Bloody Heart (Brutal Birthright #4) - Sophie Lark Page 0,81
fought in a hellscape. I killed a hundred and sixty-two men, just to numb the pain of missing you. And none of it worked, not for a second. I never stopped hurting. I never stopped wondering how you could leave me, when I couldn’t let go of you even for a second.”
“I’m sor—” I try to say again.
Dante grabs my throat from behind, cutting off the words and pinning my back against his broad chest.
“I don’t want to hear you say you’re sorry,” he hisses. “You need to show me here and now how sorry you are, if you want me to believe you.”
He’s not squeezing hard, but even the tiniest bit of pressure restricts the blood flow to my brain. My head is spinning.
“Nod if you understand,” he says.
I nod my head as much as I can, with the collar of his hand around my throat.
“Say, ‘Yes, Sir,’ ” he growls.
He relaxes his grip enough for me to respond.
“Yes, Sir,” I whisper.
“Turn around.”
I turn around to face him. I’m shaking so hard I can’t even look up at his face.
“Look at me,” he orders.
Slowly I raise my eyes to his. His eyes look like pure, dark ink. His face is brutal, handsome, and terrifying.
“Take off your dress,” he says.
Without hesitation, I slip down the straps—the one that’s already broken, and the one that’s whole. The thin silver material slides down my body, puddling on the floor at my feet.
Dante’s eyes burn over my naked flesh.
“Underwear, too,” he orders.
I remember how he made me strip like this in the woods a long time ago. I don’t think tonight is going to be like that night.
I slip down my lace thong and step out of it, still wearing my heels.
Dante lets his eyes roam over my fully naked body. I can see him taking in every inch of it, maybe comparing it with the memory he’s had in his mind all these years.
Then he strides past me, into the room. He sits down on the edge of the bed. I’m about to follow after him, but he barks, “Stay there.”
I stand there naked, as he slowly unlaces his dress shoes and takes them off. Then he strips off his socks.
With his big, thick fingers, he unbuttons his dress shirt, baring the muscle of his chest. I can see he added several more tattoos since the last time I saw him shirtless.
He pulls the dress shirt off, revealing his monstrous shoulders and arms, and his torso.
Oh my fucking god . . . his body is insane. He looks like he spent every minute since I last saw him torturing himself in the gym. I think he took every bit of his aggression out on his weight set.
I feel myself getting wet.
“Now . . .” Dante says. “Get down on your hands and knees, and crawl over here.”
I don’t hesitate.
I drop to my knees and crawl across the carpet. My face burns with humiliation, but at the same time, I don’t give a fuck. I’ll do whatever he asks.
When I reach his feet, I look up at him.
Dante is unzipping his dress pants, pulling out his cock. It’s just as big as I remembered. It looks dark and swollen in this light. I can feel my mouth watering.
“Suck it,” he orders.
I take his cock in my mouth. The second I do, I taste the thin, salty fluid leaking from the tip, familiar and delicious to me. Saliva floods my mouth. I start sucking his cock ravenously.
I’m sucking his cock wildly, eagerly. I’m showing him how much I missed this cock, missed this body, and most of all missed him. I’m proving that I ached for him, longed for him, just as much as he did for me. Maybe even more.
I worship that cock. I use my hands, my lips, my tongue, my throat. It’s wet and messy and without any dignity at all. And I don’t give a fuck. All I care about is that it feels good for him. He can be my master and I’ll be his slave, if that’s what it takes to get him back again.
I can tell it’s working. Though he’s trying not to, Dante groans and thrusts his hand in my hair, pushing my head down harder on his cock. He rolls his hips, fucking the back of my throat, and I take his cock deeper than I ever have before.