Novelas y relatos de In The Hand Of Dante Book

“To become human, you must have sex with many humans and drain their energy. This will make you human… and stop you from drinking human blood.” I froze. My stomach clenched so hard I almost dropped the book. What the hell was this? I turned it to the front page, but before I could finish reading, a voice thundered through the room. “What the hell are you doing here!” My body jerked. The book slipped from my fingers but he was faster. Mr. Dante’s hand shot out and snatched it midair, the veins in his forearm tightening. His jaw was locked, and his blue eyes burned into me, sharp and furious.

Chapter 121 Dante got home at four-fifty-three with replacement eggs, a hand that had developed opinions about being a hand, and the particular exhaustion of someone who had managed a significant amount of human complexity before five o'clock on a Tuesday. He set the groceries on the counter with careful efficiency, distributed the cold things to the refrigerator, and then stood at the kitchen sink and ran cold water over his right hand for three minutes while looking out the window at the narrow strip of street visible between the buildings across the way.

Dante’s POV Her hand was wrapped around me, stroking slowly and clumsily, but sweet enough to make my cock ache. My cock twitched in her grip, swelling harder with every pass of her palm. For a second I thought I was still dreaming, but no.... the touch was too real. Heat. Skin. Her scent. I cracked my eyes open. Her hair spilled across my arm, her body warm against mine, still lost in sleep, murmuring broken words. “Fuck me.... Dante....”

I doubt all my clothes will be enough to fill even a quarter. “Give me your hand.” I jump, surprised by the unexpected voice, and turn to see Dante holding a platinum bracelet-looking thing in his hand. He waves it in my face. “Your hand.” “Whatever for?” He ignores me grabs my right hand and clips the bracelet on. I can’t ignore the tendrils of electricity I feel when he touches me. His hands linger for a second and let’s go almost caressingly. However, he quickly shoves them in his pockets after he’s done, as if he’s burned. “What is it?” My voice sounds so hoarse I clear my throat.

he said and intertwined his fingers with mine the same way Luca had done on my first morning in his house, and I braced myself to ask him. "Are you Luca," I asked, but he did not answer. "Do not fall for the idea of me but for me," he said, and I did not understand. He kissed the back of my hand and then pulled me close for a kiss. I let him, wondering how far my dream would go again. I felt his hand on my thigh moving up, and I moaned, anticipating it. His hand finally touched my mound, and I moaned strongly. I felt electricity all over my body.

My hands trembled slowly and Shayla caught them in hers, guiding them to her chest, as she whispered,"Touch me." And so I did. My fingers ran against her skin, dragging down from the soft skin of her neck down her chest to her torso, and this time, the air wasn't felt with a heaving need for sex. No, this was something far more ethereal, a very elysian moment in which I wanted to learn all of her crevices and dips and scars and everything she doesn't find as beautiful and commit them to my memory. She was my Aphrodite.

“Will you be sad because of what he said?” “A little,” I said. “But not because he was right.” Nico answered at once. “He wasn’t right about anything.” A knock came before Matteo could take the booklet to Dante. Dante stood outside with his black shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms. His gaze moved over Pearl on the pillow, the cake on the nightstand, and the booklet in Matteo’s hand. “May I come in?” Livia hugged my knees. I patted her back. “Yes.”

Blood. Dante turned his own hand over. Without hesitation, he dragged the blade across his palm, not deep but enough to draw crimson. He pressed his bleeding hand to hers, their blood mingling. Rose’s stomach lurched. The priest lifted his arms as if in triumph. The crowd clapped, some whistled, others muttered dark blessings. Rose felt dizzy, her fingers trembling under Dante’s. She wanted to pull away, but he didn’t let her. His grip tightened like iron around bone.

Dante's pov Dante stands frozen in the doorway his eyes locked on a scene that makes his blood boil so hot he feels like he might explode. Right there in the center of the Persian rug, his brother Lorenzo has his hands all over Danika. Not just a polite touch, but a possessive, filthy grip. Lorenzo’s large hand is cupping Danika’s ass, his fingers digging deep into the soft flesh through her dress, pulling her hips flush against his own. Dante can see the way Lorenzo’s thumb is rubbing dangerously close to the crease of her thigh, a motion that screams intimacy and ownership.

he murmured, low enough for only her, “is an honor whose weight most people cannot carry.” From anyone else, it would have been arrogance. From Dante, delivered in a tone that seemed to mock his own fate, it became something only the two of them held the key to. Elena had no intention of smiling. One escaped anyway—like air through a crack she hadn’t known existed. Dante caught it. Said nothing. Simply extended his hand to help her down the final step. And when she was already standing on the asphalt, his hand didn’t let go. ✘ ✘ ✘