Dreaming Dante (The Adamos Book 7)

by Mia Madison

  “Clothes. Off.” I yank at his t-shirt, but he does not cooperate with my efforts to remove it. Instead, he pins my arms above my head, where one big hand bracelets both my wrists.

  I struggle, but he holds me easily, kissing along the line of my jaw and beyond it, while his free hand tugs the robe aside and cups one breast. His tongue touches the sensitive spot behind my ear at the same instant that his thumb flicks across my nipple, and I jerk like I’ve been electrocuted.

  “Dante,” I hiss, trying for quiet so we don’t wake Sophie.

  “Mmm?” He’s nuzzling his way down my neck now. His non-verbal response hums against my skin, sending another burst of sensation surging through my nervous system.

  “Hurry.” I can’t wait any longer to have him inside me.

  He sinks his teeth into the tender flesh where my neck and shoulder meet, and I gasp. It takes all my self-control not to cry out as pleasure, amplified by a hint of pain, swamps me. When he releases me, it’s to kiss the spot where he’s marked me, tenderly, and say, “Nope.”

  “Dante!” Until this moment, I did not know it was possible to scream under one’s breath.

  He lifts his head, his dark eyes gleaming with heat and something more. “Not gonna rush this.”

  “You can go slow next time.” I hadn’t planned on there being a next time, but as soon as I say it, I know that unless something goes very wrong, there’s going to be a next time.

  Dante likes that idea too, if the flash of his eyes is any indication. “We gonna wake her?”

  I turn my head to see that, just as he promised, the doors leading to the bathroom are both open, providing a straight shot through to the room where Sophie’s crib is. “She’s normally a very sound sleeper, but she’s in a new place. There’s no telling.”

  “We’ll have to be quiet, then.” The gleam in his eyes intensifies. “You gonna be able to manage that, we get energetic?”

  “I’ll manage.” I don’t know how, but I’m willing to say anything to get this show on the road.

  Without another word, Dante unties the robe, spreads it open, and slides down my body. “You don’t have to --” I start. Then his mouth finds me, and I gasp and buck and stuff my terry-clad arm in my mouth to mute the sounds.

  Because it is not possible to be quiet with Dante’s head between my legs. He devours me with single-minded concentration, like an offensive lineman charging the quarterback, but with a lot more finesse. His hands are cupping my ass, squeezing, and my generous curves have never felt more appreciated.

  He puts my legs on his shoulders and I obligingly arch my hips, driving myself against his mouth. Then he reaches my swollen clit, and my muffled moans become frantic mews. Sucking me in, gently at first, then harder, he drives me higher and higher, ecstasy spiraling out from my core through my body and then back again, tension gathering and twisting and building until he uses his teeth, and the climax rips through me.

  I’m still shuddering with the aftershocks when he sends me up and over again. I come even harder the second time, and afterwards I feel drunk. That’s when he slips from the bed and starts to undress.

  My eyes are slitted, but I keep them open because no way am I missing this show. The shirt comes off first, revealing even more magnificence than it hinted at. His chest is lightly furred, with a glorious happy trail leading down into his jeans.

  I lick my lips, and Dante growls and strips off his jeans and underwear in one swift move, shoving them down almost violently, and my eyes go wide at the beauty of him, standing straight and proud against his stomach, long and thick and glorious.

  “Hurry.” I whisper it, and he vaults onto the bed -- an extremely strong bed, because it doesn’t collapse or even vibrate much. He settles between my thighs and I love the feeling of his skin against mine so much that I could lie here forever just holding him, if I didn’t need him inside me so badly.

  “You on birth control?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  “I been tested. We’re safe there.”

  Thank goodness. And even now, in the heat of the moment, it strikes me that there’s no way I would trust a man I’d just met on such a sensitive matter -- no matter how much I wanted him. But Dante, I know down to the center of my being, wouldn’t lie about that.

  Or possibly anything.

  16

  Harder

  I nod my understanding, my acceptance, and he takes himself in hand and rubs the tip of his cock through my wetness. Teasing me, preparing me and himself. I can’t wait to taste him, to take him in my mouth and pleasure him like he did me, but right now the mating urge is too strong to ignore.

  When I arch my hips again, in invitation and demand, he seats himself at my entrance and begins to push inside. My eyes roll back in my head at the insane pleasure of him, his thickness stretching me almost to the edge of pain.

  I look back down because I need to see him, to watch him watching me. He’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever beheld, ever felt. “God, you’re beautiful.”

  He goes still, his face full of surprised pleasure, then smiles that toe-curling smile of his. He’s still filling me, one slow inch at a time. When he’s finally buried inside me, he lowers his head and kisses me deeply.

  My arms go around him, then my legs. We kiss like it’s world war three, our tongues dueling frantically as my body adjusts. When I start to rock against him, he breaks off and buries his face in my hair.

  “Could fuck you forever, babe. Your pussy feels like heaven.”

  I put my hands to either side of his face and lift his head until I can see him. “I don’t even have words for how good you feel. Fuck me, Dante.”

  He’s propped on his elbows to keep his weight off me. One hand curves under my shoulder and around, anchoring me to him. The other, he curls over my mouth.

  His hand isn’t actually touching me — I can still talk. But having it there is a reminder, a demand for silence, a sign of dominance.

  And it’s hot as hell.

  Staring into my eyes, he draws back, slowly, then plunges in to the hilt. “Oh, fuck.” Again, and again, and by the fifth stroke I’m frantic, needing more.

  My nails dig into his back, and he gives me more, still fucking me with deep, hard strokes, but going a little faster. The power of his body is incredible. I feel so owned, so claimed, so taken.

  It’s the best thing ever.

  Before long, though, I’m hungry for still more. But this time, when my nails dig in, his eyes tell me no and he keeps the pace where it is. Is he denying me to make it last, to keep things quiet, to protect me from his strength, or just to be in charge?

  I’m not sure. Regardless of why, my body knows what it wants and doesn’t care about his reasons. My nails score down his back, all the way to his ass.

  His eyes go hot, and we start a silent battle for control, Dante trying to keep it and me trying to make him lose it. Gazes locked, we demand and deny without speaking a word while our bodies rut, primitive and insatiable.

  Finally, instinct takes over and he speeds up, the bed shaking with his thrusts, his wide cock spearing into me, rubbing against all my sensitive ridges, the sounds and scents of our joining filling the room.

  I can feel my climax growing, swelling, ready to burst over me, and I start to whimper softly. Dante goes faster, driving me higher, and then — just when I’m teetering on the edge — he pulls out.

  My frantic “No!” is blocked by his hand coming down over my mouth. The next instant he flips me over and drags me up so I’m on my knees, ass in the air, face to the mattress. He tosses the robe up out of the way and drives inside me, hands on my hips, fucking me hard and fast.

  The pillow’s right there and I grab it and stick my face in it, because now I have to scream, and I do, over and over while he pummels me, and then his fingers find my clit, circling and pressing and pinching, and I come like a runaway freight train, my climax turning me inside out, starbursts of pleasure exploding around every single nerve
in my body.

  Dante keeps going, dragging me back to meet him with every stroke. I feel another climax building, irresistible, and this time we come together, my pussy clamping around him, squeezing him tight, milking him for every last drop as he pours himself out inside me.

  He leans over me, both of us breathing hard. After several long moments, he turns us onto our sides, our bodies still joined, the robe crumpled between us, his arm around my waist, his hand cupping my breast.

  Dante is a cuddler. Another surprise. “You okay?” he says.

  “So extremely okay.”

  “Good.”

  We fall quiet, but it’s a warm silence, not awkward. I drift to sleep still tucked against him.

  When I wake, it’s because his hands are moving on me. They light me up like a match to dry tinder, and I fling the robe aside and reach for him. We roll across the bed, and this time I get his cock in my mouth before he can stop me.

  “Fuck. Heather, fuck, babe.” Dante’s deep groan of pleasure intoxicates me. His hands tangle in my hair, but he lets me have my way until he’s close, and then he stops me.

  I don’t want to stop. Looking up, I meet his eyes, and he gives me a look that reminds me spankings are still on the agenda. Reluctantly, I release him, and he wastes no time in reversing our positions so he can return the favor.

  When I’m splayed out on the bed, too weak to move after multiple orgasms, Dante takes his place between my legs and fills me with one long, smooth stroke. He’s determined to keep it slow, this time, gliding in and out of me with endless patience, the delicious friction of his cock in my pussy too much and yet not enough.

  That glorious tension is building in my body again, but it still surprises me when a climax rolls over me, making me arch against him and gasp. I’ve never come without my clit being touched before.

  As if it’s a signal, Dante wraps my hair around one hand and tugs, forcing my head back, just enough for it to hurt a little. “Fuck, yes,” I hiss. “Harder.”

  He moves the hand holding my hair a fraction more. “This?”

  “No. You.”

  “Legs around my neck,” he grits out. When I obey, he wraps his free arm around my shoulders, holding me down. And then he fucks me hard and fast and relentlessly, just like I want him to, his cock rubbing my clit with every rough stroke, and I come twice more before he follows me over the edge.

  17

  Infatuation

  I wake with my body flung over Dante’s. Head on his chest, arm across his waist, one leg draped over his thigh. Early morning sun is filtering through the roman blinds on the windows.

  My body is sore. We had a third encounter, sometime in the night. I smile and stretch, and his eyes open.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

  Dante hauls me on top of him, his hands going to my ass. “I was already awake.” He tugs me down for a good morning kiss, and before long I’m wet and horny, sore or not.

  I’m straddling him, just about to take him into my body, when Sophie says, “Mama?” My heart stops for a moment until I realize she’s in her crib and can’t see us.

  Smiling a rueful apology at him, I climb off and snatch the robe off the floor. “Good morning, sweet girl.” Going through the bathroom, I come out into her room and pick her up.

  BeeBee gets up, stretches, and wags her tail. “Good morning. Did you stay here all night?” She wags again, and I scritch her behind her ears.

  A door closes in the hallway. I peer out and see that Dante’s taken the guest bathroom and left the one here for me. That reminds me that I need to inspect the master bath.

  It’s as nice as I suspected -- nothing over-the-top, that doesn’t suit the house, but it’s all rich colors and fabrics, fine materials and workmanship. The tub is big enough for both of us.

  Humming a tune under my breath, I get Sophie ready for the day. I wish I had a change of clothes, but I can hand-wash my panties and wear my same outfit again. I’m about to take her to the kitchen when Dante comes into the room, carrying several paper shopping bags.

  “Gina left these for you this morning. They didn’t want to disturb us, so Carlo sent a text to my phone.”

  “Oh, how sweet.” The bags don’t just have lingerie and clothes, but skin care, toiletries, and makeup. “She thought of everything.”

  And she was right — from the labels, it looks like we wear the same size. Our coloring is different; I have brown hair, not red, though we both have blue eyes. But most of the shades she’s chosen look like ones that will work for me.

  Now that I have something to change into, I can’t wait to get cleaned up. “Let’s go get breakfast,” I tell Sophie, and put her down so she can toddle toward the kitchen, BeeBee once more at her side.

  I smell food, and hear it, before we go through the doorway. Dante’s at the stove, cooking up an enormous breakfast. I’m starving, so that works for me.

  “Sophie,” he says as soon as we’re in the room with him.

  “Hi, Tontay.”

  “Hi. What do you want to eat? Eggs, or pancakes, or waffles?” His speech is ever so slightly more distinct than usual, and he leaves a tiny pause between the choices.

  “Waffa!”

  “You got it.” He already has the waffle iron out and heated, and the batter mixed; all he has to do is pour it in to cook.

  What if she’d said she wanted eggs? Then I guess he and I would have had waffles, along with everything else, but there’s plenty of food without them. I think he went to all that trouble just to give my little girl choices.

  The warm, squishy feeling in my chest throws me into a tailspin. What is going on here? I promised myself one night, no more.

  Dante and I aren’t setting up house together.

  BeeBee goes under the table again as I put Sophie into her high chair. “Do you know she was next to Sophie’s crib when I went in this morning? I think she spent the whole night there.”

  Dante grunts. “I’ll have to put a bed in there for her.”

  My heart lurches. A new dog bed does not say temporary arrangement. “Dante …”

  He’s busy putting her waffle onto a plate, which he hands to me, pointing me to the island where butter and jelly and syrup are set out. I get busy cutting the perfectly golden-brown waffle up and adding the things Sophie likes, vowing as I do that Dante and I will talk. This morning. No putting it off.

  Soon, the table is covered with platters of food: scrambled eggs, bacon and sausage, more waffles, and little bowls of diced onion and shredded cheese and homemade guacamole to add to the eggs, and a pitcher of orange juice, plus coffee for the grownups. It’s way too much, but I’m guessing Dante can put away a lot of food. And given all the calories we burned last night, I’m sure I’ll eat more than usual.

  As soon as we’re seated, Sophie once more between us, and have our plates loaded up, he says, “We gotta talk.”

  “Um. Yes, we do.”

  He tilts his head toward Sophie. “Given the circumstances, I don’t think it’s good for your state of mind to be away from her for hours at a time.”

  Another worry I hadn’t let myself face, solved before I could fully come to grips with it. The tightness in my chest that’s been underlying my good feelings eases. But it doesn’t disappear entirely.

  “I still have to work off my car repairs.”

  “Vic’s office is a mess. He never has time to clean it up. You know how to do filing, shit like that?”

  I wince. He glances at Sophie, who doesn’t seem to have noticed, but we both know that kids are sponges for what’s said in their hearing. “Anyway,” he prompts me.

  “Sure. I took some basic business classes at the community college.”

  “I’ll take you in with me, and we’ll put her playpen in the office with you. You work mornings, and then at lunchtime I’ll drop you off with Izzy or one of the nonnas. It’ll take you a few days longer to work off your bill, but you won’t have to worry about her while you’re doing it
.”

  It’s such a good plan, and I’m so relieved he’s not trying to talk me out of working off my debt, that I give him a big smile. His eyes get warm; I squirm on my seat, and they get warmer.

  My face is getting hot, so I concentrate on my food. But every time I look up, Dante’s watching me, and every time our eyes meet it’s another shock to my system. I’m not going to flirt with him in front of my daughter, so I do my best to ignore him.

  But I can’t stop looking.

  The best way to put a stop to this infatuation — because that’s all it is, getting worked up over someone I don’t even know — is information. The more I know about Dante, the faster I’ll stop looking at him with rose-tinted glasses.

  Head down over my plate, cutting my waffle with my knife and fork, I ask, “Do you have any kids?”

  18

  Fall For Him

  “Nope.”

  My head jerks up. “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’ve never been—” I look at Sophie, but decide to risk the word “—married?”

  “No.” Before I can ask, he adds, “Never met the right woman.”

  “Oh.” Heart pounding, I look down again. I am so not going to ask him what the right woman would be like.

  The silence that stretches out this time isn’t altogether comfortable, at least not on my part. If it were just me, I could just take things one day at a time and not worry about it. In theory, anyway.

  I’ve never known a man like Dante. On the surface, he’s so wrong for me in so many ways, but when I’m with him none of that seems to matter. Still, all we have is chemistry and the fact that Sophie likes him.

  With an inward sigh, I force myself to let it go. For now.