Page 23 of Just This Once (Stone Family #2)

Taryn

T his is all too much.

Dante Moretti is all too much.

And yet there is nothing I want more than to gobble down every bite he offers me.

I am greedy.

Gluttonous.

And so damn tired of fighting it.

I dig my fingers into the soft strands of his hair and lock my feet at his back, earning a growl of approval from him. He pushes me up against the hard wooden wall, and my bottom lip stings from his teeth, but I love it. Need it.

I claw at him, any place I can get at, his neck, the slope of his shoulder, his back after I hike up his sweatshirt.

His skin is hot and tastes like salt when I skate my tongue over it, sucking on his neck.

I’ve never been particularly into vampire stories, but I suddenly want to know what his blood tastes like. Would it fill me up? Quench my thirst?

His hands are everywhere, in my hair, gripping my ass, digging into my sides. We are anything but graceful. Messy and raw, all clashing teeth and searching tongues. I can’t hear anything besides his panting breaths and my racing heart. But God, I feel everything .

The pulsing desire settling between my legs and the relief of finally giving in. It has been agony.

I feel his trembling hands and his fading self-control as he accidentally rips my shirt. I don’t care.

Because I am just as desperate.

“Fuck, duchess,” he groans, trailing his lips over my cheek and ear, rolling his hips so his hard length pushes against my clit. “I think I might come in my pants.”

“No, don’t,” I laugh, my head thumping against the wall so he can pay attention to my throat, but he doesn’t. He stops, his eyes reflecting the twinkling lights above us as he smiles.

“I love your laugh.”

Then he thrusts against me, and I close my eyes. “I’ll be laughing at you a lot if you finish before we’ve even started.”

He grunts and spins around, moving so fast I’m disoriented, so I don’t understand what’s happening when he turns me away from him.

I’ve barely found my balance or breath when he pops the button on my gray slacks, tugging the zipper down to slide his hand inside my panties.

“You should know by now…” His teeth graze my jaw. “I take fucking you very seriously.”

Then two thick fingers find and press on my clit as he wraps his other hand around my throat, forcing my back against him and tilting my mouth up, taking no prisoners. I am utterly at his mercy.

But I don’t want to be anywhere else, and I reach behind me to hold on to his hips, rocking back against his cock impatiently, earning a hiss and another scratch of his teeth. Though he can’t lose the trace of laughter in his voice. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll get there. ”

Then his mouth is on mine once again, his tongue invading me like his fingers do, pushing in, curling and thrusting.

With him wrapped around me, I don’t feel the cold November night air, but I shiver when he shoves my pants down, giving him more room to work his fingers in and out of me.

I’m a panting, delirious mess, my nipples hard points beneath my bra and shirt, and I’m clearly out of my mind, not thinking as I tear the rest of the buttons away, letting my favorite oversized shirt fall to the floor.

In some far-off part of my brain, I think I should be upset I ruined it, but I don’t care.

I don’t care about anything except the crackling fire in my belly and Dante’s breath against my ear.

He yanks the left cup of my bra down to pinch my nipple, but my ragged cry is too loud, and he slaps his hand to my mouth, rasping, “I didn’t insulate the walls, and you have the tendency to get noisy.”

“Fuck you,” I mumble under his palm, and I feel his smile against my temple.

“No, I’m fucking you. Now, come on my fingers, so I can fuck you with my cock.”

It’s a neat trick how my body responds to him, going off like a bomb, and I’m glad his hand is over my mouth to muffle my shout as I convulse under the weight of pleasure that has been building and bearing down on me for all these weeks.

I deserve a trophy for even lasting this long.

Or maybe he deserves one for bringing me to my knees.

Tearing apart my self-control with well-timed smiles and well-placed touches on my shoulder and back, ever supportive. Always a memory.

And now, here, in this tiny hideaway he made me, it is better than I remember.

I blink my eyes open to find him sucking on his wet fingers, the ones he had in me moments ago, before using those same fingers to drag my pants and underwear down to my ankles, and my skin pricks with goose bumps.

He barely spares a glance down my body before he tears off his hoodie with a rough, “Bend over. Hands on the table.”

I do as he says, but I keep my gaze over my shoulder as he quickly undoes his jeans and pulls out his erection, the tip wide and glistening. “I don’t have a condom, but I’ve been tested, and I swear to God I’ll pull out. I swear, Taryn.”

It’s completely reckless and absurd, but the words are out before I consider any other answer. “Do it.”

I brace myself with wide feet, having already waited too long. I have no chance of getting pregnant, and I trust him when he makes promises.

The voice in the way back of my mind calls me every name in the book: stupid, idiot, fool. But I don’t care.

Never in my life have I cared less about the consequences of my actions. Because there is a fire inside me, and the only thing that can put it out is Dante.

“Please,” I whimper, and he shakes his head slowly, as if he can’t believe his good luck.

“Look at this,” he whispers, almost to himself, his left hand gripping my hip so tightly I know I’ll have marks tomorrow.

Then he’s at my entrance, and he spits, a long drop of saliva hitting the seam of my ass.

He mixes it with my own arousal to coat his length, and all at once, he thrusts in, wrenching the breath from my lungs.

When I can inhale once again, I moan at the perfect fullness of him. Like he was made for me. Or I for him.

I’m not sure which or if it even matters. Only that nothing has ever felt as right as this.

He rocks back and in again, hitting me so deep, I gasp, my hands scrambling for purchase on the rough wood of the table as he mutters curses behind me.

Something about “sweet pussy” and “fucking good.” I can’t concentrate with how amazing it feels, how the intensity of our connection overpowers everything else.

All logical thought ceases, leaving only animal desire.

And suddenly, images of all those nature documentaries I used to watch with Jake flood my brain. Lionesses stripping the flesh from prey. That’s how I feel now.

Vicious.

Feral.

Like I would do anything for Dante.

Tear anything and everyone to pieces.

Even myself.

“Please, please,” I whine, pushing back against him with each of his thrusts.

And I’m so close to the precipice that all it takes is a look over my shoulder at him, with the bottom of his T-shirt between his bared teeth, lines bracketing his mouth as if he’s in pain, but I know he’s not.

There is a sheen of sweat on his flexing stomach, and he releases a soft grunt with every plunge of his cock.

My lion .

The orgasm hits me like a freight train, and I fall to the table, shuddering as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me.

I smother my sounds with Dante’s sweatshirt as his thrusts become erratic, and then, suddenly, he pulls out.

A moment later, warm ropes of liquid hit my back as his left hand settles beside me.

We both breathe heavily in the silence that feels too still after the frantic hurricane of lust that passed through here.

Eventually, the cold starts to actually be too much, and I straighten up on shaky legs.

Dante hands me a new roll of paper towels from one of the drawers he stocked for me, and I clean myself up, while he rights his clothes and picks up my ruined shirt from the floor, including each button that he pockets.

“You’ve worn this a few times,” he notes as I finish zipping up my pants.

“It’s my favorite.”

“I’ll get it fixed.”

I start to argue that it’s a few years old and not worth it—I think I found it on the clearance rack at Old Navy—but he stops me with a quiet, “Arms up.”

He puts his hoodie on me, and I bury my nose in it, soaking up the scent of him. Then he tugs me close, smoothing my hair and cupping my face. “You okay?”

I admire the angle of his cheekbones, the shape of his mouth, the scruff on his jaw. “Yeah. I’m great.”

“You sure?”

It’s unlike him to be so insecure. Normally, he’s overly confident, arrogant even, and I arch my brow at his question.

“I don’t want you to regret this in the morning.

” The ache in his voice makes me want to wrap him up and never let go.

Dante has an aura about him, a shield like mine, except his is made of laughter and smiles.

I arm myself with sarcasm and resting bitch face, while he puts on this sunshine facade every day.

And I don’t know why, but I do know there is so much more below the surface.

A man wanting to be loved. To be chosen.

“I’m not going to regret this in the morning,” I say, and his throat works on a swallow.

“Good. Because I will never regret you.” He inhales through his nose, his thumbs stroking my cheeks as his tongue drags along his bottom lip. Like what we just did is only the appetizer. “I remember you telling me over and over it would only be that one time.”

I roll my eyes. He would bring that up .

“I hope you don’t tell me now that you needed one more to get it out of your system.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, sticking my hands into the front pocket of his hoodie, refusing to admit I doubt he’ll ever be out of my system. Or if I want him to be.

Instead, I say, “You should know better than to give a girl your hoodie.”

“Why? You plan on stealing it?” When I nod, he grins. “Start a collection. I want you to.”

Then he leans down to kiss me, slow and sweet this time, his tongue teasing mine, anchoring me to earth with his playfulness. I never expected to fall for anyone. Let alone a giant golden retriever of a man. Yet, here I am, tripping over my heart.

He rolls his forehead against me, whispering, “I had to have you. I couldn’t hold back anymore.”

I agree with a soft hum. “I couldn’t either.” But reality sets in. “I should get back inside.”

He nods, brushing his nose against mine. “Of course.”

We step out of the shed, and I spend another few moments taking in what he made for me, thanking him with a quick kiss to his cheek. “You’re amazing.”

His answering smile is brighter than the moon, and he twines his fingers with mine to walk the twelve steps to my back door, where he whistles. “Long commute.”

“Yeah, but you seem able to make it over every day.”

“Damn right.” He slides his hand around my waist, drawing me in for one last searing kiss that has me leaning against the doorjamb for support when he steps back.

“Thank you for tonight. For…everything.” I gesture to the shed and then to my house.

“Anytime, duchess.” He gently drags his index finger down my jaw then tugs on the collar of his sweatshirt as if I’m the one who needs the warmth when he’s left with only a T-shirt.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I bite my bottom lip to keep from smiling too big as he pivots away from me and quietly turns to the side of the house, where his soft footsteps take him upstairs to his apartment. Only then do I finally whisper to the night sky, “See you tomorrow.”