Page 111 of Merciless Billionaire's Savage Desire

“Again,” he whispered against her heat.

His hands gripped her thighs and pulled them wider apart, anchoring her in place as he pressed open-mouthed kisses to the tender skin on the inside. Kissing, licking, then dragging his teeth across her skin in short, hungry bites that made her jolt and gasp. He bit again, just enough to sting, just enough to make her body tense with need before he soothed the spot with his tongue.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured darkly, voice thick with hunger. “You like this.”

She tried to respond, but all that came out was a strangled sound—half plea, half warning.

His mouth returned to her center, tongue flicking fast and shallow, then slow and deep, building her up all over again only to pull back just as her body begged to let go. He teased her mercilessly, holding her right at the edge, then dragging her away from it—again and again, until tears welled in her eyes from the frustration and need.

“Not yet,” he growled. “You’ll cum when I say.”

She sobbed, writhing beneath him, her thighs trembling so hard they could barely stay open. Every flick of his tongue sent a fresh jolt through her, lighting up her nerves, building her higher and higher until she was nothing but sensation and fire.

And finally—when her body was flushed, slick, and shaking—he gave her no more mercy.

He sucked her clit hard, tongue flicking fast, ruthless now, his mouth locking onto her like he was trying to brand her with pleasure. Her entire body seized, her back arching, a scream torn from her throat as the orgasm ripped through her like a wave of fire, blinding and uncontrollable.

He didn’t stop until she collapsed into the pillows, boneless and wrecked, her breath ragged, her skin damp with sweat.

His breath was ragged as he lowered his head between her thighs again, his lips latching onto her clit with urgency. He didn’t tease this time—he devoured her, tongue flicking fast and hard, like he was trying to make her feel every ounce of the need clawing inside him.

A gasp broke from her lips, her body arching, but he didn’t stop. His grip on her thighs tightened, almost bruising, grounding her in place as he licked her like a man starved—like this was the only way he knew how to speak.

Then suddenly, he pulled back, his mouth leaving her aching and wet. A whimper escaped her, but before she could speak, he pressed his thumb to her clit, rubbing in deep, desperate circles.

Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glassy with unshed tears. Her chest rose in shallow, ragged breaths as his fingers continued their slow, torturous circles over her clit—never breaking rhythm, never giving her room to think.

She was drowning in sensation and the weight of his words, caught in the dizzying pull between the pleasure he gave her and the pain he had caused.

His eyes locked with hers—dark, frantic, and full of something wild. Something broken. “Marry me,” he rasped, his voice raw and tight. “Just one more chance. That’s all I want—just one more chance to love you right.”

Her breath hitched. His mouth, still wet from her, trailed kisses up her trembling body. Across her stomach, her ribs, the underside of her breasts—his lips leaving behind heat, reverence, and longing in every press.

“I’m not letting you go,” he said, the words dragged from somewhere deep in his chest. “Not now. Not ever.”

Then he leaned in closer, his body visibly trembling, torn between hope and fear. One hand still moved between her legs, slow and coaxing, while the other cupped her cheek with aching tenderness.

His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth. “I'm not that bad, am I?” His voice broke slightly, husky and hoarse, like it hurt to speak. “I promise. I won’t walk away again. Never again, Anya. Just once. Just once more. You can’t be that heartless to me.”

There was something shattered in his voice—like he was begging not just for forgiveness, but for a lifeline.

She looked up at him. The man who had wrecked her. The man she had tried to hate.

And yet… even now, she ached for him. Even now, with everything, she still wanted him.

Her lips parted, her chest heaving. The words felt heavy.

“…Alright,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over her pounding heart. “I’ll be with you again.”

For a moment, everything stopped. His breath caught. His body went still. Then a sound left his throat—half-laugh, half-sob—as if he couldn’t believe she had actually said yes.

His mouth crashed into hers—desperate, hungry—devouring her like a man who had been holding his breath for years. His tongue claiming her, his hands gripping her thighs and waist so tightly it was as if he feared she'd vanish beneath him.

Her voice was soft, breathless, but it shattered him.

He immediately untied her hands from the headboard, fingers working swiftly yet possessively, then flipped her onto her chest.

Anya whimpered, a soft, startled sound escaping her lips as she instinctively tried to shift away. But Dante was faster—his powerful arm pinned her upper body firmly against the bed, holding her captive with an iron strength. His other hand grabbed one of her legs, forcing her knee up onto the bed and spreading her open, laying bare her slick, dripping core to his hungry eyes.

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