When Villains Rise (Anti-Heroes in Love 2)

“I have to come, Dante, please,” I begged on a sob as I clutched his hair so hard it must have hurt, holding him so tightly to my pussy he could have suffocated.

His response was a growl I felt vibrate through to the root of my clit and up into my womb.

That was all it took.

The stars wheeling in my vision exploded into a single super nova. Every muscle in my body stiffened, contracting around the burst of energy at my core and then released. Vaguely, I was aware I let out a scream as he ate my cum up, licking and biting at my lips, not slowing or gentling, just driving me so high I thought for one blinding moment, I might actually die.

Only when I went absolutely boneless in his hands, eyes closed, head tipped up like I was drowning and gasping for breath, did Dante finally soften his ministrations. I hummed and squirmed and gasped as he tenderly licked up my swollen folds, cleaning me and soothing my ragged nerves.

When he was done, he shocked me by standing up completely with my thighs still draped over his shoulders.

“Dante,” I gasped on a little laugh as I clung to his hair while he walked us to the bed blindly, only familiarity with the room guiding him.

He dropped me onto the mattress with aplomb and watched as I bounced once, twice, before settling. I let my legs fall wide and extended my arms to him, needing his heavy weight on top of me to ground me after that intense experience.

His eyes were all black, brows lowered with lingering intensity as he crawled onto the bed and caged me with his body, rolling us both so we lay side by side, our limbs naturally tangling together like the roots of a single tree.

His hand brushed through the damp hair over my ear as we stared at each other quietly for a long time. It was peaceful. That nasty voice in my head was still beaten into submission by the intimacy between us and I relished in it. I focused on the way our damp skin connected, on the mingling of our distinctive scents into one glorious fragrance I wanted to wear every day for the rest of my life.

My fingers tangled in the silver chain of his necklace. I looked down, gently pulling the large, ornate cross up into the small space between us. It was solid silver, heavier than I would have expected, and beautifully detailed with a prone Jesus Christ nailed to its surface.

“It was my mother’s,” Dante offered in a quiet voice, his eyes distant even though he continued to stroke my hair. “Before that it was her father’s and before that his father’s and so on and so forth. There was a chapel at Pearl Hall, where I grew up, and she always spent a lot of time in there holding this cross as she kneeled on the altar. I asked her once why she did that, when I knew for a fact that she didn’t believe in God. Do you know what she said?”

I shook my head, mesmerised by his speech. It hit me that I didn’t know much about Dante’s life as Edward Davenport and I was hungry for information.

“She said she wasn’t praying while she sat there in the chapel. She was thinking about her ancestors, all the lives they’d lived and the mistakes they’d made, how it led to that very moment, to her alive and sitting there. She said thinking about life like that made her feel at peace. That no matter where she went, she had them with her, inside her. That no matter where she was going, the decisions she had made meant that Alexander and I were alive and our children would be one day too. She said it reminded her that we don’t just live for ourselves. That mostly, we live for our families. I think she found peace in that, even when her own life was horrible.”

“That’s devastatingly beautiful,” I admitted, chest aching.

“It haunts me sometimes,” he admitted with a grimace that might have been a grin. “But I wear this for her always and know she’s with me.”

“She would be proud of you,” I stated so strongly it was almost a yell in the close, intimate air between us.

I’d never known her, but I felt sure of my statement. How could a mother not see the man Dante was and rejoice?

He chuckled, the sound wafting over my lips. I stuck my tongue out slightly to taste it and found it sweet. “You remind me of her, sometimes.”

“Oh?” I asked, on the precipice on what felt like the best compliment I’d ever received.

“She was a complicated woman, too. I think she felt everything so deeply, sometimes she didn’t know how to deal with it so she blocked it out completely. It took me a long time to realize that she didn’t tell Alexander and I about the abuse and neglect, and then about Noel murdering his mistresses, because she didn’t know how to deal with it herself.”