The kiss was an absolute inferno.
It wasn't like the brutal, punishing clash in the corridor. This was a desperate, drowning man finally finding air. Dante kissed me with a hunger that bordered on reverence, his mouth moving over mine with a devastating blend of demand and apology.
I yielded entirely. My lips parted beneath the insistent pressure of his tongue, welcoming the dark, intoxicating taste of scotch and the sharp tang of his blood. Every ounce of fight, every carefully constructed defense mechanism I had built over the last five years, simply melted into the overwhelming heat of him.
My hands slid from his scarred chest, moving up his thick, muscular neck to tangle in his dark hair. I pulled him closer, desperate to erase the agonizing distance that had kept us apart for half
