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“Messy. Obedient. Fuckingmine.”
His cock pulses deep in my throat. Once. Twice. But he pulls me off just before he comes, fisting my hair and yanking me to my feet.
“I’m not done with you.”
He flips me around, presses my face to the mattress, and shoves into me with a brutal, hungry thrust that knocks the breath from my lungs. “Oh—fuck?—”
“Say my name,” he snarls against my ear, one hand wrapping tight around my throat.
“S-sir.”
“No.Say my name!”
“D-Dante—” I gasp, voice shattering.
“Louder.”
“Dante! Please—oh myGod?—”
“You feel that?” he pants, fucking me harder, deeper. “That’s how deep you are in me, Dahlia. In my head. In my goddamnsoul.”
My vision whites out. I sob as he edges me, pulling out at the last second, denying me the orgasm that’s clinging to every nerve.
“Please, please—don’t stop—Sir?—”
“Milk me with that tight little cunt all you want. You’ll still come only when I say.”
Tears sting my eyes.
He slaps my ass, grips my hip hard enough to bruise, and drives back into me. “This is the only place I’m sane. Where I find fucking peace. Inside this pussy. Insideyou. Don’t you fucking get it?”
My voice is gone. There’s only breath. Heat. Surrender.
Whimper and bracing for the storm.
And when Dante O’Driscoll breaks all over me, I come with a cry, trembling so violently he has to hold me up. His own groanfollows seconds later, low and guttural, as he spills and spills and spills inside me.
He collapses over my back. Not crushing—justthere.
His lips brush my shoulder. “You scare the shit out of me.” His voice is low, wrecked—like the truth is a blade he’s finally stopped dodging. Or a confession dragged from the ruins of a man who never meant to feel this much.
I swallow. “Why?”
“Because I’d burn the world to keep you safe,” he says, breath rough. “And I don’t know who I become when that happens.”
I twist beneath him. Cup his cheek.
“You’re not alone in this, Dante.” He dragged me into this—literally kicking and screaming. Now wild horses couldn’t drag me out.
And God help me, I don’t know if it’s because I believe in the mission… Or because I’m too far gone for the man behind the monster.
He looks at me like he wants to say something more. But he doesn’t. He just pulls me close. Wraps me up tight in his arms. And for the first time, I feel it—not just sex or surrender or strategy but something real.
Something we don’t have words for yet.
Something we both know can’t last.
Because the clock is ticking.