Page 42 of Merciless Billionaire's Savage Desire

Her cheeks flushed with warmth she couldn’t hide. Desperate to escape, she tried to move off the table, but he only tightened his hold on her hip and waist, keeping her in place.

“Dante—” she whispered breathlessly.

His eyes locked on hers.

Chapter 11 More, Please

Dante’s grip on her hips tightened like iron as he pushed her back hard against the cold, unforgiving surface of the table. The sharp edge pressed into the bare skin of her thighs, sending a thrilling jolt straight through her nerves. His dark eyes burned into hers, wild and hungry.

“No running,” he growled low, voice thick with command.

Her breath hitched as his mouth crashed onto hers, teeth scraping her bottom lip in a rough, claiming bite. His tongue forced inside, demanding, swirling with hers like fire and ice. She whimpered into him, fingers digging into his broad shoulders.

His hands didn’t stop at her hips. They slid up under her shirt, fingers trailing hot, possessive lines along the soft skin of her ribs, pulling her tighter against him. “You feel so fucking good,” he muttered against her mouth, his voice rough, thick with need.

Then, without warning, his mouth left hers and trailed down her neck, teeth nipping and tongue flicking over the sensitive skin until she was gasping, arching her neck to give him better access. His lips sucked hard on the pulse point just below her jaw, leaving a bruising kiss, and she shuddered at the sting.

“Dante…” she moaned, voice trembling, hands clutching at the table’s edge.

He growled, lips brushing over her collarbone before diving lower, licking slow and wet trails across the curve of her breasts, tongue flicking over the hard, begging nipple through the thin fabric of her silk shirt. His teeth scraped lightly, biting just enough to make her gasp and writhe beneath him, heat pooling low in her belly.

His hands squeezed her hips firmly, then slid between her legs, fingers pressing through the thin layers of her skirt and delicate silk, seeking the warmth already soaked with need. “Soft,” he murmured against her skin, voice thick and dark with desire.

His fingers suddenly pushed aside the thin panties, and slipped inside her slick folds, curling expertly to stroke the most sensitive spots, igniting waves of pleasure that made her cry out, her hips rising involuntarily to meet his touch.

Anya’s breath hitched. “Dante… please,” she gasped, fingers clutching the edge of the table as her body trembled.

His dark eyes flickered with hunger as he released her hips, hands moving swiftly to the buttons of her silk shirt. He peeled the delicate fabric off her, along with her bra, exposing the soft, pale skin of her chest to the cool air. His lips followed the path the shirt had left bare, trailing kisses down the smooth expanse, sucking hard over the tender skin beneath her collarbone, leaving a mark that burned deliciously.

Anya’s fingers fisted the edge of the table, trying to steady herself as his hands moved down to the waistband of her skirt. “Wait,” she whispered, but he only licked her harder, reaching beneath the fabric to unfasten the clasp. His fingers slid beneath the soft material, inching the skirt lower until it pooled around herankles, and then fell down, freeing her legs and revealing the delicate curve of her hips and thighs.

He tore his eyes from her exposed skin, his hands busy undoing the buttons of his own crisp white shirt beneath his tailored suit jacket. The jacket fell to the floor with a heavy thud, and then his shirt followed, muscles coiling beneath the fabric now freed. His tie was next — loosened and slipped off with a rough tug — leaving his neck bare and vulnerable.

His jaw was clenched, his dark eyes dragging over her like he could devour her right there.

He stepped closer, closing the last bit of distance between them.

“Turn around,” he ordered, voice low, dangerous.

Anya’s heart thundered. Her legs felt weak, but she obeyed, slowly turning so her back faced him. The cool air kissed her now-exposed skin, her skirt gone, panties damp and clinging between her thighs. As if on cue, his fingers hooked on the waistband of her panties, dragging it down her legs, and watching it fall to the ground.

And then he grabbed her waist, spun her fully around, and bent her forward over the polished surface of his office desk. The wood was cold against her chest, her palms splayed over the smooth grain as her breath caught in her throat.

Then, his large hand hooked under her thigh, lifting her right leg up and resting it on the edge of the desk, opening her wider for him.

“Good girl,” he murmured behind her, and her breath caught again.

His fingers found her again—this time with no barrier, no teasing. Just him. Raw. Demanding.

He spread her open, fingers sliding back into her wetness with a filthy sound that made her moan aloud. “So fucking soft,” he hissed, curling two fingers deep inside her.

“Dante—ah—” Her voice cracked as her hips jerked involuntarily, his fingers curling just right, pressing into the sensitive spot that made her knees buckle.

“Don’t move,” he growled.

He withdrew, only to thrust in again—faster, rougher. Over and over, until she was gasping, grinding back against him with every desperate breath. She tried to steady herself, nails digging into the wood as the sound of his fingers plunging into her filled the room, along with her own breathless cries.

“Do you know how hard it is to control myself around you?” he snarled against her neck as he leaned in, his chest pressed against her bare back, his other hand coming up to squeeze her breast. “You walk around in these tight skirts, fucking teasing me every goddamn minute of my day, looking like this—”

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