Page 112 of Made for Sinners

I wrapped my arms around her thighs, holding her in place, and devoured her like a man starved. I sucked, licked, teased until she was shaking again, her cries echoing off the concrete walls of the garage.

She came with a broken moan, her body trembling under my mouth, and I kept going until she was gasping, begging, her hands in my hair trying to pull me away.

Only then did I lift my head, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, my breathing ragged.

She looked wrecked.

Beautiful.

Mine.

I stood slowly, towering over her, and leaned in to kiss her—deep and filthy, letting her taste herself on my tongue.

She moaned into my mouth, her hands gripping my jacket, pulling me closer.

When I finally pulled back, I rested my forehead against hers, both of us breathing hard.

“I’ll get on my knees for you every damn day,” I whispered. “But don’t think for a second I won’t make you pay for it later.”

She laughed, breathless and dazed. “Looking forward to it.”

I helped her out of the car, her legs still a little shaky, and wrapped my arm around her waist as we made our way to the elevator.

The ride up was silent, but not empty.

It was full of promises.

Of revenge.

Of pleasure.

Of everything we were about to become.

And as I looked at her—flushed, radiant, still trembling from my mouth—I knew one thing with absolute certainty:

I’d burn the world for this woman.

And I’d start with Rocco.

28

EMILIA

The elevator doors slid shut behind us with a soft hiss, sealing us inside the glass box that would carry us up to the penthouse. The city lights glimmered below, a sea of gold and silver stretching out to the horizon, but I barely noticed them.

Because Dante was looking at me like he was seconds away from devouring me whole.

I was still breathless, still trembling from what he’d done to me in the garage. My legs weren’t entirely steady, and my skin still buzzed with the aftershocks of his mouth on me, his voice in my ear, the way he’d dropped to his knees like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like worship.

Like vengeance.

Like he had something to prove.

And maybe he did.

I leaned back against the elevator wall, trying to catch my breath, trying to pull myself together—but there was no point. Not when Dante was standing there, watching me with that dark, hungry gaze. His black suit was still pristine, but his tie wasloosened, his shirt collar open, and his hair was slightly mussed from my fingers.

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