When Villains Rise (Anti-Heroes in Love 2)

“I’m still wet with your cum,” I admitted drily, even though a flush flared up my cheeks.

He chuckled, proud and aroused. “Good. Take off your underwear.”

I hesitated, but he didn’t rush me. He continued to weave the sports car in and out of traffic, his left hand on the wheel, the tendons in his wrist flexing, revealed by the rolled-up cuffs of his button up shirt. There was a large silver watch on his wrist, a Phillipe Patek he’d told me once had been a gift from his brother, Alexander, when they were younger, before they’d fallen out over their mother’s death. His body was too big for the car dwarfing the leather seat he sprawled in, his thick thighs cramped in the small space.

He was so beautiful, so masterfully crafted of dense muscles and big, roughly carved bones, I couldn’t look at him without feeling wet pool at my center.

I spread my legs even wider, the muscles straining in my thighs, the fabric of my skirt stretch too taught. I pulled the material up my legs so he could watch as I shimmied off the soaked panties I wore beneath it. Carefully, I removed the gun from my thigh holster, checked the safety, and put it in the glove compartment.

“Have you touched yourself to orgasm yet, bella?” he asked me in a low, sultry tone that hummed just louder than the engine.

Since my surgery, he meant. It still wowed me to think that two months ago, I hadn’t been able to orgasm at all. I was forever indebted to Dr. Taylor for fixing me physically and to Dante for helping me fix myself emotionally and mentally.

I shivered, biting my lip to keep from gasping at the shock of arousal his dirty talking sparked in me. “No.”

“Do it for me now,” he declared, his eyes still on the road, but his mouth tipped in a challenging grin. “I want to see you come all over the leather seat.”

“I don’t know if I can do it myself. I mean, without you touching me,” I confessed, but the cool air conditioning on my wet sex, still swollen from Dante’s fucking just an hour before, felt sinfully good.

It embarrassed me, but the more he fucked me, talked dirty to me, used me and taught me in equal measure about sex and sin, the more I longed for it. There was this overfull lockbox stuffed with sexuality I’d never allowed myself to explore until Dante fit his key in the lock and sent it spilling open. The more I explored, the more there was to mine.

“Touch yourself softly, just a fingertip drawing circles over your clit. Si, bella, like that,” he praised, daring to look over at my tentative display. “When I touch you, it’s rough and biting. You like being bent and formed in ways that please me, that suit my need to fuck you hard. But when you touch yourself, you do it like this. You tease those tight folds until they bloom open and your fingers slide into the wet warmth of your pussy.”

A stuttering sigh slipped passed my lips as I worked those feathering circles over my nub. My thighs were starting to strain and quiver. I wanted more. Harder, stronger, faster.

But I wanted him. I wanted Dante to be the one to please me.

There was something…difficult about doing it myself.

The pleasure was there, but there was a buzzing hum in the back of my mind like static on a television with poor reception.

“Relax, lottatrice. You don’t need to fight or strain to find this pleasure. Just ease into it like a warm bath. Close your eyes and listen to your capo’s voice. You’re going to make yourself cum for the both of us. Because I want to see your thighs clench. I want to hear your soft, keening little cries as your tight cunt clenches around your fingers. Then, when you’re finished, you and I are going to take turns licking the cum from your hand.”

“Dio mio, Dante,” I murmured, head lolling on the seat as heat built in my core, deep as burning coals. “Please, can I have more?”

“So sweet when you melt for me,” he murmured and then his hand was on my thigh, drawing circles on my bare knee in tandem with the ones I drew over my clit.

The dual sensation shouldn’t have been so impactful, both touches so light they were just a tease of sensation, but my entire body tightened around the lust emanating through my belly.

“Put one foot on the dash,” he ordered next.

It was so dirty, so wrong to splay myself open like that in the passenger seat of a car traveling breakneck down a swerving Italian road, but I didn’t hesitate.

I placed the heel of my black Jimmy Choo on the glove compartment, my knee falling against the door so my entire pussy was displayed to Dante’s gaze and anyone who might look through the window into our car.