Open The Door, Elena!

Lucia.

We paused, breathless, skin flushed, tangled in the haze of what we were doing.

There it was again… or maybe not.

A faint sound. A cry? A scream?

Dante and I froze, staring toward the passageway. But the silence that followed stretched long and undisturbed.

Maybe it had been nothing. Maybe it was the creak of old pipes or a trick of the wind curling through the hidden corridors of this house.

“I thought I heard something,” he muttered.

“So did I…” I replied, breath still uneven, chest rising and falling as I clung to him.

We hesitated. We should’ve gone to check, maybe. But we were crazed in the moment, drowning in lust, too far gone to let something vague and silent break it all apart.

Still, we stepped out into the passage, naked and quiet, just to be sure. We didn’t go far. We just stood there, listening.

Waiting.

But no sound came.

Nothing.

Silence swallowed the house again. Whatever it was, it was gone. Or hiding.

Either way… we turned slowly, the heat between us simmering still, the pull of each other not yet satisfied.

The moment the door slammed shut behind us, he was on me.

My back hit the wall hard enough to knock the air from my lungs, but I didn’t care.

Dante’s hand wrapped around my throat, not choking, just claiming.

His dominance radiated off him in waves, and I soaked it in, every inch of me wired and waiting.

“You’ve been looking at me like you wanted to be ruined,” he growled against my ear, his breath scorching hot, his massive body pressing into mine. “So say it.”

“I want to be ruined,” I whispered. That’s what I’m saying.

That was all it took.

His mouth crashed into mine, devouring. He bit down on my bottom lip until I whimpered, then licked the pain away like it turned him on.

His hands were ruthless, bunching my dress up to my hips, squeezing my ass with bruising force.

I clawed at his shirt, needing it off, needing him, bare and brutal and now.

He ripped it over his head, revealing a body that looked sculpted for sin. Ink covered his skin, muscles tensed and coiled like he was seconds away from snapping.

“Turn around,” he ordered.

I didn’t hesitate. I spun, palms flat against the cold wall, heart hammering.

One of his hands shoved my hips back into position while the other undid his belt. The sound of the buckle unfastening made my thighs clench.

“You’re soaked,” he muttered as his fingers slid between my legs. “Is this all for me?”

“All of it,” I hissed, grinding against his hand. “Stop teasing.”

He didn’t answer with words.

Just a growl and then he thrust into me in one brutal, breathtaking stroke. Not with his fingers anymore.

I cried out, the force of it shattering something inside me. He didn’t slow. His grip on my hips was savage, fingers digging in as he pounded into me, over and over.

The room filled with the raw sounds of skin slapping skin, my moans, and his ragged breaths.

“Fuck, you feel too good,” he growled, one hand sliding up my back to grab my hair.

He yanked my head back, forcing my cries up to the ceiling. “This what you needed, huh? To be used?”

“Yes, Dante, harder,” I begged, no shame in my voice. I needed to be ruined, and he was doing it beautifully.

He bent low, lips grazing my ear. “You’ll be limping tomorrow.”

And fuck, I hoped so.

His thrusts grew harder, deeper, punishing. I shattered around him, coming with a scream, my legs shaking, my body gripping him like it never wanted to let go.

He kept going, chasing his own release until he groaned my name and came, spilling inside me with a force that made him curse against my skin.

He didn’t move. Didn’t pull out. Just leaned his weight into me, forehead pressed to the back of my neck, his breath as wrecked as mine.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” I said, voice hoarse.

“I know,” he replied.

But neither of us moved.

I should’ve been done. My legs trembled, my breath came in shallow gasps, and my body was already fucked raw.

But he felt like more.

I was damn tired, but I wanted more too.

When he finally pulled out, my thighs were slick, the inside of me throbbing and clenching like it still missed him. He stepped back, chest heaving, eyes dark with something animal.

“Bed,” he said.

I went without a word, stripping what was left of my dress off on the way.

I crawled across the mattress, collapsed onto my back, and spread my legs for him like I knew what I was, needy, wrecked, starving for him.

His eyes dropped to my pussy and darkened.

“You’re fucking perfect like this,” he muttered.

Then he dropped to his knees at the foot of the bed and dragged me toward the edge.

I gasped when his mouth hit me, hot and greedy, tongue flattening against my clit, then circling it in slow, agonizing strokes.

I grabbed the sheets, head falling back, hips jerking.

He groaned like he was the one getting off, fingers digging into my thighs to keep me open as he devoured me.

“Fuck, Dante,” I moaned. “Don’t stop, don’t you fucking dare.”

He didn’t.

He sucked my clit until I was shaking, until my thighs clamped around his head and I came again, raw and broken on his tongue.

He didn’t pull away until I pushed at his head, gasping, overstimulated.

But I wasn’t done.

I sat up, grabbed his cock, hard and dripping, and dropped to my knees in front of him, still tasting myself on his lips as I licked the length of him.

He growled low, watching me like a predator as I took him into my mouth, slowly at first, then deeper, working him with my tongue, my lips, my throat.

“Fuck, Lucia,” he hissed, his hand tangling in my hair, hips jerking forward. “You suck cock like it’s a weapon.”

I hummed around him, lips stretched wide, his orgasm dripping down my chin.

When he pulled away, it was sudden, brutal.

“Face down.”

I didn’t argue.

I climbed onto all fours, ass up, cheek pressed to the sheets.

A second later, he slammed into me from behind with a force that made me cry out.

My hands clawed at the bed, grabbing fistfuls of the sheets as he fucked me hard, deep, relentless.

“Shit, shit—” I gasped, face buried in the mattress, his name a broken chant on my lips.

“Take it,” he growled, gripping my hips so tight it burned. “Fucking take it.”

Every thrust knocked the air from my lungs. My body was sore, spent, but it didn’t matter.

I wanted every filthy, punishing second. He drove into me like he was trying to fuck the memory of anyone else out of my head. And he did.

“God, Dante, yes, fuck, don’t stop—”

“You’re mine tonight,” he growled. “Every goddamn inch of you.”

When I came again, it hit like a detonation, white-hot and all-consuming. I screamed into the sheets, body convulsing, and still he kept going until he exploded inside me again, groaning so loud it rattled the walls.

He collapsed beside me, both of us soaked, panting, completely spent.

“Fuck,” I breathed, staring at the ceiling, every part of me sore and ruined.

“That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” he said.

I turned my head, eyes meeting his.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Exactly that.”

Then the scream came again. Closer now. Agonized. Familiar.

I was weak but we hurried, silent and swift through the passage, following the muffled cries. It didn't stop this time.

As we peered through the slitted opening window into the dungeon corridor, I saw her, Elena.

Rolling on the cold floor, her arms wrapped around her stomach, her face twisted in agony. The sound of her pain was unbearable.

The steel door to the dungeon was shut tight by her. Locked. Impossible to break.

I stared, frozen in disbelief, my earlier heat now replaced with a creeping chill.

What the hell had she done?