Novelas y relatos de Devil May Cry Dante

He leans in closer, his hot breath fanning my face as he looked down at me. "I think you are mistaken about something, little one. You belong to me. You were mine from the moment you clung to me desperately begging for help. But you weren't saved by some hero, a knight in shining armor who would do your bidding and just accept it when you tell him no. No darling, I'm the devil and you are mine.” With this his lips crashed down against mine.

I cried, unable to take it anymore. "I'm going to cum Dante!! I'm cumming! Fuck, I'm cumming Dante!" I cried, my hands tightening around his neck, and my hair sticking to my face. "Then cum. Let me feel your pussy clench around my cock. Milk my dick like your life depends on it," dante growled into my ears, pounding into me like a crazed animal. I whimpered, panting and breathes with need. Dante had made his point on both my mind and body I had no choice but to obey him.

He cursed under his breath. At first prince Arthur couldn't take his eyes off the red ones peering at him, it was as if he has been glued to those flaming eyes, but that spell lost it effect on him the moment he heard another growl from the massive creature laying on the floor with an arrow stuck in his heart. ‘ isn't this what they call caught between the devil and the deep blue sea?, but then no matter how beautiful the sea might appear, the devil you know is far better.’ “Ahhhhhhhh"

Hearing this, Dante seemed to change into a different person. He squinted fiercely as he subconsciously held the glass more and more tightly. Deep down in his phoenix eyes, there seemed to be surging waves. His thin lips were curled into a cold line, and the outline became sharp. At that moment, Giovanna saw that Dante was intimidating as if he had become a devil from hell that could swallow a person alive and wouldn't even spit out the bones. Giovanna trembled in her heart as she knew she had touched his tender spot.

Grayson Voss I was supposed to be in a meeting with a cartel rat who thought he could play both sides. Instead, I ended up in a club that reeked of sweat, desperation, and lies. Club Delirium. Ironically named, considering it mostly caters to men trying to forget reality with vodka and silicone. I wasn’t there for pleasure. I was there because the club owner was late on his payments. And late payments in my world meant broken bones or buried bodies.

He shifted, leaned back, legs spread wider, one boot tapping the floor with lazy rhythm. “I’m sure you’ve heard of The Devil,” he said. His voice was smooth. Deep. Too calm. It wasn’t the kind of voice that threatened you. It was the kind that made promises you knew would come true, even if they were the kind to make your skin crawl. I blinked. “Only the one from the Bible.” He chuckled. Low. Warm. Wrong. “Are you religious, Luca?” He said my name. It sounded like silk being pulled tight against my throat.

During the cold, the girl let out a loud cry, and I held her tightly against my chest. “Take them,” I barked. “Now.” We vanished into the night. Old blood and new ambition emanated from the underground temple. Hundreds of the Death Pack, which were full of cursed wolves with unnaturally bright eyes and covered in darkness, had Dante waiting at the altar. He resembled a shadowy king, sweating on his hair and having veins that were black from the dark beer he had consumed at this time. He expressed his gleeful approval, saying "You did it." “Don't act surprised.”

From up here, the city glowed like a wound—fires smoldering, broken glass glittering, and the cries of the desperate echoing into the dark. Behind her, Dante’s footsteps were measured, deliberate, like a predator stalking the silence. He had grown quieter in recent weeks, his rage contained but seething like a furnace beneath the surface. The attack two nights ago had proven what they both already knew: there was someone else moving pieces against them. Someone smarter, colder, and more patient than Lorenzo had ever been. Amara didn’t turn when Dante finally spoke. “They call him Il Diavolo,” Dante said, his voice like gravel. “The Devil. An old ghost. I thought he was buried years ago, but

I made it to the front steps before I heard… “Hold it right there.” If Antarctica had a voice, this was it. I turned slightly, and met the sight of the devil himself glowering at me. Dante had stepped out of the car, looking like a character out of a freaking fantasy novel. His top was undone by half and he had his sleeves rolled up. This guy was sin itself. He tried taking a step towards me and stumbled slightly. Dominic was by his side in an instant, reaching out. “Watch out—”

“You’re walking straight into a warzone.” Dante opened the car door. “Good. That’s where I belong.” Before climbing in, he looked once more at the bridge. The two bodies swayed gently in the wind, blood still dripping into the black water below. He whispered, almost to himself, “You wanted the Devil.” Then he got into the car. “Now you’ll have him.” The convoy roared back to life, speeding away from the bridge. Behind them, the note fluttered in the wind, the blood on it still fresh.