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"I suppose I see your point.  As always, Adelaide is trying to manipulate me."  His voice was calm enough, but I didn't trust it.
"As always," I agreed. 
"And it is a sore subject."  His eyes flashed at me and I saw the full force of what was still there, simmering under the surface.  He wasn't going to lose it, but he was still furious, and it wasn't just going to go away on its own. 
Lucky for us, I had just the thing.
I shifted restlessly, biting my lip as I stared right back.  His rage was nothing new, nor my reaction to it.   
He glared at me, and it didn't help. 
Was I turned on?
Absolutely and abundantly so.
It was twisted.  And captivating.  Irresistible. 
He saw it too, and it seemed to piss him off even more.  A flame that fed itself perpetually.  No wonder we could never get enough of each other.
"Are you done eating?" I asked him.  Neither of us had touched our food since the volatile conversation had begun. 
He pushed his plate away.  "I lost my appetite." 
My breath came faster as I pointedly pushed my own plate away, my eyes on his mean mouth.  "I didn't," I said, voice teasing, provocative.
He started cursing and I almost smiled.  It told me plainly that, though he wasn't happy about it, he was going to listen to what I'd said, absorb it, comply with it. 
Round for me. 
He pushed his chair back from the table but didn't stand.  "Come here."  His voice had changed, gone soft and warm and vaguely obscene. 
I went to him slowly, leaving my clothing behind as I moved.  This would not be the kind of sex that required foreplay, because that part was already over.  The fight had been the foreplay.  This next bit would be hell-bent, desperate, rough, quick, intoxicating, and straight to the point.
My favorite.
I reached him, and he was ready for me.  I turned around, sinking down onto him, guiding him inside of me with one greedy hand.   
He bounced me like that on his lap, both of us facing the same way.  His mouth at my neck, weaving pure sorcery, licking, sucking, biting, one hand in my hair fisting, stroking, pulling, aiming my face up at the ceiling, the other at my hip, gripping, pawing, operating in tandem with his thrusting hips to work me on his length in heavy, oscillating strokes. 
A liquid throb was beating through me.  Faster and faster, heavier and heavier.
I turned my head, felt his breath on my face, then his lips.  
I was close, so close, when three words panted out of his mouth and straight to my heart. 
With a needy cry, I came hard. 
He followed with a rough groan. 
It was some time later.  I was gathering up the clothes I'd discarded all over the dining room.  I'm not sure why it was on my mind, why I was thinking so much when I was sated and content, but it was circling there, always circling, waiting to come out. 
"Even after everything I did," I said it idly, almost casually, but that was deceptive if you knew how to read me.  Dante knew.  "You still never told me.  Didn't some part of you want to stop protecting me, even from myself, after a while?
He didn't even bother trying for casual.  His voice was low, intense, emotional enough that it ached and I with it.  "No.  No part of me has ever wanted to stop protecting you.  Even from yourself.  I only wish I'd done a better job.  I wish I could have protected you from everything." 
That hurt as much as it healed, and I found myself bracing against the table, trying to keep my balance as I reeled.  I was too conflicted about this.  So much so, I felt at war with myself.  There was anger there, oh yes, the things he'd kept from me were unacceptable and detrimental, but also there was regret, so much of it.  It nearly took me to my knees. 
But overriding all of that, the strongest urge was a pervasive softening, a tenderness for my lover who had fought, at all costs, for my freedom. 
Tenderness won for the moment, but only with brute force.  It was simple:  It was the strongest, so it won.
But I had no doubts that the others would be back to fight another day. 
Dante noticed my slip, and he lifted me onto the table, perching me there, cupping my face, and tilting it back to study me carefully. 
Silently and solemnly, I studied him back.  He was a complicated man.
Manipulative.  Ruthless.  Savage.
In his eyes was an enigmatic power over me that was exclusive to him.     
The king of all of my regrets.  The architect of every last drop of joy I'd ever tasted.   
My tormentor.  My savior. 
I looked into his eyes and saw the infinite universe, because everything I needed was in them.  It all ended and began right here, with us.  It always had.
Now if there was only some way we got to keep it.
I wondered with no small amount of trepidation whether Adelaide would ruin us this time, or if we'd do it to ourselves. 
Dante, clearly, had other things on his mind.  
He moved between my thighs, his tireless cock hard and ready again.
He fucked me on the edge of the table, my body jarring sensually, jolting and bouncing tantalizingly with each thrust, his hands anchored on my hips to keep me on the edge, poised at the perfect angle, eyes on mine to the very last. 
He only looked away for one brief moment when he came, when his spine bowed backwards, neck arching as he lunged to the end of me and held himself there.