Page 19 of His Son's Ex

The new angle forces out a cry of pleasure, my body slamming against the wall as he pounds into me, each thrust sending shockwaves of rapture through my core.

“Look at you,” he groans, eyes blazing with heat. “So fucking beautiful when you’re taking my cock.”

I shatter, coming hard, completely lost to the pleasure.

But he’s not done yet.

Dante moves too fast for my dazed mind to process, his strong hands gripping my hips and lifting me before I can catch my breath.

One moment, I’m pressed against the wall, wrecked and trembling, and the next, I’m on my back, laid out beneath him, the plush hotel sofa soft against my overheated skin.

He hovers over me, one forearm braced beside my head, his broad chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. The dim light from the city skyline spills through the windows, castingshadows across the sharp angles of his face, making him look like something carved from stone.

For a second, we just look at each other.

Something shifts in the air—hot and electric. Beyond lust. Beyond need.

His hand traces my cheek, his thumb skimming my swollen bottom lip, soft and reverent, like he’s memorizing me.

I arch up, pressing my body against his, silently pleading for more. He groans, low and guttural, and slides inside me again in one smooth, controlled thrust.

His cock stretches me all over again, but this time, there’s no rush. No frantic need to chase the high.

This is something else entirely—slow, sensual, claiming.

His hips roll with precision, dragging every inch of himself along my sensitive, aching walls, hitting the perfect spot, making me arch my body for more.

I breathe his name, and he captures my lips with his, kissing me like he’s starving for my taste. I kiss him back just as desperately, fingers threading through his thick, dark hair, nails scraping his scalp, drinking in every low, husky groan he lets out.

His hands roam, mapping me, memorizing every curve, like my body was meant for him to explore.

The pleasure builds, slow and steady, like the perfect storm, until we’re both on the edge. Our fingers intertwine when he pins my hands above my head, his eyes burning into mine as he thrusts deep one final time.

I fall apart and he follows, a deep groan spilling from his lips as he says my name, his body tensing as he empties himself inside me, our foreheads pressed together.

For a moment, we just breathe one another in, our bodies still tangled.

He finally pulls out and sits up, settling me on his lap. I curl against him, my head resting on his chest as I soak in the afterglow, tingles lingering along every nerve.

We sit together for a few moments, neither of us speaking, simply enjoying the warmth and comfort of each other’s presence. Finally, Dante presses a kiss to my temple.

“You all right?” he asks, concern shining in his eyes.

I exhale a shaky laugh. “I’m better than all right.”

His gaze softens, his dark eyes still smoldering. “Good.”

Unbidden, reality creeps in—I just had mind-blowing sex with Luca’s father.

The head of the Bellacino crime family.

Dante seems to sense the shift in my mood because he cups my chin, tilting my face toward his. “Hey. No regrets.” His voice is quiet but firm, leaving no room for doubt. “You were perfect. I don’t want you second-guessing a damn thing.”

My throat tightens. I want to believe him. I want to stay in this bubble where nothing outside this room exists.

“No regrets,” I say. But part of me already wonders if that’s a lie I’ll have to live with.

To chase the thought away, I kiss him, soft and slow, a stark contrast to the desperate frenzy of before. Then I pull back and glance around the room, taking in the opulence, the towering skyline outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.