Page 190 of Anti-Heroes in Love Duet
“Non ci sono donne.”
There are no women.
People were watching us. I could feel their eyes on my skin like needle points. I wasn’t the type for public displays of affection, but then, I hadn’t been the type to do a lot of things before Dante.
So, I gave in to the impulse unfurling in my gut and kissed him.
I brought his mouth down to mine with my hands in his hair and took it the way he’d so often taken mine, owning him with my tongue, teeth, and lips. Our chests were pressed so tightly together, our hips still swaying, that I could feel his heartbeat against my own.
His masculine scent was in my nose, all sweat, citrus, brine, and man. I felt drugged by it, by the feel of his massive, powerful hands bracketing my hips, urging me harder against his thigh so the friction found my clit and set my core to throbbing.
“Are you wet for me, Lena?” he said against my damp lips. “If I moved my hand between your thighs, would you soak my fingers?”
A panting groan was my only answer before he kissed me again. I was so lost in the silken slide of his lips against mine that I didn’t notice his hand move subtly between our bodies and down my belly, his fingers curling into the fabric of my dress until they palmed my pussy.
“Hot and damp,” he concluded, nipping at my lower lip. “It’s time to go home.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “Andiamo.”
The car ride was just over an hour, but it felt infinitely longer. Dante ordered me to touch myself for him again while I slouched in the passenger seat, but he didn’t let me take off my underwear this time. The friction wasn’t enough for my aching pussy, but his grin was cruel when I begged.
He liked to see me on the edge, needy and wanton for him.
When we finally reachedVilla Rosa, he didn’t lead me inside.
Instead, when I got out of the car, he tugged me off balance and scooped me up over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
“Dante,” I protested, hitting him on the back. “Let me go!”
He ignored me, striding around the house to the back yard and straight to the lemon grove. His face was almost severe with desire when he finally put me down at the edge of the trees between the fruit and the hanging laundry.
“I wanted to take you here yesterday. Lay you down and bury myself inside you until everything else faded away,” he told me as he studied the hanging clothes, then pulled a white sheet from the line and ripped a long strip from the end of it.
Only the bright moon and the light spilling from the house lined his features in silver and gold, his eyes twin pools of black darker even than the night sky. He wound the fabric around his hands and snapped it taut as he approached me.
“Hands up,bella mia,” he ordered sinuously.
I didn’t hesitate.
I was still hypnotized by the pulse of lustful music between us, by the rhythm that had been set between our two bodies. I actually ached for him to touch me again.
Dante’s smile glinted menacingly in the low light as he crossed my wrists and tied them in a complicated knot to the wooden trellis that supported the trees sloping down the steep mountainside.
Briefly, anxiety flared through me. Christopher had tied me down a few times, and it was almost impossible to forget those memories. But I resolved to replace them with stronger, positive ones just as Dante and I had done in Sorrento.
“Che coraggio,” he murmured for the second time that night as he stepped back to study me.
What courage.
Warmed through with his praise, already wet and pulsating, I demanded, “Touch me.”
“Like this?” he teased, stepping forward to run his hand down the middle of my chest, following the plunging neckline of the designer dress.
“Di più,” I ordered, glaring at him.
Harder.
He gently tweaked my nipples through the fabric. “Va bene cosi?”
