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“You didn’t go in to work today,” he says.

“Yes, I’m aware,” I snap.

“I came to take you to lunch.”

“I want to be left alone, Dante,” I say, turning away.

Before I can get very far, Dante grabs my arm and pulls me back to him, his fingers digging into my skin. I whirl around, caught in his embrace, and face him with blazing eyes.

“What is it that you want, Dante?”

Before I can continue, and before I can understand what is happening, a crushing pressure descends on my lips. Dante is kissing me. His lips seek purchase, forcing mine open until our tongues are doing a happy dance against each other. Everything inside me clenches, breathing new life into me. Dante splays a hand at my hip, holding me there possessively, and winds another through my hair, pulling my head back and peppering kisses up and down my neck.

“I need to shower,” I breathe, feeling the sweat from my workout roll against my skin.

His response is to move his lips back to me, his tongue invading my mouth and indulging in sinful pleasure. I run my hand through his hair, then let it fall to his neck, pushing him deeper into me. This man. This man is making me feel things that should be considered criminal.

He walks me backward, spread eagles my arms and pins my hands to the wall. He flutters his lips against my inner arms, worshipping my body. Like a man starved.

When he looks back up at me, on the verge of lustful collapse, his eyes hold mine for endless moments, before he pins his mouth against mine once again and inhales my soul.

He presses into my body, every ridge and muscle underneath his clothes penetrating me. I feel his hard on pressing against me, and I sigh with needy pleasure, pushing into him.

“Go have your shower,” he growls, heat emanating off every inch of his body, burning me up. “And you’d better hope I’m not still here by the time you get out, otherwise I’ll be doing more filthy things to that mouth of yours.”

I come away from the wall in a fog and start to move away. I swear I hear him curse “fuck” as I walk away and hurry to the bathroom. This will have to be the quickest shower I ever take - I don’t want to give him enough time to change his mind.

* * *

These stolenmoments with Dante are what make me happy. His lips on mine make me happy. There’s an energy surging from within me any time we’re together, even if we’re only sitting on the couch eating pizza and talking nonsense. His are the moments I look forward to. The moments I live for. And he is what makes me happy.

I am thinking about Dante when I step into the shower, and I am still thinking about him when I step out, hoping against hope that he is still here.

I wrap a towel around me and step out of the shower, into the swirling steam floating through the bathroom. Dante appears, standing in the doorway, his hands on either side of the door frame, as though trying to hold himself back. He is all muscle and strength underneath that suit that he wears so well. He has unbuttoned the jacket and his shirt spreads across his chest as though begging to be shrugged off. My towel leaves little to the imagination, riding so high up my thighs, it is almost indecent.

A lock of his beautiful black hair falls against his forehead, and there is a darkness I’ve never seen before swimming in his eyes. There is something ferocious about him, animalistic.

I don’t understand what is holding him back. I may never have been with a man before, but I know what I want. I know what I need. Everything I’ve ever wanted is standing in front of me, and I can’t stand not being with him. I can’t get close enough to him. Close enough to fuse our bodies as one. Close enough that I can literally reach out and touch his soul.

I am taking a risk here. I could be reading the signals wrong, but I don’t think I am. I push back that tiny sliver of self doubt that is invading my mind and shove it back into its box where it belongs.

I reach up and undo the towel, let it drop to the ground. Dante’s eyes were full of heat before, but now they are a raging inferno as they trail across my body. His nostrils flare. His body tightens. And he loses every last bit of resolve he has, slamming one palm against the frame like he is a judge banging his gavel, and surges toward me. He is all taut nerves as he lifts me in his arms and holds me across his chest, carrying me out of the bathroom.

He throws me on the bed, stands above me and focusses on taking in every inch of my body as he loosens his tie. He shrugs off his jacket and throws it across the room. He undoes his cuff links. He is not quick; every move slow, deliberate, measured as he continues to watch me, as though calming the beast within him.

His shirt is next - I’ve seen him without a shirt before, and even when he lay bleeding and bandaged after getting shot, he was sexy as hell. Now his shirtless body is causing an exhilarating rod of fire to course through my body.

He places one knee on the bed and folds himself over me, bringing his mouth to mine. He nips at my bottom lip…painfully. But I love it. He curls a hand around the back of my neck, his thumb stroking my skin. With his mouth still sealed to mine, I reach for his belt. He is quick to push my hand away, and I know he can feel my frown because he slows the kiss, then lifts his head to meet my eyes.

“Easy,” he says, taming me.

Even his voice, that raspy “I just wanna fuck you” bedroom voice, which reaches my ears like it is slowly melting syrup, drives me crazy. I lift my head and catch his lips, invading his mouth with my tongue. My hands travel up and down his shirtless sides, across his back to cover the mountains and valleys there, through his hair and down his arms. I want to feel every line of his real estate under the tips of my fingers. I know he likes the way my hands express themselves across his body because his breaths come quicker and he speeds up the kiss.

Dante doesn’t lay a hand on me past the kiss and a hand in my hair. Even though I’ve invaded Dante County with my hands and can’t get enough of touching him, he’s kept himself levered on his arms as he slowly feeds me his tongue. I moan into him. His breaths are quick and harried, just as affected as I am.

When he finally breaks free, I can feel the swollen crest of my lips, and it feels good.

I look up at him, wondering why he’s stopped. He takes a few deep breaths, centres himself, then curses again.