The Bad Boy I Couldn't Escape

Chapter 8

Selene’s P.O.V.

I felt like Bella from Twilight—only worse. At least she wanted to admit she loved her Edward. Me? I couldn’t even allow the thought to bloom. Loving my Edward—my Dante—was never part of the plan. But he kept rewriting the rules.

No matter how many times I pushed him away, he returned. Not with promises or pleas anymore—but with touches, kisses, heat. He was fire, and I was growing tired of pretending I didn’t want to burn.

I’d barely escaped him this morning at the library, ducking behind dusty shelves like a coward. But I didn’t know how much longer I could run. He was relentless. Every glance. Every brush of his hand against my waist. Every time his lips grazed my neck under the guise of an innocent whisper—I felt it. Deep. Low. A need building in the pit of my stomach.

And now… I was unraveling.

I lay in bed that afternoon, my fingers gripping the quilt tightly as if it could keep the heat at bay. Emma had stepped out moments ago, leaving me alone with my traitorous thoughts and aching body. The room was quiet, but not the peaceful silence I had once known. It was the kind of stillness that felt heavy, laden with unspoken words and desires I refused to acknowledge.

I couldn’t deny it any longer. Every moment with Dante was consuming me. Every touch left its mark, deep and undeniable. And I hated myself for wanting him as much as I did. But more than that, I feared the chaos that would follow if I gave in to him. He was dangerous. My heart told me to stay away, to protect myself, but my body betrayed me, yearning for his touch.

Then, the door slammed open.

My breath caught.

I didn’t need to look—I already knew who it was.

Dante.

He moved toward me with a slow, deadly grace, like a predator hunting its prey. And I feared I knew exactly what that mission was. But worse than that—I feared I didn’t want to stop him.

"I told you I'd chase you if you ran," he said, his voice low and thick with dark promises.

His words sent a shiver down my spine, but I didn’t pull away. I should have. I knew I should have. But everything in me, every part of me, wanted him close.

I clutched the quilt tighter, as if fabric could shield me from him. From this. From him. But I couldn’t run anymore. My body was tired. My heart… was breaking.

I didn’t resist when he leaned in.

I let him kiss me. Hard. Desperate. As though his soul depended on it. The heat of his mouth on mine ignited something deep inside me, something I couldn’t control. I melted into him, my body responding to him instinctively, like we were two halves of the same whole. He kissed me like he couldn’t get enough, and I kissed him back with the same ferocity.

I moaned when he lifted me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist like they’d always belonged there. The world tilted on its axis as his hands roamed over me, and I could feel the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of my clothes. His touch was a promise—one I couldn’t refuse.

And God help me, I wanted more.

He laid me down with a tenderness that contrasted the storm in his eyes. The dark, smoldering look in his gaze made my heart race, my chest tightening with anticipation. He was a man who commanded everything he wanted, and right now, he wanted me.

His hands found me—slow and sure—caressing every inch of my body as though he had all the time in the world to worship me. I gasped when his mouth replaced his hands, exploring me with reverence and hunger. Every brush of his lips sent a wave of heat surging through me. My fingers tangled in his hair, gripping him as though I could anchor myself to this moment, to him.

My hips ground against him instinctively, chasing the pleasure that bloomed inside me. It felt as though I was slowly losing control, but I didn’t care. The walls I’d spent so long building around myself were crumbling, one touch at a time. Wave after wave of pleasure built inside me, crashing through every barrier I’d ever put up.

I tried to stay quiet, but it was impossible. The moans escaped—loud, helpless, raw. It was all too much… and not enough.

I needed him. I needed this. Needed him inside me.

When he finally looked up at me, his stormy blue eyes were wild with want, his breath ragged. His pupils were dilated, his jaw clenched tight, like he was holding himself back from something darker, something more dangerous. But there was no hesitation in the way he touched me. No restraint.

He shed the last of our clothes until there was nothing between us but breath and trembling skin.

I wanted to look away.

I couldn’t.

My eyes roamed over him—from the tattoos on his chest to the sharp lines of his abs, and lower…

He was massive.

I froze. Panic flared in my chest.

“I… I haven’t done this before,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

His expression softened. His gaze darkened, but there was something else there—something protective, fierce. Possessive. He was the type of man who didn’t just take what he wanted. He claimed it. And right now, he was claiming me.

"I’m honored to be your first, mi amore," he murmured, his voice low and full of intent.

He kissed me again—this time slower, deeper, as if sealing a vow. I could feel his warmth pressing against me, his body surrounding me in ways I hadn’t known I needed. But more than that, I could feel his promise.

The promise that no matter how much I resisted, how much I tried to pull away, he wouldn’t let me go. Not this time.

His hand trailed down my body, fingertips grazing over my skin, sending shivers in their wake. I gasped when his fingers found the place where I needed him most. The moment he touched me, I couldn’t hold back the cry that tore from my throat. My body was no longer mine. It was his.

And I let him have it. I let him consume me in ways I had only ever dreamed about.

His mouth moved lower, trailing kisses down my neck, my chest, until he was between my thighs. I arched against him, my hands gripping the sheets as I tried to hold onto whatever semblance of control I had left. But there was no escaping him, no denying the pull between us.

He took his time with me, his lips and hands worshiping me with a devotion that made my heart race. Every sensation felt heightened, every touch a spark that ignited a fire I couldn’t put out. My body trembled beneath him, every inch of me alive with desire.

When he finally moved back up to kiss me again, I could taste myself on his lips. I wanted to pull away, but the need to stay close, to feel him, was overwhelming. His hands moved to my waist, pulling me closer, and I could feel the length of him pressing against me. I felt him hard, insistent, and I couldn’t breathe.

“I need you,” he whispered against my lips, his voice raw with desire.

I wanted to say no. I wanted to push him away, to remind myself of the reasons I couldn’t fall into this. But I didn’t.

I kissed him again. Harder. More desperately.

And when he finally entered me, when he finally claimed me, it was like nothing I had ever felt before. A rush of heat, of desire, of passion. A fire that burned everything else away.

I didn’t know how to stop it. I didn’t want to.

This was no longer about logic or reason. It was about him, and me, and this moment. About the way our bodies fit together like we were always meant to be this way.

As he moved inside me, I couldn’t help the sound that escaped my lips—soft, breathless, filled with a need that I had never known existed. Dante made me forget everything. All the walls I’d built around my heart crumbled with each thrust, each kiss, until there was nothing left but him and me.

And for the first time in my life, I wasn’t afraid. Not of him. Not of what we were becoming. Not of the consequences.

I had surrendered.

And I didn’t know how to take it back.