Page 145 of Made for Sinners

I tilted my head back, exposing my neck, letting him take.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured, his lips brushing the words into my skin.

“I’m cold,” I lied, the words breaking apart on my tongue.

His laugh was low, dark, curling through the empty space like smoke. “Liar,” he said, his voice rough but amused. “You’re trembling because you know this is wrong.”

I swallowed hard as his hands skimmed up my thighs, deliberate and unyielding. The stained glass above us cast fractured light across his face, softening nothing. His eyes burned into mine as he leaned closer, his breath hot against my lips.

“This is a chapel,” I whispered, my voice faltering as my fingers gripped the edge of the altar.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his dark eyes blazing with something dangerous. A smirk tugged at the cornerof his mouth, sharp and unrepentant. “Then let it witness,” he said, his tone low and devastating. “Let it witness how you fall apart for me.”

My breath caught as his fingers found me, teasing and testing, his touch maddeningly precise.

“Dante,” I gasped, his name spilling from my lips like a confession.

“Say it again,” he growled, his voice rough, commanding.

“Dante—oh my God?—”

He stilled, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “No, Emilia,” he murmured, his tone dark and reverent. “Don’t you dare waste your prayers on anyone else. Not when I’m the one answering them.”

The words sent a shiver through me, and I moaned, my body arching into him as his fingers moved again, relentless and unyielding. Every stroke was a sin, every touch a reminder that I wasn’t just breaking—I was choosing to break.

“Look at me,” he ordered, his voice like gravel, his free hand gripping my thigh to hold me steady. “I want to see it. I want to watch you worship me.”

The words hit me like a lightning strike, and I shattered, my whole body trembling as his name tore from my lips. My head fell back, my nails scraping the stone, my mind going blank as wave after wave of pleasure tore through me.

When it was over, when I finally came back to myself, he was still holding me. His arms steady, his breath warm against my ear as the aftershocks left me trembling in his grasp.

“You should feel guilty,” he murmured, his lips brushing my temple. “But you don’t, do you?”

I swallowed hard, my chest heaving, unable to speak.

He pulled back, his thumb brushing over my cheek as he tilted my chin up. His gaze locked with mine, dark and unrelenting. “You don’t feel guilty,” he said softly, his voicedeadly calm, “because you know this is exactly where you belong.”

When I finally opened my eyes, he was watching me.

Not with lust.

With something else.

Something dangerous.

Something real.

“I’ll always keep you safe,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Even from yourself.”

I swallowed hard, guilt coiling in my stomach like a snake.

Because I hadn’t told him.

Because I was still planning to leave.

Not forever. Not even for long.

Just… enough.

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