Page 10 of The Dante (Those (Damn!) Texas Dantes #1)
He said nothing at first, simply taking her in. The strength of his stare made her feel naked long before the dress had fallen, and yet she didn’t move to cover herself. Athrill of vulnerability laced with anticipation coursed through her veins.
Titus’s expression remained unreadable, his gaze tracking slowly from her collarbone, down the curves of her body, lingering where he pleased before finally meeting her eyes again. Something dark and unspoken flickered there. Approval. Possession. Asilent promise of what was tocome.
“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice like a slow pour of whiskey—smooth, rich, and laced withheat.
The words sent an, unexpected pang of desire through her, simmering low in her stomach. She should hate that reaction, should reject the way her body responded so easily to him. But when he stepped closer, his fingers trailing lightly down her arm, all rational thought unraveled.
“Lie down,” he instructed, his hand skimming along her waist, then lower, over the delicate lace of her panties. “On the bed.”
Jazz swallowed hard, her pulse a frantic beat in her throat. But she obeyed. The sheets were cool against her skin as she eased onto the mattress, the world narrowing to the space between them, to the quiet intensity in Titus’s every movement.
He followed, slow and deliberate, settling between her thighs.
His large hands traced along her legs, parting them with an ease that sent another rush of heat through her.
He pressed a kiss to the inside of her knee, then another, trailing higher, his lips brushing soft, reverent paths over her skin.
Every touch, every press of his mouth, was methodical, meant to unravel her inch byinch.
By the time he reached the lace barrier between them, she was shaking, her breaths uneven.
Titus lifted his head, his eyes locking onto hers, his voice a low rasp. “Keep your eyes on me.”
Then he tore the lace away and devouredher.
Jazz gasped, her head pressing back against the pillows, fingers twisting into the sheets as Titus worked her with devastating precision. He wasn’t gentle, nor was he hurried—he was thorough, taking his time, learning her reactions, finding what made her shatter.
His tongue moved in slow, determined strokes, each flick and press drawing a shuddering breath from her. The heat of his mouth, the teasing scrape of his stubble against her inner thighs, the way he groaned against her when she whimpered—it was all too much and not enough.
A surge of pleasure tightened low in her belly, stealing the air from her lungs as she arched into him, desperate for more.
When she whimpered, he hummed against her, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through her.
One arm hooked around her thigh, keeping her open, keeping her where he wanted her, completely at his mercy.
She had never felt so exposed. So worshipped. So claimed.
The pressure built, spiraling tight, and when his fingers joined the assault, thrusting inside her with a perfect, unrelenting rhythm, she broke apart with a cry, pleasure crashing over her like a tidalwave.
Titus didn’t move immediately. He kept her there, trembling, wrung out, pressing soft kisses along her inner thighs as she caught her breath. His fingers traced idle patterns against her skin, anchoring her in the aftermath of pleasure.
He pressed a final lingering kiss just above her knee before murmuring, “You taste like sin, Jazz.” His voice was hushed, almost reverent, as if he had just indulged in something sacred.
Jazz gripped the sheets. Her mind felt hazy, floating somewhere between reality and the sensation of him still seared into her skin. She forced herself to meet his gaze, but the hunger there, simmering beneath the surface, sent another wave of warmth twisting low in her stomach.
She should say something, anything, but words failed her. Instead, she lifted a hand and let her fingers drift along his jaw, feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath her touch.
Titus caught her wrist, pressing a kiss to her palm, his breath warm against her skin. “I’m not done with you yet.”
Only when she finally lifted her head, dazed and spent, did he rise, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his gaze burning intoher.
“You’re mine, Jazz,” he said, voice rough, edged with certainty. He shed his clothes, his gaze never leaving hers. “And now, I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”
And then he was on her, pinning her to the mattress, his body a solid, unyielding force against hers. His heat surrounded her, his scent wrapping around her senses, dark and intoxicating. The weight of him pressed her into the sheets, adeliberate reminder of exactly who was in charge.
Jazz barely had time to catch her breath before his mouth was on hers—demanding, consuming, leaving no space for doubt or hesitation.
His hands explored her with slow, devastating purpose, skimming up her sides, claiming every inch of bare skin beneath his touch.
He moved as if he had all the time in the world, as if this moment belonged to him alone.
She arched against him, her body trembling from the pleasure he had already wrung from her, but Titus wasn’t finished. He slid a hand between them, guiding himself to her entrance, teasing, pressing just enough to make hergasp.
His mouth found the shell of her ear, his voice rough, edged with restraint. “Tell me you want this.”
Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her breath coming in shallow bursts. “I—”
He thrust forward, just enough to have her whimpering, desperate .
“Say it, Jazz.”
She met his gaze, drowning in the dark intensity there, and in that moment, she knew—there was no running from this. No pretending she didn’t want him the way he wantedher.
“I want this,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I want you.”