Page 81 of Of Lies and Shadows

“Fuck, you taste so sweet when you’re desperate,” he growls, fingers slipping inside me, curling just right.

I arch off the wall, shameless now, chasing his mouth, his touch, and the dizzying heat he builds inside me.

“Dante—”

“You’re gonna come for me,” he says darkly. “You came here needing me—now take what you wanted. Be my good girl, and come on my tongue.”

I unravel with a cry, clenching around his fingers, gasping his name like a prayer.

Before I can move, he lifts me into his arms again, effortlessly, like I belong there. Like I’m his. He walks across the room and lays me gently on the bed. The towel around his hips falls away as he follows.

I can’t stop staring. He’s…big. Thick and hard and all man. Every nerve in my body is lit with anticipation and fear and want.

“You sure?” he asks, his voice hoarse and stripped bare.

“Yes,” I whisper. “I came here for this. For you.”

His body covers mine like a shield, one arm braced beside my head, the other cradling my thigh as he settlesbetween my legs. He kisses me, slow and deep, his tongue coaxing mine in a rhythm that turns my bones to liquid. His hand slides over my waist, my hip, then dips between my thighs, finding the proof of how ready I am.

“You’re soaked.” He groans, rubbing slow circles against my clit. “Sweet girl’s hungry for it.”

I moan, my hips lifting to meet his hand.

He slips one thick finger inside, then another, preparing me with gentle, patient strokes.

“You’re tight,” he breathes out. “Still so untouched.” He leans in, brushing his lips against mine. “I’ll go slow this time. I swear.”

And then, slowly, he starts to push in.

I gasp, gripping his shoulders as he stretches me inch by thick, aching inch.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice raw. “I’ve got you. Stay with me.”

His hips press flush to mine, and I feel full in a way that steals my breath. My body adjusts around him, warmth blooming between my legs as the pain ebbs and pleasure takes root.

He begins to move with slow, reverent strokes that make my toes curl. But hunger creeps in, his control fraying as the rhythm builds. Faster now. Harder.

“You feel so fucking good.” He sighs into my neck. “So tight. So mine.”

His hand finds mine, fingers lacing above my head, and the intimacy of it makes my heart stutter.

His mouth finds my breast, my jaw, my lips—again and again, like he can’t stop tasting me.

“You’re taking me so well, Francesca. My good girl.”

I moan for him, rising to meet each thrust, gasping his name with every ragged breath.

When he slams into me deeper, harder, I feel it again—that sweet spiral, tight and trembling low in my belly.

“I can’t. Dante?—”

“Yes, you can,” he growls. “Come for me. Let me feel you fall apart again.”

And I do.

“Mine,” he snarls, his voice breaking. “Every time you come—mine.”

I shatter around him, crying out as he groans and thrusts deep one last time, spilling inside me with a ragged curse.

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