Desire's Edge (14 page)
“I can’t believe how badly I need you. This is fucking crazy.”
Relief filled her. “It is. I don’t care.”
“Neither do I.”
He pulled her in and kissed her once more. And she swore she could feel the hard hammer of his heart in his chest, pressed so tightly to hers.
“Take me home, Dante. Now.”
He simply nodded.
It was the first command she’d given him. And might very well be the last. She didn’t care. All she wanted was to feel him inside her. To have him spank her again. To kiss her. Hold her. To do it all without any limits other than those
he
imposed on her to meet his desires, or hers.
he
imposed on her to meet his desires, or hers.
It
was
crazy. She was losing her mind, maybe. Losing herself in Dante. But she was far too lost to care.
was
crazy. She was losing her mind, maybe. Losing herself in Dante. But she was far too lost to care.
Dante could barely remember how they’d gotten to his place. He’d driven, of course. Probably far more distracted by the sharp, pulsing need for her than was entirely safe.
It wasn’t like him to take risks that involved anyone but himself. Riding his motorcycle. Some of the crazy shit he’d done with Alec on their trips together. Shark diving. Hang gliding. He shouldn’t be risking Kara’s well-being now. But he was too damn eager to be more careful. To take the time to calm down.
He didn’t think he would, anyway. Not until he had her, naked and writhing under his hands, his body. Until he’d made her come, over and over. Until he’d come himself, into her sleek, gorgeous body.
Somehow they were in the elevator in his building and he couldn’t keep his hands off her one moment longer. It had taken too damn long already, driving home, getting her out of the car. More than half-hard the whole time.
He pulled her in close, his arm going around her slender waist, pausing just long enough to take in her glossy hazel eyes. They were more silver than gold. Glowing with heat. Her skin was flushed, her cheeks pink. Her lips were red, swollen, as if he’d kissed her already the way he wanted to.
He gripped her tighter, bent his head. And pressed his lips to hers.
Ah, so damn sweet. And something wild about her. The way she returned his kiss, her arms coming around his neck and hanging on. Something different from the usual submissive women he was with. But he couldn’t think about anyone else right now.
Only Kara.
Restlessly, he untied the belt of her trench coat and slid his hands under it.
Have to get the damn clothes off.
The elevator came to a smooth stop, the bell ringing, and he pulled away from her. Fucking torture.
Taking her hand, he led her down the hall to his door, turned his key in the lock. Then they were inside, and he flipped on the light in the foyer.
He had a flash of the first time he’d taken her home with him. Going down on her against the door. The ocean taste of her on his lips.
Again
.
.
She was quiet as he tore her coat off, then his. She stood still and silent as he undressed her, revealing that silky, pale skin one piece of clothing at a time: dress, bra, the lacy thong, her high suede boots. He picked her up and carried her to the sofa—the bed was too damn far away—and she twined her arms around his neck once more, hanging on. Her body was so warm in his arms. Sweet against him. Making him hard as steel.
He laid her on the sofa, trying to be gentle when all he really wanted was to throw her down and get his hands all over her. His mouth.
Yes.
“Lie back, Kara,” he said, his voice rough. “Let me do everything. Everything . . .”
She did as he asked, her soft brown hair a little wild against the pillows. Her eyes were a metallic gleam from beneath her lowered lids. He could see that she was sinking deeper into subspace, that raw and floating head space a bottom often went into. She was so fucking responsive. So much more submissive than she knew. Yet there was an undeniable strength to her. That she’d even let him do this, take her over in this way.
But he was thinking too much.
Just touch her. Have her.
He put his hands on her thighs and she opened for him. Just spread her legs until he could see the wet pink of her pussy.
Jesus.
He couldn’t bother to undress himself. He licked his lips.
Too beautiful.
He knelt on the floor next to the sofa and bent to taste her.
She was sweet and smoky as he drew his tongue in one long stroke up her slit. He heard her sharp intake of breath. The quiet sigh as she released it. Tasted her again.
He pushed deeper between her folds, found her entrance. Moving her thighs wider, he opened her up. Spread the soft folds of her pussy lips. And pushed his tongue inside her.
Her breath was a muffled, ragged pant as he began to fuck her with his tongue. Her hips arched higher, pushing into his face, and he grasped them in both hands. Held her down. And the moment he did, she grew impossibly wetter, tried to grind down onto his mouth. But he held on, kept control of her hips.
Pleasure was searing hot, making him so damn hard he could barely stand it. Except that he
needed
this. To give her pleasure. To make her come.
needed
this. To give her pleasure. To make her come.
Soon she was gasping. But he didn’t stop. Just kept thrusting with his tongue, tasting her, deep inside. She was shaking. Moaning. He loved it that she didn’t speak, even to beg.
When he released one hip to press on the hard nub of her clit, she came apart. He didn’t know how else to describe it. Her pussy clenched around his tongue and her hips bucked, no matter how he tried to hold her. She groaned, a primal sound, deep in her throat. And the harder she came, the harder his cock grew. Hard and aching.
But he didn’t want to stop. Wanted her to come again. Needed her to. He kept at it, shifting so that his tongue was on her clit and his fingers were pressing inside her, fucking her as he’d just done with his tongue. She was gasping, breathless. He loved it.
And as he plunged inside her with his fingers, drew them out, plunged again, he sucked her clit into his mouth. Swirled his tongue over the tip.
Just need to hear her come again
.
.
He needed to taste that sweet and salty rush on his tongue.
Yes . . .
It was a driving need. Even more driving than his own desire. To feel her drowning in it. Taken under.
Soon she was coming again, calling out this time, yelling until she was hoarse. And it was fucking beautiful.
She was fucking beautiful.
Have to have her. Now
.
.
He pushed back, took in her flushed face, her gorgeous breasts, blushing as pink as her cheeks. He reached out and pinched her nipples—he couldn’t help himself—her answering groan going through him like wildfire.
“Stay right here,” he told her, getting up to grab a condom from the box on his night table.
He came back to her, stripped down as quickly as he could. She watched him, kept her gaze on his body, watched his cock as he sheathed it. Even her gaze on him was pure sex. So intense, he had to stop and stroke himself for a moment, his fingers running up and down the shaft. Pleasure was sweet and keen, sharp in his cock, his belly. Her lips parted, her tongue flicking out to lick her plush lips. And that was it—it was too much for him.
He lowered himself onto her. Or maybe he fell on her. He didn’t know. It happened too fast. Out of control as he drove right into her.
Wet and tight and too fucking good to be believed. Then he stopped thinking altogether. He thrust, over and over, driving deep. And sensation was like a blanket of thunder, pounding into him: his cock, his belly. His mind.
He was vaguely aware of Kara crying out. Of the soft texture of her breasts pressed against his chest. Of the sweetness of her skin as he sank his teeth into the tender flesh of her throat.
There was nothing but pleasure, her skin, their limbs tangled together. And the sensation mounting moment by moment. Thrust by thrust.
His cock was the center point. But it was all over him: skin and muscle and bone. When he came it was like a brilliant light pouring into him. Dazzling him. Making him call out.
“Kara!”
He couldn’t stop. He kept pumping his hips. And she rose to meet him, over and over. And then she was crying out, gasping. Sobbing his name.
“Dante . . . God, Dante . . .”
Still he moved, his hips arching, into her, into her, over and over. He was done coming, but he couldn’t get deep enough.
Close
enough.
enough.
He felt as if there was a ripping sensation in his chest, in his head. Something just opening him up. Something unfamiliar and not entirely welcome. Yet sweet. Something that was all about Kara.
His cock was still thrumming. Her body was still pulsing, holding him tight: pussy and arms and legs wrapped around him. And he understood in some distant way that he was wrapped up in her. Body. Mind. He was afraid to ask himself what else.
eight
When Dante woke it was still dark outside. A glance at the clock told him it was five in the morning. Still another hour and a half before he should get up for work.
Kara slept beside him. The light he’d left on in the foyer shone still, the tiniest bit of luminescence reaching the bedroom area of the loft. But it was enough that after a few moments he could make out her features. She was fine-boned, her cheekbones high and curved. Her mouth impossibly lush. Gorgeous. Her silky hair was draped over the pillow. He loved the texture of it. Loved the way it framed her face when she was awake. Loved the abandon in the way it was spread out now. Or during sex.
He moved his gaze lower, could make out the sensual rise and curve of her body beneath the blanket. Remembered what her body felt like under his hands.
She’d always been athletic, with this hard-toned, graceful body, even in high school. Now she had just a touch of added curves, a little more fullness. Femininity. And her face was so much the same. Prettier now, maybe. But she’d been pretty then. She still had that freshness about her. Her skin was flawless. Baby soft.
He stroked one finger along her jaw, over her cheek, and her eyes fluttered open.
“Hi.” Her voice was rough with sleep, and the smallest trace of desire, he thought. Or maybe that was wishful thinking. He was hardening again just looking at her.
Crazy.
“Hey. Sorry to wake you. I just . . . I don’t know. Wanted to touch you.”
He couldn’t believe he’d said that out loud. Maybe he was still foggy with sleep. But she smiled—he could see the gleam of her teeth in the half-dark room.
“It’s okay. I like it,” she told him. “That you want to touch me. That you woke me up. And there’s that early morning quiet I love so much.”
“Yeah. But . . .” What did he want to say to her? He didn’t know what the hell was going on with him. “I was just looking at you and thinking how much the same you look. Almost like you’re still sixteen.”
“I’m hardly sixteen anymore.”
“I know that. It’s weird, though, seeing you after all these years. I don’t know much about what’s happened with you in between. Only the basics. School. The career stuff.”
Why did it feel so important to ask her about her life? Just catching up, maybe. That didn’t explain why he
needed
to know.
needed
to know.
“Not much else has happened with me.” She paused, dragged her fingers through her long hair. “I’ve just been doing life, I guess, like everyone else. School and work. Friends. Relationships that didn’t work out.”
“And how do you think that’s affected you?”
She was quiet a moment. “My last relationship went so badly. I think it really . . . rocked me. Not that I was so madly in love with him because, looking back, I wasn’t. I think maybe . . . I had too much ego tied up in it. He was this great-looking guy, successful. Great on paper. I felt like being with him was what I
should
be doing. My parents were thrilled with him. Or the idea of him, anyway. They never actually made the time to meet him. God, I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
should
be doing. My parents were thrilled with him. Or the idea of him, anyway. They never actually made the time to meet him. God, I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
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