his teeth, and I had half a mind to tell him to be careful. I didn’t need to go home with a few hickies to show my mom that I’d lied about where I was.
But, again, I didn’t. I couldn’t. For whatever reason, I wanted Dante to do whatever he desired, and then some. I was at his disposal, at his use, at his every beck and call and I could not be more thrilled about it.
When his hands left my wrists, I kept them above my head, letting him take the lead, as he so often did. Those hands moved down my body, cupping my breasts for only a split-second before moving down.
“Let’s get you naked,” he murmured, a dastardly smirk on his face that I both loved and wanted to shield my eyes from. A smirk like that could make your panties wet before you realized it. Couple that smirk with his face and those tattoos, and you got a panty-melting man whose confidence bordered on cockiness.
But then, that’s kind of what I loved about him. Not so much his fascination with knives or blood, but everything else. Dante was truly one of a kind.
He helped me get my shirt off first, then my bra. Next he tore off my shoes and my socks, dropping them onto the floor. The last thing that came off was my jeans and the panties under it, and he took his damned time in tugging those down, his fingers grazing my hips, then my thighs, then the sides of my legs all the way down, making me shiver.
Dante took off his shirt next, taking a moment to pause to flex, to let me see the muscles on his abdomen tighten into tiny squares. His abs were defined, but not overly large. Same with his arms. Just enough muscle to pack a punch.
Or a knife stab. Whatever. I wasn’t going to think about any of that right now. Just because he was dangerous did not mean he was a danger to me. I knew, without a doubt, that I was the last person on earth Dante would hurt. I might not agree with his methods, but the thought behind them has always been me.
Me, me, me. I still didn’t know why I was so special to him. If Mom hadn’t taken me from Dad, we might’ve grown up together, but that didn’t necessarily mean we would’ve been together together. That wasn’t how Dante saw it, though.
He took off his pants next, his blue eyes eating up my naked body in a way that felt almost intrusive. Like he couldn’t get enough of me. Like, even though everything was bared to him in this moment, he still wanted more.
Oh, I’d give him more. I’d give him everything.
When he was in nothing but his dark boxers—his dick tenting the fabric something fierce—he rolled off the bed and went to grab something in his dresser. A box of condoms, unopened and unused. All for me.
“Someday,” he whispered as he tore into the thin plastic to pry open the box, “I’m going to feel you without any barriers.”
My cheeks flushed at his directness, and my thighs squeezed together. I wanted that, too. I just wasn’t sure how to bring up a doctor’s visit to my mom.
“Now,” Dante spoke, dropping his boxers and freeing his erect length, “spread those legs and let me see you, Jaz.” He practically growled out my name, and I had to comply with his order. He watched as my legs were slow to open wide, showing him the most intimate part of me.
I wondered if I was so wet he could see it, standing there. I’d been thinking of this blasted motel room all afternoon, so if anything, my body was already revved up and raring to go.
He didn’t go to put a condom on right away. He stood there, in all of his naked glory, his cock rock hard and his chest heaving as he looked down upon me. Dante stroked himself a few times, and I watched as that thick, veiny dick twitched in what I could only call need. Its need for me, to feel my body wrapped around it like some kind of carnal, intimate hug.
It was a sight to see, and a powerful feeling to have—to know that I was the one Dante wanted, to know that he got so hard for me and me alone. Maybe he was a manwhore before, but who the hell was I