’ve been through hell tonight,” he said, his fingers brushing against my cheek in a gesture so tender it made my chest ache. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

“This isn’t about proving anything,” I said, my voice firm as I cupped his face in my hands, forcing him to look at me. “This is my choice.”

The words hung heavy in the air between us, and for a moment, I thought he might argue. But then his lips crashed into mine again, fiercer this time, as if the dam inside him had finally broken. His hands gripped my hips tighter, pulling meflush against him, and I couldn’t hold back the soft moan that escaped my lips as I felt the hard length of him pressing against me.

I shifted slightly, grinding against him, and his breath hitched, his hands flexing against my hips. “Emilia,” he rasped, his voice strained. “Don’t—”

“Don’t what?” I whispered, my lips brushing against his as I moved against him again, the friction sending a jolt of heat through me.

His eyes darkened, his grip on me tightening as he let out a low growl. “Take it,” he said, his voice rough and commanding. “Take whatever you need.”

His words sent a shiver down my spine, and I didn’t hesitate. I moved against him again, my hips rolling in a slow, deliberate rhythm that had both of us breathing harder. His hands guided me, his fingers digging into my hips as if he was holding on for dear life.

His words sent a shiver down my spine, igniting something deep inside me that I didn’t know I’d been holding back. I rolled my hips against him again, savoring the way his breath hitched and his hands tightened on my waist. His control was slipping—I could feel it in the way his fingers flexed against my skin, in the way his lips moved against mine, desperate and consuming.

I wanted more. Needed more.

His hands slid up my sides, his thumbs brushing against the bare skin beneath the sweater, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. I felt exposed, vulnerable, but not in a way that scared me. With Dante, it felt different. It felt safe.

“You’re driving me crazy, princess,” he growled, his voice low and gravelly as he pulled back just enough to look at me. His dark eyes locked onto mine, and the intensity in his gaze made my breath catch. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

As his lips trailed down my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, I arched into him, my fingers tangling inhis hair. “Dante,” I breathed, my voice trembling with need. “Please.”

He pulled back slightly, his dark eyes meeting mine, filled with a mix of desire and restraint. “Tell me what you want, Emilia,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Say it.”

“I want you,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Dante’s lips trailed down my neck, his tongue flicking out to taste the sensitive skin there, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through me. I moaned softly, my hands gripping his shoulders as I swayed against him, my body begging for more.

At first, he was gentle, almost tentative, as if he was afraid I’d shatter under his fingertips. But I was not fragile and delicate; I was burning with desire, needing him to ignite me entirely. I arched into him, my hips grinding against his thigh, silently begging for more. My breath hitched when his fingers traced the curve of my waist, teasing the sensitive skin just below my ribcage. God, he was driving me insane.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust. “When I first saw you, I thought you were untouchable. Meant for saints, angels, anyone but me.” His lips brushed against my neck, his breath hot and ragged. “But now—fuck, now I know better. You’re not made for saints, are you? You’re made for sinners like me.”

His words sent a shiver down my spine, and I moaned softly, my hands gripping his shoulders as I pulled him closer. “Yes,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Show me. Show me what it means to be yours.”

His touch turned possessive, his hands rougher now, more demanding. He grabbed my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh like he couldn’t get enough of me. His lips crashed against mine in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, a fucking wildfire that left me gasping for air. I could feel the hard bulge of his cock pressed against me, and I ground against him, desperate for friction.

His hand slid between my thighs, and I whimpered as his fingers found my soaking wet pussy. He teased me, his touchmaddeningly slow, before sliding two fingers deep inside me. I cried out, my body arching off the bed as he curled his fingers, hitting that sweet spot again that had me seeing stars.

“Dante,” I moaned, my nails digging into his back. “More. Please.”

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