Chapter 49: Mine To Break And To Keep
Gianna’s POV
Dante’s hand moved faster, rougher now, veins straining as he pumped his cock with furious precision.
“You like this, don’t you?” His words came broken, ragged with lust. “You like watching me stroke it, imagining how deep I’ll fuck you with it. Look at you… writhing like my little mistress, dripping for me.”
My hips jerked against the sheets, desperate for friction. My nails dug into the mattress, body aching, writhing under the weight of his voice, his stare, the raw sound of his fist working his cock.
Every groan, every curse made the ache hotter and unbearable.
His strokes turned brutal now, hand slick with his own precum, pumping harder, faster.
“Fuck… fuck… yeah. Watch me. Look at how bad I want to sink into you…” His voice was a snarl, desperate.
Then he broke. His whole body went taut, his cock jerking violently in his fist as hot streams splashed across my stomach and thighs, marking me while his groans tore out low and savage.
“Look at you,” he hissed. “Covered in me. My seed all over your skin.”
He leaned closer, hovering over me, his breath scorching my lips. His fingers clamped around my jaw, forcing my eyes to his. “Now you know what happens when you try to make me jealous. This is what you get. This is what I do.”
Dante dragged his thumb through the mess on my stomach and smeared it higher, streaking it up my skin like a brand. His eyes were black, dangerous. “You’re marked. Don’t even think about running to another man. Don’t even think about smiling at another man. No. You’re mine to fuck. Mine to break. Mine to keep. If another bastard even breathes near you, I’ll destroy him. You’ll never belong to anyone else. Every time you feel me on your skin, remember exactly who put it there.”
Heat and shame slammed into me all at once. Sticky proof of him clung to me, his jealousy rolling off him in waves so strong it felt like a physical force pressing me into the bed.
The bathroom was hot with steam, but I was shivering. Water poured over my shoulders, tracing every place he had touched, mixing with the mess on my skin. I scrubbed harder, as if I could erase what he had done. As if I could erase what I had wanted.
Tears slid down my face, lost in the shower. My hands shook as I rubbed soap over my skin until it burned. No matter how hard I scrubbed, his scent clung to me. Branded into me.
And worse, my body remembered the way he had stroked himself, the dark look in his eyes, the sound of his voice as he came over me. “This is your punishment.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, swallowing the shame pressing over me. That act should have felt humiliating. I should have cursed him. So… why did something so filthy make me crave him even more? There was still an ache throbbing, uncontrollable, between my thighs.
I pressed my forehead to the cold tile, breathing hard, trying to keep from sobbing out loud. Finally, I shut the
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Chapter 49. Mine To Break And to Keep
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shower off and wrapped a towel around myself. I could not hide here forever.
I stepped out, hoping not to see him.
The dim light in the room made me freeze.
Dante was on the bed. Still. Barely moving.
My breath caught. Was he asleep?
I held onto the towel and tried to sneak past him into the closet. I opened a drawer of lingerie. Dante had asked a designer to carve out a space just for me, filled with designer clothes, shoes, bags, and delicate lingerie. Another mark of possession. Another cage dressed as luxury. Even the smell of the fabrics…. silk, leather, lace…. felt like him.
I pulled out a simple black set, sliding the panties on first then the lacy gown over my damp skin, the lace clinging too close. It felt indecent, like I was dressing for him even now, even after everything
My reflection in the mirror looked foreign. His, not mine. My nipples still peaked hard under the lace. I hated how my body trembled.
Slowly, I padded back into the room. Careful not to wake him, I lifted the duvet and slid in beside him.
My heart was beating rapidly as I leaned closer, telling myself I just wanted to be sure he was sleeping…. and that was when I noticed he was bare–chested. Naked except for the sheet covering his hips, the rigid line stopping just below his stomach. His skin glowed faintly in the low light, muscles relaxed but coiled even in sleep.
The scent of him hit me then, clean and musky like he had showered in one of his many rooms. It drew me deeper. It did not matter how much soap I had used in the shower, he was still there, in my lungs, under my nails, between my thighs.
Frustrated, I turned onto my side, facing him. My eyes traced the broad chest, the curve of his shoulder, the veins running down his forearm. Everything about him felt like a brand pressed into me. His lips, parted slightly, looked softer now, but his jaw was still a blade of power even at rest. He slept like a beast conserving
energy.
I had never wanted to touch myself so badly. My clit throbbed, my thighs clenched. My fingers slid down, hovering, desperate, but the thought of the sound I would make, of him waking and catching me, made my stomach twist. The humiliation would be unlike anything I had ever faced with him. It would destroy me. It
would feed him.
Letting out a huff, I forced my eyes shut. But my body refused to rest. Finally, sleep dragged me under fast. And the dream that came was darker.
My hand wrapped around his cock, heavy, hot in my palm. I stroked him, slow at first, then harder, rubbing the slick tip against the curve of my ass until it smeared across my skin. His breath burned at my ear, a low growl, his hips driving into my hand.
I whimpered, grinding back, my body begging for more. His voice rasped through the dream, filthy, possessive, saying things I could not escape. Every word made me shudder deeper, heat spiraling out of control. “Take it. Take me. Rub it on you. Feel it everywhere.” His words were a command and a curse. I could not stop. I did not
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Chapter 40 Alice to hook And Te Koop
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want to stop.
Somewhere distant, the bed shifted. A weight shifted behind me. The line between dream and waking blurred so hard untill I could not tell which was real.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
