When Villains Rise (Anti-Heroes in Love 2)

When a little local string band started to play after the sun set and the string lights were turned on over the stone walkway, Dante asked me to dance.

I stared at his offered hand, remembering how he’d asked me to dance in New York at the San Gennaro party and wondered at how far we’d come. From enemies to lovers, from rivals to a single unit locked tight with respect and adoration.

I slid my hand into his big palm and let him escort me into the empty space between the tables on the edge of the causeway and the restaurant tucked up against the cliff.

He spun me into his chest then dipped me back over his arm, smiling down into my face. “How is it that even with enemies at the gate, I feel at peace with you?”

My heart turned over in my chest as he locked our groins tight, his hand dominating the entirety of my low back as he pressed us together and led me into a series of tango steps. I followed him easily, drawn up in his gravitational pull.

“Because you and I are the same,” I said, and I meant it.

Our entire lives had led us to this moment. I caught the glint of Chiara’s cross around Dante’s neck through the opened throat of his white button-up and I knew that she’d been right, even our ancestors’ lives had brought us here.

Dancing beside the cool blue ocean on a hot winter’s night in a place that had once been the scene of a nightmare turning dance step by dance step into a dream.

“The men are watching you,” Dante growled in my ear as he extended his arm, showcasing me at the end of it as I undulated like a flame to the increased tempo of the jazzy music.

When he curled me back into his body, my back to his front, his words were hot on my neck. “They want you.”

I tipped my head back on his shoulder, rolling my hips into the bowl of his groin, finding the thickening ridge of his cock with my ass and grinding into it.

“You like them watching you,” he continued to murmur in that sensual commentary, matching me movement for movement, our dance swiftly turning from something fun and frivolously into something deeply erotic. “You like them admiring your beauty because you feel safe. You know I’d never let them have you.”

“Yes,” I panted as he placed his hands on my shoulder, gently escorting my down into a languid squat where I writhed for a moment before slowly moving upright, my body flush against the heat of his.

“I wouldn’t let them get close enough to even smell you.” His nose was in my hair, dragging in the scent of Chanel Number 5 and the lingering tang of lemons. “They don’t deserve that. They’re lucky they even get to look at you.”

“And the women?” I countered, spinning to face him, my fingers diving into the sweat-dampened hair at his nap as straddled his thigh and melted into his torso.

“Non ci sono donne.”

There are no women.

People were watching us, I could feel their eyes on my skin like needle points. I wasn’t the type for public displays of affection, but then, I hadn’t been the type to do a lot of things before Dante.

So, I gave into the impulse unfurling in my gut and kissed him.

I brought his lips down to mine with my hands in his hair and took his mouth the way he’d so often taken mine, owning him with my tongue, teeth and lips. Our chests were pressed so tightly together, our hips still swaying, that I could feel his heartbeat against my own.

His masculine scent was in my nose, all sweat, citrus, brine and man. I felt drugged by it, by the feel of his massive, powerful hands bracketing my hips, urging me harder against his thigh so the friction found my clit and set my core to throbbing.

“Are you wet for me, Lena?” he said against my damp lips. “If I moved my hand between your thighs, would you soak my fingers?”

A panting groan was my only answer before he kissed me again. I was so lost in the silken slide of his lips against mine that I didn’t notice his hand move subtly between our bodies and down my belly, his fingers curling into the fabric of my dress until they palmed my pussy.

“Hot and damp,” he concluded, nipping at my lower lip. “It’s time to go home.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “Andiamo.”

The car ride was just over an hour, but it felt infinitely longer. Dante ordered me to touch myself for him again while I slouched in the passenger seat, but he didn’t let me take off my underwear this time. The friction wasn’t enough for my aching pussy, but his grin was cruel when I begged.