Page 50 of Merciless Billionaire's Savage Desire

Hard, desperate ones. His teeth sank into the soft flesh beneath her ear, then over the swell of her shoulder, just enough to make her gasp—and then moan—when he kissed the sting away with wet, open-mouthed licks.

His lips latched onto the base of her throat, sucking hard, leaving no part untouched. He moved with no rhythm, just hunger—pressing his mouth everywhere, kissing like he didn’t care where he ended up, as long as it was her.

He suckled on her skin like he couldn’t get enough, mouth hot and open, tongue flicking wildly before he bit down again. Her skin was flushed, wet, and glistening from his obsession. And still, he wasn’t done.

"You drive me insane," he rasped. "Look what you turn me into."

One hand gripped her jaw roughly, tilting her head for better access as he attacked her collarbone with harsh, open-mouthed kisses, his tongue sliding over her flesh between every mark he left. He growled again, drunk and rough, pulling her closer into him, holding her like he wanted to crawl under her skin and never leave.

She could feel the heat of him, the raggedness of his breath, the madness in his touch.

His hands slipped between the buttons of her blouse, tearing them apart one by one with impatient, jerky tugs until the fabric gaped open. Her chest rose and fell with every breath, and Dante didn’t wait.

He buried his face between her breasts like a man deprived for too long, letting out a guttural groan as his hands cupped both mounds with rough, possessive reverence.

“God, these,” he rasped, voice thick and strained. His thumbs dragged over her hardened peaks, watching her tremble. Then his mouth lowered—and everything else disappeared.

He licked slow, searing trails across the curve of one breast, then the other. His tongue circled each nipple in teasing laps beforehe sucked one into his mouth—hard, wet, and hungry. The heat of his mouth made her arch into him, her back taut as she gasped his name.

He switched between them without pause, sucking, licking, and biting softly—only to soothe the sting with gentle strokes of his tongue. Her hands flew to his shoulders, fingers clutching at his shirt, nails digging into his skin with every pass of his mouth.

Then, groaning in pure need, he pressed both of her breasts together, palms squeezing with forceful need, and took both swollen tips into his mouth at once.

The sight of him—his mouth wide, tongue flicking back and forth rapidly, devouring her like he couldn’t get enough—made her entire body shudder.

“Dante,” she cried out, voice cracking, head falling back as her thighs clenched around him. But he was too far gone.

His hands were everywhere. Roaming, gripping, claiming. One slid down to her skirt, pushing the soft fabric up over her hips until she was completely exposed. He didn’t stop to admire—he just needed her bare.

He reached between them and yanked down her panties with one fluid pull, dragging them down her legs and tossing them aside like they were in his way.

She barely had time to register the rush of cool air on her bare thighs before his hand caught both of her wrists and drew them behind her back. He held them there in one strong hand, restrained but secure, while the other moved to unzip his pants.

The sound of the zipper was loud in the charged air. He freed himself, thick and hard, the tip already flushed with need. Then his hand found her waist again, gripping her firmly.

“You’re going to ride me,” he said, voice hoarse with lust. “Just like this. Hands behind you. I want to watch every second of you falling apart.”

He positioned her above him, and then guided her down, inch by slow inch. She gasped—eyes wide, lips parting—as he filled her, deeper and deeper, until he was seated fully inside her and her legs trembled from the stretch.

The first roll of her hips was tentative, shaky. But Dante wasn’t patient.

“Move,” he growled, fingers tightening around her waist.

She did.

She rocked against him, slow at first, the drag of his length inside her making her cry out with every thrust. Her breathing turned ragged. Her head fell forward. But he wasn’t done.

His grip on her hips hardened, taking control. He thrust up into her in rhythm, rougher now, faster, holding her tight as she rode him with messy, erratic need. Her moans bounced around the car, and his were low, primal, hot against her skin as he whispered filth into her ear.

Again.

And again.

Each round melted into the next, the build-up turning frantic—her body clenching around him, trembling with every climax, only for him to keep going. Her skin slick with sweat, her thighs shaking uncontrollably, she could barely hold herself upright. Her wrists still pinned behind her back, her body moved only because he willed it to.

He was relentless.

A growl rumbled from his chest as he slammed up into her one final time, biting down on her shoulder to muffle his groan as he spilled deep inside her—his body shuddering beneath hers.

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