Page 58 of Obsession & Oath

When I pull it open, Dante is standing there. His tie is loose, his jacket long discarded, and there’s something wild in his eyes.

For a long, stretched-out second, we justlookat each other.

Then—his voice, low, rough, “Tell me to leave.”

He’s giving me an out. One last chance to pretend that dance, that moment, meant nothing.

I don’t take it.

I don’t say a word.

Dante exhales sharply, then steps inside, crowding the space between us. His hands come up to cradle my face, his touch impossibly gentle despite the fact I’m certain he’s falling and falling with me.

And then?—

Then his lips are on mine, and everything elsevanishes.

How we’d gone so long without this…why I’d denied this for us for so long…re both questions I no longer have any capacity to answer.

I’m swept up in therightnessof the way we press into each other. The way his body curves around mine as I stagger back into the wall. The way our mouths just slot together…

It’s all perfect. It’s like we were designed for this.

“Tell me what you want,” his voice whispers against my mouth.

And oh. This.

This is more perfect. This is him listening to me. This is him showing me that I’m still in control. This is him telling me that my choices are all that matters.

“I want it to be you. I want it to matter.”I can’t stand the thought of another man’s hands on me.

“It matters,” he kisses me again. “It matters.”

“I want it to feel like…”You love me.

The thought threatens to choke me. It’s too soon, too complicated. And yet there’s that feeling again of falling and falling.It might be too late.

“You matter. You matter so much to me.”

It’s enough.

I respond to the kiss with more enthusiasm, snaking my arms around his neck and pulling him ever closer. My lips part, allowing him access to deepen the kiss. To explore my mouth with hungry excitement.

There’s a part of me that wants to laugh with the sheer joy of it all. The rightness of it.

He’s leading me off a cliff (we’ve already fallen off), and I’m happily following behind. Matching every kiss with my own, every lip nibble with a retaliation. I’m echoing every press of fingers against cheeks and arms and throat as he crowds me against the wall.

“You taste so sweet,” he murmurs as his hands explore my body with reckless abandon.

Warm hands, sure hands.Practicedhands. Of course, Dante knows what he’s doing. Knows how to hold me, to draw out my pleasure. The thought sends a pang of jealousy through me that I try to stifle with another kiss.

How many times has he done this? How many other women have known how to hold him back?

Suddenly, I feel nervous. Inexperienced.

He must feel my sudden hesitancy as he pulls away, concern pulling on his eyebrows.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I blurt out before he can ask.

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