Soft lips traced a burning path down my neck, then lower, igniting every nerve along the way. My breath caught, lips parting as his touch set my skin aflame.
Strong hands wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer, while those lips closed over my nipple. Licking, teasing, worshipping. His hands then roamed lower, sliding between my thighs until they disappeared into the heat pulsing between my legs. I clung to his dark hair, fingers threading through the silky strands as he devoted himself to my body, like it was his only world.
"More," I whispered, my voice trembling with need. "I need more."
A low chuckle vibrated against my chest, his breath sending shivers that hardened my nipples even further. His mouth leaving my breast only to claim the other, his hands retreating briefly between my legs as he raised it, slick with my desire.
"Look how wet you are for me," he breathed, before spreading the slickness over my nipples, licking it away with a hunger that spoke of desperate longing. His fingers disappearing back between my legs, stroking my clit in a slow, knowing rhythm.
"Fuck, I love you," I moaned, my voice thick with want.
He spun me around and I gasped, my hands landed against the wall as he parted my legs and pulled my hips back until his hard length was pressing against my back. My body responded, grinding into him, but there was a new edge to his touch.
It was rougher. Harder. More commanding.
Pressed hard against the cold wall, my nipples brushed the paint as he grounded his hard length against my entrance. I moaned, my lips parted as his body felt heavier, much more muscular than I remembered. It was like the lean strength of Alex was replaced by something darker, more raw.
I opened my eyes, brows knitting together in confusion as his lips trailed down my shoulder and back, his hand dipping between my legs again, stealing my breath and thoughts.
"Who—" I started, but a firm hand clamped over my mouth, pulling my head back hard against broad shoulders.
Then I saw him.
The cropped hair. Those dark familiar eyes, gleaming with a dangerous grin. Rough lips, hard hands, a body sculpted by the streets.
Dante.
I tried to pull away, but he slammed me harder against the wall, filling me with one fierce, full thrust. Never knew your pussy could feel this fucking good," he growled into my ear, low. "Hold tight, beautiful."
I gasped, reaching out to scratch him, fight him, anything, but his grip was firm, pinning my wrists to the wall. My nails scraping the white paint as he drove deep and fast into me. Hard and relentless. I had no choice but to surrender, melting into the wildfire burning between us.
"Some dream you must've been having," a voice murmured above me.
My hand shot out on instinct, fingers closing around a neck and squeezing it hard, before my eyes flashed open.
Dante. Of course.
I'd never even seen a prettier sight. His face flushed red, breath caught, choking under my grip. He reacted fast, though, wrenching my wrist aside and breaking free, sending me falling back onto my seat with a thud.
While he doubled over in his seat beside me, coughing hard, one arm braced against the armrest. A steward approached. A male, this time. Older, composed, and unmistakably British. His concern immediate.
"Do you require anything, sir? Perhaps some water?"
Dante waved him off, still coughing.
"I'll take some water," I said instead.
The steward nodded and moved on.
I pulled the duvet back up around my shoulders, gripping it tightly as I tried to steady my breathing. My pulse was still racing, my mind hovering somewhere between reality and my fucking dream. Only, it wasn't a dream. It was a nightmare.
"What was that for?" he asked, his voice still rough and hoarse from the coughing.
"I heard a commotion." Sandro pushed his way in, his gaze flicking sharply between us.
The steward chose that moment to enter, my drink balanced neatly on his tray.
"Thank you," I muttered, taking the glass and swallowing a long sip before turning to Sandro. "Nothing happened. You can go back to your seat. This asshole just woke me from my sleep."
Sandro hesitated for a beat, then nodded. "If it's any consolation, Signorina, we'll be landing in thirty minutes."
I inclined my head.
"I was just about to wake you to tell you that," Dante said once they were gone. His tone light, almost amused, as if the idea itself entertained him.
"Stay away from me," I muttered, resting my aching head against the window as darkness stretched endlessly beyond the glass. I had asked for the cabin lights to be dimmed earlier, yet I still couldn't see the stars. Maybe it wasn't dark enough outside. I didn't know.
"Is the idea of marrying me really so unbearable," he said from my side, "that you'd rather see us tear each other apart? Risk the peace of the Famiglia?"
I turned toward him just in time to watch him move to the bear. He poured himself a drink, fingers undoing the first two buttons of his shirt with careless irritation. He hated this life. That much had always been obvious.
"Since when do you care about the Famiglia?" I asked, tracking the way he lifted the glass and drained it in one swallow before pouring another.
"Since my fucking brother dumped it all on me," he muttered. "I was fine on my own. Content. Now I've got all this shit to carry."
"Then don't," I said, shrugging as if it were simple. "Walk away. Relinquish everything." My gaze sharpened on him. "Give it to me."
He chuckled, taking another swig of his drink, one hand braced on his hip. The tattoos along his forearm peeked out beneath his rolled sleeves. "I would if I could," he said into the glass. "But I can't. So here we are. At an impasse."
This was...interesting.
He was admitting that this wasn't a choice. That something had him by the throat. He was forced to do this.
My mind began to move. If he was being forced, then the answer wasn't him. It was the why. My grandfather, most likely, but why Dante? Why is he so obsessed in binding me to his family, when there were dozens of others? And why New York?
There had to be something here.
And there was only one person in the world that I trust to uncover this.
"Fuck!" Dante snapped, yanking me out of my thoughts. He slammed the empty glass onto the bar, hard enough to rattle it, then stalked toward the rear cabin. "I need to fuck," he muttered, more to himself than to me.
I watched him go, unimpressed.
He was probably heading for the stewardess from earlier. The one I had restrained near the rear exit, well away from the cockpit and the cabin I've locked after the debacle. If I can't sleep there, neither will he.
The thin curtain separating the sections did little to block the moans and the grunts that followed. Sounds that were far too similar to the nightmare I had just clawed my way out of.
I shoved that thought aside immediately.
Exhaling slowly, I pulled out my phone and typed a message to Sandro.
Fire her. Make sure she never speaks about this. And sterilize the whole fucking jet. Bring in the lab techs if you have to, we may never know what these idiots are carrying.
Then I leaned back against my seat, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the ceiling as the noise grated against my nerves.
Thirty more minutes.
Just thirty more fucking minutes.