His whisper was a brand on my soul, still smoldering. I couldn’t form a thought, only a feeling—a deep, primal recognition.“You do,” I breathed into the dark, my voice a ruined, sticky thing. “Only you, Dante. You make me come.”A low, satisfied sound rumbled from his chest. It vibrated through my entire body where I was pressed against him. “Damn right.” His hand slid from my hair, down my spine, over the curve of my ass. It came to rest on my hip, his fingers pressed into the bruises he put there. Possessive. Permanent.We laid in silence for a long moment, the only sound the soft drip… drip… of our combined release still leaked from me onto the sheets. I was a hollowed-out shell, filled with nothing but the ghost of his fullness and the profound exhaustion of total surrender. I could sleep for a year.But his hand moved again.It glided over my hip, across the sticky mess on my lower belly, and down. His fingers slipped between my thighs from the front this time, a slow, deliberat
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