In The Hand Of Dante Book Novels & Stories

I don't know how we managed to leave the club when neither of us could take our hands off each other but we made it to his Mercedes where I performed a much needed handjob. " You have a beautiful home," I murmur admiring a nude sculpture of a woman in the middle of the hallway. Dante doesn't reply right away , instead he comes behind me, his hard length poking my butt. His big hands wrap around my waist, he pulls me closer and what ever sassy sentence I had in mind dies. Hot breath snakes over my neck and I let out a small whimper. Dante's hand move over the slope of my shoulders, feathery strokes brushing my bare skin. I throw my head backward, grabbing a fist full of his hair as my lips pa

Andra read it aloud, her voice soft but certain. “Sounds so good on your lips.” He remarked. “That is great to know.” She said. Then she smiled. “Dominic.” “Yes, baby?” “I am glad,” she said, turning to him with playful seriousness. “Truly glad.” “That?” Dominic pulled her closer. She met his gaze. His hazel eyes looked at her tenderly. “That my dad put me in your hands,” she said. His response was a kiss from the heart. THE END .

Aurora: “May I ask where we are going? As this does not seem like my house’s direction, nor is it yours” I said, looking at Dante who sighed and extended his hand to me. I put my hand on his, intertwining our fingers, and running my fingers over his own, he smiled at me.

After Sawyer, hands us the boxes and I read the prophecy, I wanted to know what were in the boxes since we hadn’t open them yet. Before we open them, Sawyer explains to us, “When you all open your boxes you will have to each be given a test if you fail the test, you will not be able to fully manifest the power that is waiting, and you will not be able to help when the time comes so, please carefully do as instructed. We must start in the order that the goddesses are formed we will start with the Wax Goddess, Peyton please unlock your box.” When Peyton unlocked her box, a scroll floated out and opened. “Peyton, please read what the scroll says” Peyton, read what her scroll said and when she f

His finger pulled me by the chin to meet his gaze. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” I stared into his forest greens, calming instantly as they traced over my features. His lips turned into a smile as he shook his head, as if he could read what I was thinking. “I’m not going anywhere.” His fingers stroked my cheek and I relished in the calmness it brought to me. Placing my head back on his chest, I felt Giovanni shift beneath me before holding out his book. He pulled the pages open and began reading ‘Dante’s Inferno’.

My mother, Sophie Nash, was also my homeroom teacher, and she loved nothing more than using me to assert her authority. She was convinced that the worse off I was, the more afraid my classmates would be, and the higher her authority would be. Once, when I passed an eraser to a classmate during class, she slapped me so hard across the face in front of the whole class that my face swelled up. Another time, after I secretly ate a crumb of a classmate’s snack during recess, my mom dragged me up to the front of the classroom and pricked my lip with a needle until blood gushed out. Later, when a classmate was caught by the vice principal for having a romantic relationship while underaged, my m

He looked at Elian — this man who had written his interior in a novel and read it back to him at a kitchen table on a Portuguese island, without drama, without ceremony, just as the accurate description of a thing. "One hand around his coffee cup," Dante said. "The other resting on the table." "Yes," Elian said. "Close but not touching," Dante said. "Yes," Elian said. Dante put his hand on the table. He moved it across the manuscript, across the three hundred and forty pages of the thing that had grown here — across the garden novel, the Bucharest novel, the Euler novel, the love story novel — and put it over Elian's hand. "Close," Dante said.

Perfect in a way that made my mouth water and my core clench with need. I wrapped my hand around him experimentally, my fingers barely meeting around his girth. Dante hissed through his teeth, his whole body going tense, his hips jerking up involuntarily into my grip. "Fuck," he breathed. "Your hand. Jesus Christ, your hand feels so good."

Alessandro in charcoal grey, with his mother's silver cufflinks and the composed expression that cracked slightly at the edges when their eyes met. Dante walked the length of the aisle conscious of every step, aware of Marco on his left looking uncharacteristically soft, aware of Lucia in the second pew pressing a handkerchief to her mouth. He stopped beside Alessandro. "You're early," Alessandro said quietly. "You're nervous." "I'm not nervous." "Your left hand is shaking." Alessandro looked down. Looked back up. "I'm slightly nervous." Dante took his left hand and held it, and the shaking stopped.

he ordered quietly, leaning against the black marble altar with his powerful arms crossed. The torchlight carved sharp shadows across his face, making him look even more dangerous. More god-like. “Now.” My hands trembled as I reached under the hem of my dress. The fabric was already damp where it clung to my skin. I hooked my fingers into the soaked lace and slid them down my legs, stepping out of them carefully. The cool air kissed my bare, swollen pussy and I whimpered softly. Darius held out his hand. I placed the drenched panties in his palm like an offering.