Page 140 of Made for Sinners

Her eyes darkened. “Well, when you put it like that…”

The second we were in the car, she was on me.

Kissing me like she hadn’t already had me a hundred times. Like she was starving. Like I was the only thing keeping her alive.

I didn’t stop her. I couldn’t.

I shoved the seat back, grabbed her by the hips, and pulled her into my lap, her legs spreading to straddle me. Her dress bunched up around her thighs, the heat of her sinking into me as she pressed against my chest. She kissed me hard, her lips bruising, her tongue desperate, her hands threading into my hair like she needed something to hold onto or risk falling apart.

I groaned as she rolled her hips against mine, the friction almost enough to make me lose my mind. “God, you drive me insane,” I muttered against her mouth, my voice rough, raw.

She laughed, breathless, her lips brushing mine as she whispered, “Good.”

I didn’t waste another second. My hand slid between us, shoving her panties to the side. My fingers found her slick and ready, and I didn’t hold back.

She gasped, her head falling back, and I took advantage, kissing down her throat, biting at the sensitive skin there just hard enough to leave a mark. She moaned my name like a prayer, like it was the only thing she could say.

“Say it again,” I growled, slipping a finger inside her.

Her nails dug into my shoulders, her body arching into mine. “Dante—fuck?—”

I added another finger, curling them just right, and she shattered, crying out as her body trembled in my hands. Her thighs clenched around me, her nails dragging down my back through my shirt, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.

I didn’t stop. Not until she was trembling, her head falling forward, her forehead pressed against mine. Her breath was hot, erratic, her lips brushing mine as she exhaled.

“Beautiful,” I murmured, my hands gripping her hips as I held her steady. “You’re fucking beautiful.”

Her lips curled into a wicked smile, and without a word, she reached down, unzipping my pants with a deliberate slowness that made my pulse spike. She freed me, her fingers wrapping around me with enough pressure to make me groan.

“Your turn,” she whispered, her voice low, teasing.

I laughed, dark and rough, my head falling back against the seat. “You’re going to kill me.”

Her smirk turned sharper, her eyes glittering with something dangerous. “Good.”

And then she took me.

She sank down onto me, slow at first, torturous, her lips parting as she let out a breathless moan. My hands gripped her thighs, my fingers digging into her skin as she began to move, her rhythm steady, purposeful, like she wanted to ruin me.

And she did.

She rode me like she was proving a point, her body moving with a rhythm that was as punishing as it was perfect. Her nails dragged down my chest, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps as she took exactly what she wanted.

And I let her. Hell, I’d have given her anything in that moment.

My hands gripped her thighs, my fingers digging into her soft skin as I matched her movements, driving her closer, chasing the edge that was already burning through me. She was relentless, her body arching, her head falling back, and I couldn’t look away. Couldn’t think of anything but the way she moved, the way she felt, the way she fucking owned me without even trying.

When I came, it hit me like a wildfire, burning through every nerve, leaving nothing untouched. She followed, her body trembling against mine, her hands clutching at my shoulders as if I was the only thing keeping her upright.

For a long moment, neither of us moved, the only sound in the car the jagged rhythm of our breathing. Her forehead dropped to mine, her lips brushing against me as she whispered, “You’re mine, Dante.”

A sharp laugh escaped me, rough and low, as I tilted her chin up to meet my eyes. “No, Emilia,” I murmured, my voice still thick with everything she’d just done to me. “You’re mine. Don’t ever forget it.”

And as I kissed her again, slow and deep, I knew I’d spend the rest of my life making sure she never did.

“So…” she whispered, “still mad I left?”

I chuckled, brushing a hand through her hair. “You never really left.”

---