The Emperor (Dark Verse Book 3)

by RuNyx

  Lulu lifted her head at the sound of her voice, her flat face perking up at seeing her, and she prodded up to rub against her legs before going on her merry way. Lulu was a stray like her, alone in the big city, her baby now.

  Amara dropped her earrings in the bowl on the dresser, her neck prickling with the presence that came to her back. She looked up at the mirror, seeing him behind her, his jaw clean-shaven, a bruise on his temple that hadn’t been there before, his tall, wide form eclipsing her own.

  The butterflies that had been dead in her belly during her entire date fluttered to life just at the presence of this man who didn’t feel for her as she did for him.

  “You didn’t answer me, Amara,” he murmured softly, his dark, chocolate eyes tracking her own body, from the red dress she’d worn to the little denim jacket and the scarf she’d paired it with. His eyes took in every inch of her, as though they had missed roving over her skin, and goosebumps broke out over her arms.

  “It’s none of your business, Dante,” she rasped out quietly, watching as his eyes darkened in the reflection. He was at her back and while it usually triggered her, being able to see him in the mirror had her mind pausing from the knee-jerk reaction.

  She saw his hand rise up in the reflection, coming around to her neck, a finger looping into the silk scarf, tugging it down. Her breathing hitched as she watched him expose her scar to their reflection slowly, his thumb brushing the horizontal mark, his face leaning down to brush his lips against her ear.

  “Did he kiss you, Amara?”

  Her nipples pebbled. Breathing heavily, her chest heaving, their gazes locked, something heady pulsing between them, Amara shook her head. Dante pressed his lips to her lobe again, the possessive fire in his eyes so familiar yet so foreign.

  “Ask me to kiss you.”

  Her lips tingled, the memory of the last time she’d asked him for a kiss throbbing between them. She knew if she asked this time, it would change things. They had gone for months without seeing each other, without speaking to each other, living their lives. He had no right to come barging into hers, only to walk away as he pleased. She wouldn’t let herself be a pushover, not for the whim of a man, even if he was the one for her.

  Taking a step away from him, Amara threw off her jacket, her temperature too hot. “You don’t have the right to demand anything, Dante. I’m not yours. You gave me up, remember?”

  He was in her space before she had spoken the last word, his hands spearing into her hair, tilting her face up, his mouth breaths away from hers.

  “You and I, Amara, we will never be anyone else’s,” he murmured, his words ghosting over her lips. “We could fuck a hundred other people but this, this will never go away. Do you feel it pulsing between us?”

  Her heart was thundering by the time he finished speaking, his chest an inch away from her heaving breasts. She did feel it, much stronger than it had ever been before. Amara looked up at his lips, the mouth she had tasted on hers in so many different ways, just a command away.

  “Are you going to fight for us?” she whispered, the wound of his words still bleeding in her chest.

  “I am, Amara,” he told her, his eyes burning, taking in her face. “But I can’t give you more than that right now. I tried staying away, letting you live your life. Fuck, I’ve tried-” he pressed his forehead to hers. “I can’t, Amara. You’re the beat to my fucking heart.”

  And he was hers.

  Amara felt her eyes burning, remembering the feeling of love and safety she’d felt him, the deep pain of loneliness that had become her constant over the last few months, her nose twitching.

  She believed him. For whatever reason, her heart had known even when breaking that he’d not done it out of disregard. And watching him, the anguish on his face, she believed him.

  But she didn’t know if this meant anything, or what tomorrow would bring. But she knew she wanted him, wanted everything with this man.

  Swallowing down her nerves, her face still cupped in his large, warm palms, Amara stood up on her toes, her nose brushing hers, and spoke the words out.

  “Kiss me.”

  His lips crashed on hers before she had finished speaking, swallowing the last of her word.

  Finally.

  Her body trembled.

  Amara stretched higher on her toes, the pressure of his mouth making a shiver run down her spine. He tilted her head to the side, slashing his lips more firmly across hers, and licked at the seams of her closed mouth, the taste of him – smoke and wine and him – filling the gnawing hunger inside her. She felt her lips part on a soft moan, and he took the invitation, swooping in, tangling his tongue with hers.

  Dante’s kiss was fire through her veins, not the kind that burned her down to cinders and ashes, but the kind that warmed her from the inside out in places she hadn’t known she’d been cold and shivering. It lit up the corners in her being that had been shrouded in darkness, forcing everything malefic to the shadows as she basked in the warmth.

  He guided her mouth and she followed, this dance of a different kind, one they’d danced so many times before.

  He pulled back, and she opened her eyes, taking in his lips, painted the shade of hers, wet from her mouth. It sent a tendril of something possessive dispersing inside her, watching him wear the evidence of herself on his flesh. She wanted him to be marked with her, just as he had marked her on the inside.

  He moved his thumb over her lips, the touch rough.

  Before she knew what she was doing, she opened her mouth and sucked it in.

  His eyes darkened. “You need to stop if you don’t want to be fucked, Amara.”

  Heat snaked inside her body, coiling low in her belly, melting her insides.

  She wanted to be fucked. She wanted to be fucked by him. But she didn’t want to panic in the middle of it.

  She bit down on his thumb, keeping her eyes steady on his. “Go slow, please.”

  His eyes flared and suddenly, she was flat on her back on the bed, her legs dangling over the edge, Dante kneeling between them, his gaze on hers, his mouth a heartbeat away from her panties.

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  She shook her head mutely, her heart hammering in a way that sent wetness pooling between her legs.

  He took a hold of her panties, pulling them down her legs and throwing them on the bed, his fingers finding her folds. “Fuck, you’re drenched.”

  His rough, hard voice noting that with his rough, hard fingers on her flesh just made her wetter. She pushed a hand in his hair, moaning. “Dante.”

  She felt his hands get a hold under her knees, pushing her legs back towards her on the bed, splaying her wide open to his eyes. “I’m going to eat this pussy until they bury me in the ground,” he stated, his mouth falling on her folds.

  Amara arched off the bed, her hands gripping his hair, liquid heat moving through her body, spiraling to the spot his mouth devoured her. And he devoured her, his tongue plunging inside, tasting her, learning her spots, one of his hands coming down on her little nub of flesh, his thumb rubbing her vigorously as he ate her out like it was his sole purpose in life.

  It was her first time being eaten out, and god she loved it. This pleasure was nothing like anything she’d felt before, not even the few times she’d tried to touch herself since the assault. She had never been this wet; the orgasm had never been this close. Writhing against his face, noises of pleasure escaping her throat, Amara pulled his mouth closer, never wanting him to move away.

  “That’s it, baby,” he encouraged her, making out with her pussy like it was the last time he would have it. “Ride my face. Fuck, you taste so good. Use my tongue.”

  God, he was a talker. A dirty, nasty talker under those suits. It turned her on even more.

  His tongue swirled around her clit, side to side, round and round, diagonally, every which way, and Amara felt a wave so intense crash over her it made her scream, the cords in her throat straining as pleasure flooded her, her leg
s spasming out of control as she came all over him.

  He held her down through it all, letting her ride the wave, keeping her rooted to the bed as she slowly came down.

  She felt limp. Heavy, like her bones weighed a ton, but in the best way.

  Blinking, she looked up as he hovered over her, between her legs, still in his suit, looking down at her with a look so visceral it made something in her heart clench.

  “Hi,” she whispered, her chest heaving.

  His lips, still wet from her, tilted upwards. “Hi. You okay?”

  She licked her lips. She could feel the bulge in his pants pressed against her naked heat and knew she was probably leaving a wet spot over him. And while the evidence of his arousal itself made memories want to resurface, she wanted nothing more than this man, buried as deep as he could be inside her, one with her in every way he could be.

  She had to do this. She needed to do this. Keeping their gazes locked, strengthened by the possessive heat in those brown eyes, knowing he would rather cut off his arm than physically hurt her, she knew he would let her.

  “Two things-” she told him softly “-don’t ever take me from behind, and don’t call me a slut.”

  He raised his eyebrows slightly, and he hesitated for a second. “Is there something I should know before we do this?”

  Amara felt her palms get clammy. “No.” She could never tell him, not when that shame still curled in her gut.

  “You sure?”

  She nodded. Raising her hands, she slowly started to undo the buttons on his shirt, exposing inch after inch of delicious male flesh he hid under those expensive suits of his until he hovered over her with his jacket on and shirt gaping open, his chest covered by a sparse smattering of hair, trailing down to solid abs, down to his belt and the bulge under it.

  She pushed on his shoulders. “Lie back,” she told him quietly and saw his lips pull up in his typical smirk.

  “As you wish, my lady.”

  A laugh escaped her. “Did you just quote The Princess Bride while I’m trying to seduce you?”

  “You never have to try, Amara,” he murmured, tracing her lips with his fingers before laying back, linking his arms behind his head. “In my defense, you did make me watch that movie twice.”

  “You liked it,” Amara pointed out.

  “I loved it,” he said, his gaze surprisingly sober on hers. “I believe in true love, and I believe in waiting for it. Would you have waited, Amara? If it had been you in the movie, would you have waited on a promise, not knowing why or when or how?”

  She knew they weren’t talking about the movie anymore. She climbed over him, straddling his waist, his erection pressing right into her core.

  “Is my true love trying to find me, be with me, in the movie?” she asked, her heart pounding as she unzipped him, feeling his cock in her hands for the first time.

  She saw his abs flex at her touch, but he stayed still, watching her. “Every single day.”

  Her heart stuttered. She couldn’t keep her walls up against him, not when he said shit like that and actually meant it.

  Ignoring how his word affected her, she wrapped her fingers around him, or tried to, the feel of him soft but hard, heavy, in her palm. With her other hand, she pat one of his pant pockets, taking out his leather wallet, hoping there was a condom in it.

  There was. Taking it out, she squirmed back, ripping it open with her teeth, and finally looking down at his cock, the first cock she had actually seen outside of porn.

  It was big. Big. Fuck.

  Panic started to seep into the edges. She couldn’t take it in. She wouldn’t be able to take it in. It would hurt.

  God, it couldn’t hurt.

  Her hand trembled, and she felt him take the condom from her, rolling it over his erection in a smooth motion.

  That cleared some of the haze of her panic. She wasn’t doing this with some random stranger who would push into her without any thought or possibly hurt her. This was Dante. The man who had picked up her body when it had been at its most broken and held her soul when she had thought it beyond repair, giving her gold to fill her cracks every day for three years. He was the most dangerous man that she knew, but also the noblest in a way. She knew he would never she was at her safest when she was with him. And if she told him to stop, he would stop.

  Taking a deep breath in, she looked into his eyes, opening her legs wider, feeling his tip touch her nether lips.

  “I would wait for you for an eternity, Dante Maroni,” she whispered to him, slowly lowering herself on his erection, feeling her walls stretch to accommodate his thickness. A breath whooshed out of her and she pulled her dress off, exposing every inch of her body to his hungry gaze. “But that eternity would be spent alone, wouldn’t it?”

  His hands came up to cup her breasts, squeezing them hard and she sank an inch deeper on him, trying to rotate her hips to lessen the burn. He pulled her forward so she leaned down, her nipples brushing over his chest, as his hands slid into her hair, his jaw clenched, his eyes fierce on hers.

  “One day, I’m going to put my ring on that finger, Amara,” he grit out, pushing up another inch into her. “One day, I’m going to put my babies inside you. Just wait for me, baby. Please wait for me.”

  Amara felt her breath hitch, her heart stuttering as she finally sank all the way down on his length, feeling full but not invaded, her eyes holding his gaze. “What about-” she asked him, her voice soft, squirming as he throbbed inside her. “-you being Dante Maroni. One day, you’ll have to find yourself a mafia princess and put your ring on her and your babies inside her.” God, just the thought of that hurt. She already hated his future wife. “Remember what you said? We’re not a love story. We’re a tragedy waiting to happen.”

  Suddenly, she was on her back as he loomed over her, pushing inside her deeper than she’d thought possible, his mouth a fraction away from hers. “Then, let’s make it a good one.”

  He placed her knees over his elbows, opening her wider as he pulled out of her, leaning back completely. Amara felt herself moan as her walls clenched, empty of him, wanting him back, and within a second, he thrust back in. The power of his thrust pushed her up on the bed, her breasts bouncing, and he leaned down, taking one of her nipples into her mouth. The suction sent a shot of pleasure to her core, making her muscles squeeze around him, her hands gripping her sheets beside her.

  This felt like nothing she could have imagined, nothing from her nightmares.

  “Fuck, you feel so good,” he said on another hard thrust, his teeth tugging on her nipple, his thumb settling on her clit, rubbing between her legs. “So tight and wet and mine. This pussy has been mine, hasn’t it Amara?”

  She was getting mindless with pleasure, her neck straining to the side as she tried to hold back the wave from crashing into her.

  “Let go, baby,” she heard him whisper into her ear, her legs completely pressing back as he leaned over her, licking her neck, his chest rubbing against her nipples in friction that sent heat spiraling through her.

  “Come for me, Amara.”

  Thrust. Rub. Lick.

  “Grip my cock with your pussy.”

  Thrust. Rub. Nip.

  “Feel that?”

  Thrust. Rub. Bite.

  “You dirty girl, so wet for me.”

  Thrust. Rub. Lick.

  “You’re making a puddle on the sheets.”

  And she came.

  Like a rocket that shot up into the sky and splintered apart in a million pieces of fire and smoke, evaporating into nothingness in seconds. She came so, so hard her teeth punctured her lips, a strangled cry leaving her throat, her body jerking in his arms as he held her down, still moving inside her, still fucking her like she was his dirty girl and her pussy his to plunder.

  “Look at me,” he grit out, pushing his hands into her hair, gripping her head to keep it still as she slowly came down to the ground.

  “You” thrust “are” thrust “mine”.
<
br />   With that he picked up the pace, hammering his hips against her, his pelvis pushing her clit on every downward motion, his eyes, those beautiful, dark eyes, steady on hers, seeing her completely laid bare and naked and vulnerable and open in every way that she could be. He saw it and he took it, and she gave and gave and gave, the intimacy of their bodies, their gazes, their hearts all connecting in one tandem until she didn’t know where she ended and where he began. That look in his eyes – pure unadulterated desire for everything – pushed her over the edge again.

  She felt him jerk inside her, his growl rough as he came, his cock pushing as deep into her as it could go, making her walls weep around him.

  Their bodies came down from the high of their orgasm slowly, sweaty, and spent. He got up and went to the bathroom, and she just lay there unmoving, staring at the ceiling, waiting for her heart to gradually calm down.

  The feel of something wet between her legs had her looking down, to see him cleaning her with a wet towel, and she felt her heart squeeze in her chest. Why did he have to be so perfect for her?

  He threw the towel to the side, stripping out of his clothes, exposing his entire body to her eyes for the first time up close.

  Amara watched the muscles and ridges on his body – the broad shoulders she’d held on to multiple times as he carried her, the strong arms that made her feel the safest she’d ever felt, the beautiful chest she wanted to use as a pillow for the rest of her life. She watched him – from his big, beautiful feet to his muscled thighs, to his semi-hard cock, to his happy trail, to his abs, to his pecs, to his neck, and finally, to his eyes.

  He leaned down and kissed her softly, stretching out beside her.

  “You okay, baby?” he asked against her lips as she cupped his jaw. She went from ‘dirty girl’ to ‘baby’ and she loved it. The brain was such a weird thing. She would’ve thought being called a dirty girl would have possibly triggered her. But when he said it like that, in his voice of warm chocolate and twisted sheets, his dark eyes worshipping her skin, ‘dirty girl’ felt like ‘goddess’. She loved it. How could she ever stand a chance against this man when he made her feel like this?