Tugging my lips back down into a frown, I continued, “But I won’t share them unless you’re nice.”
“Nice?” Dante asked through a laugh. “I’ll show you nice.”
It was one of those sentences that should’ve sent a little flare of anxiety through me—when my brothers had said something like that, it meant I was about to get my ass beat. But when Dante said it, with that big smile and musical laugh on the edge of his voice, it made anticipation flare in me. I wanted to push his buttons. See a reaction. See how far I could test until… something happened. What, I wasn’t really sure.
What I was not expecting, though, was for Dante’s hand to shoot out quickly and pinch my side.
To my embarrassment, I squealed. I was so ticklish the sensation went through me like an unexpected little shock, making me tense from head to toe in a delicious, horrendous way. Dante’s eyes widened—in surprise and something a little darker—and he did it again, going for my other side. I swatted at his arms.
“Stop!” I said, laughing, without any real heat behind it. “I’m ticklish!”
“I can tell.” Then both of Dante’s hands were at my side, the gentle pressure of his fingers digging into my ribs making me laugh and wriggle, trying—but not really trying—to get away.
I pushed his hands away, still laughing, and then Dante caught both my wrists in his big hands. He held them firmly, his strong fingers easily encircling my wrists, keeping my arms slightly away from my body.
Suddenly the laughter slipped away.
Something else filled the space it left in my chest. Something—tense. Tense like the slow ascension of a rollercoaster. Tense like I wanted to see where it went.
Dante kept his hands wrapped around my wrists and stepped a little closer. I was backed up against the desk, and the edge dug into my lower back. Dante watched me intensely, and his expression shifted from open and playful into something a little heavier. Curious, but serious. Focused.
I loved having that focus on me. His hands on my wrists felt so right.
Slowly, almost experimentally, he guided my hands down to the desk. Then his hands slid over mine as he curled my hands around the edge of the desk.
“Keep them there,” he said, in a voice so low it was somewhere between a whisper and a growl.
I nodded a little frantically. My brain was slowing down somehow, like I was settling into a warm, comfortable bath. It felt so good to listen to him. I didn’t know what it was, or why, but for some reason my body knew to trust him. Like something deep inside me was ready to let go, give up control to him, even when logically I knew it was a bad idea. And right now, the logical part was well on its way to being offline.
How could I push Dante away now, when it felt so fucking good already, and when he was looking at me with a gaze full of desire but also full of care?
He leaned a little closer, surrounding me. His hands fell to my hips. He didn’t grip hard but the touch felt heavy anyway. He tilted his head down, close enough that his warm breath ghosted over my lips.
“Is this okay?” he asked.
God, it was more than okay. It was all I wanted. But for some reason, it was hard to make sentences. The only way I could think to express how completely okay it was was to close the distance between us myself.
I pressed my lips against his, with surety, but not with any control. I just parted my mouth a little and hoped Dante would get the message: I wanted him to guide it.
His breath hitched a little as his hands tightened on my hips. And he did exactly what I hoped he would—he kissed me hard and filthy, fucking his tongue into my mouth like he’d been waiting to do it since the moment I arrived. The thought that maybe he’d been wanting this as badly as I did sent a rush of heat through me.
He let go of my hip, and I missed the contact until I got something even better. He raked his fingers through my hair and set his hand firmly at the back of my head, guiding the kiss the way he wanted it yet still so careful, so intentional, even in his passion.