Vows and Vendettas

Chapter 10

Blair

The next morning, I am woken up to the sound of a raised voice coming from the living room. I looked over to the spot next to me. It looked exactly the same as it did when I went to sleep last night. Dante must not have come to bed last night. Hell, he might have left again, and I wouldn't have noticed. But he is clearly here right now and extremely pissed off.

And if I have to guess, it's poor Rocco that is getting his ass handed to him right now in the other room.

Throwing the covers back, I scrambled to my feet and flew out of the bed and across the bedroom. I ripped the door open and stomped my way down the hall into the morning light that was spilling in through the windows. The first thing I notice as my eyes adjust to the bright light is Dante's back. Olive skin stretched across his back, the muscles beneath bunching and tense. My eyes trace the sharp lines of his back all on their own, filing every little detail away for later.

Dante moves, and my eyes follow the motion like there is a string tied to them and they can't look away. That's when I finally see Rocco pinned against the wall by the door. His collared shirt is fisted in Dante's hand. His lip looks to be busted at the corner, and there is a bruise forming on his right cheek. Rocco doesn't look like he fought back. In fact, his hands are still at his sides loosely as he looks down at Dante's hand that is gripping him.

“Leave him alone!” I yell loudly.

Two pairs of eyes land on me. Rocco’s eyes widen for half a second before he quickly looks away in the opposite direction. Dante's, on the other hand, dragged down the length of me before stopping at my legs. My still very bare legs. His jaw tightens. And something hot flashes across his face before the anger quickly reclaims it.

“Get the f*ck out. I’ll deal with you later.” Dante snaps.

He releases Rocco rather harshly, and the mountain of a man slips out the door just in time for my husband to turn his ire on me. Dante flings his hand in the direction of the door, his nostrils flaring with each breath. And now that he is facing me, it's hard to stay focused on the task at hand.

“He left his f*cking post. He was supposed to stay here until I returned. It is unacceptable,” he snaps, dragging a hand through his hair. “And now I most definitely have to kill him because I know he has seen you like this,” he adds, gesturing towards me.

I rolled my eyes at his theatrics. Men always love to say women are the dramatic ones, but they are quick to want to throw hands or, in this case, possibly kill their friend because of my bare legs. “One,” I say, holding up my hand in front of me like he is a toddler, and I'm his preschool teacher or something. “Rocco didn't abandon his post.”

Dante's face darkens like he is going to argue again.

“I told him to go home.”

His expression is priceless. Confusion and disbelief mar his handsome face. His lips thin like he is biting back some very choice words right now. Instead, he says lowly, “You gave him permission to leave?”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I take a step in my husband's direction. I pinned him with a sharp look. “You weren't here. And he hasn't left my side in days. Without a break, I might add. I told him to go home. To sleep in his bed for a night. It's not like I can go anywhere on my own. The men outside the door would have called him, or you had I even attempted to leave the building. And two, as far as my appearance, if you f*cking lay a finger on him for something that was out of his control, I’ll never forgive you.”

My words hang in the air between us like a sharp piece of glass. My pulse thudded in my ears, but I refused to look away. Dante’s expression didn’t change, but something in the air between us sure did—tightening, coiling, shifting into something that I wasn't sure I was prepared for.

Dante stalks forward, closing the distance between us. His hand reached out and pinched my chin, forcing me to meet his angry gaze as soon as he is near enough. My breathing hitches in my chest as the warmth from his body seeps into mine, making me want to melt. What the actual f*ck is wrong with me? One minute we were fighting and the next... well, the next we were too close for my brain to properly work.

“So, you're once again defending another man from me.” He tilts his head to the side. “I’m not sure if that makes me want to kill him even more now or not.”

“What did you expect that I wouldn't talk to him in some capacity while you were off gallivanting around town?” I snapped, finding that biting tone again before yanking my face free from his hold.

I don't know what I thought he would do next. Maybe just let me go. Give me space or something. Dante laughs. Not a warm, amused laugh. No, this was low. Dark. Completely devoid of anything that could be mistaken as humor. Those honey eyes of his darkened right before my very eyes to a deep, rich caramel. They then dropped to my mouth as he stepped closer, pinning my back against the wall completely. His hand came up, catching the back of my neck.

“It seems I need to remind you exactly whose wife you are,” he growled.

I didn't have time to contemplate what he meant by that because in the next heartbeat, his mouth was on mine. There was nothing soft about his kiss. His mouth moved over mine, hard and demanding, stealing the breath from my lungs before I could even think of fighting him. The hand at the back of my neck tightened, pulling the tendril of my hair into his palm, keeping me exactly where he wanted me, while the other wrapped around my waist and dragged me against him.

He kissed me like he had been holding himself back for far too long and had finally decided he was done trying. A startled sound escaped me, and he swallowed it. My hands came up between us, palms pressing against the solid wall of his chest. I should have pushed him away. Instead, my fingers clawed at his bare chest, leaving angry red marks in their wake.

The anger between us didn't disappear. No, it simply changed. Morphing into a heat that seemed to burn straight through him and right into me. Turning into something so sharp and consuming that it moved through my body faster than I could stop it.

“Still want to defend other men?” he murmured against my mouth.

I pulled back just enough to drag in a breath. “F*ck you.”

His eyes flashed in the sunlight. “Oh, I absolutely plan to do just that.”

His lips crash into mine once again, and I fight to hang on to the anger boiling inside of me. I hang on to it for dear f*cking life because if I let it slip from my grasp right now, I am afraid of being swept away completely. My hands make their way up his chest and behind his neck, and it entices a deep growl from his lips when I thread my fingers through his hair at the back and yank.

Hard.

The deep throaty sound sends a bolt of electricity straight to my core that is impossible to ignore now. Every inch of my body hums in excitement. I shouldn’t be this…excited. His hand slid from my waist to the back of my thigh, lifting me against him with an ease that made my stomach twist. My legs instinctively tightened around his hips, and I could feel the hard lines of him pressed against my core. My body shivered, and the corner of his mouth lifted, pleased with my reaction to him. I was tempted to wipe that smirk right off his face by digging my teeth into his lip, but I didn't get the chance.

Cool marble kissed against the back of my thighs suddenly, but it did very little to douse the heat coursing through every vein in my body right now.

Damn it.

Why am I like this?

Why does my body seem to come alive at his slightest touch?

I hate it.

All of it.

I hate the way he smells. Hate the way his hands feel against me when they trace along my curves. Hate the way my heart stutters every time his mouth moves against mine hungrily, like he can't seem to get enough of me. I hate that he came into my life and turned it upside down, and yet, despite every reason that I should want to run, I want him. His hand drifts up my thigh, and I damn near hyperventilate when I feel his fingers brush across the thin lace. I groan to myself because I don't know who I hate more at the moment. My husband or me.

A tearing sound echoes across the room, and I tear my lips from his just as he removes his hand from between my legs with a thin black lace. Even with me sitting on the countertop, Dante still stands several inches above me, but that doesn't deter me from glaring at him.

“Hey, I liked those.”

I swear golden swirls came alive in his irises, his eyes brightening with something that looked dangerously close to satisfaction.

“Don’t worry, wife. I’ll make sure that you have plenty more for me to rip off of you.”

My lips pull into a coy little grin as I pull him in closer with my legs. I let my hand trail down the front of his dark chest before sliding my hand into the waistband of his pants and wrapping my hand around his hard length. This time it is him whose breath catches. I stroke the length of his c*ck, and his body leans in, hands bracing against the marble countertop.

Leaning forward so that I could reach his ear, I whispered. “What makes you think I'll let there be a next time, Husband?”

The smile that spread across his face was slow and far too dangerous.

Before I could decide whether I wanted to see what that smile meant, his hand closed around my wrist, and he pulled my hand free from his pants. He caught my other hand before I could even reach for him again, and the next thing that I knew, my feet were back on the floor. I had all of a second to catch my breath before he lifted my caged wrist above my head, and with one hand on my waist, spun me around and pressed my chest against the countertop in one smooth movement.

A startled gasp tore from my throat as the cool marble pressed against my stomach where my shirt had ridden up. Strands of my hair that had come loose from the knot on top of my head fell over my shoulder, blocking my view of the man standing right behind me. I attempted to press myself up with my now free hands, but all that did was make my ass grind against him. Heat colored my face at the thought that at this angle he could see every inch of me. I was completely bare to his burning gaze.

When I say that my body felt like someone had taken it and hooked it to a battery and turned it on, I am not joking. I was so turned on that my hips rolled as if they had a mind of their own, and I swear I heard a muttered curse under his breath. The sharp sound of his zipper lowering had goose bumps erupting across my body in anticipation. His hand slid up the length of my spine before wrapping around my throat and firmly pulled me back, my spine bowing and causing my ass to jut out even more against him.

My aching core pulsed as he now pressed his c*ck against my entrance. A deep growl slipped past my lips at the feel of him. I flipped my head just enough to remove my hair from my face, and it gave him easy access to my neck. His lips barely brushed against the shell of my ear.

“Because,” he murmured, his voice dropping into something dark and certain, “you'll be begging me to f*ck you again.”

The words barely left his lips before the world seemed to tilt beneath me as he slammed into me in one brutal thrust. A cry tore from my throat, my entire body convulsed as he sank all the way into me. For one suspended moment, there was nothing but the overwhelming sensation of him and the realization that he had known exactly what he was doing.

My body screams as it stretches around the size of him. As the sharp edge of the moment began to fade, leaving something warmer and far more dangerous in its wake. He might be right. When he rolls his hips into mine, a groan tears from him as my body clenches around him. He was right. I hated that realization almost as much as I hated the fact that I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that I would want this again. And if he kept this up, I very well might beg for it exactly like he claimed.

F*cking ass was so sure of himself, and now I’m going to have to act like he isn't f*cking me stupid with his big d**k. This is so unfair.

Dante still has his hand wrapped around my throat and the other gripping my hip, forcing me onto my tiptoes. I fight to keep from moaning, to keep from giving him any satisfaction in knowing that I was enjoying myself, but it's hard to resist when he keeps hitting that one spot that makes my toes curl, and the air leaves my lungs.

“How’s that, Wife?”

“I’ve been f*cked better,” I lie.

I can’t exactly have the big, bad mafia boss walking around thinking he’s the f*cking god of the bedroom. His ego is already big enough without me adding fuel to the fire. A deep, satisfied laugh rumbles through his chest as the hand on my hip snakes around and dips between my thighs. I gasp when his fingers graze over my c**t. Lazily, he circles my aching nub, and I groan, my hips rolling against his fingers.

“Is that why you're so wet for me, Wife?” The gruff tone from him sends another shiver through me. Damn him.

I bite the inside of my cheek when his hips snap forward, determined not to give him the satisfaction of hearing exactly how much he is affecting me. My body has other ideas, though, and is currently betraying every lie I manage to force past my lips. If he keeps this up, I am going to come harder than I ever have.

“Don’t flatter yourself, husband,” I bite out through clenched teeth as my body starts climbing.

The smug bastard doesn't even need to answer, like he already has the answer he wants, and then he deliberately pulls back, leaving me suspended on the edge of what I desperately want. My walls clench, desperately trying to draw him back inside.

Needy b***h.

His hand kneaded my hips. “Want to change your answer, wife?”

I flipped my hair again out of my face and glared at him over my shoulder. “No.”

I wanted to tell him that he wasn't nearly as good as he thought he was. That he was mediocre at best. Unfortunately, my body seemed determined to betray me on both counts. His fingers that were still between my legs resumed teasing me. Soft circles that have every nerve in my body drawn tight. I could feel the edge of pleasure building, rising higher and higher until I was certain that I couldn't hold it back any longer.

Then he stopped.

I growled, dropping my head to the countertop. The marble was cool against my cheek, offering absolutely no relief from the heat burning through me. I twisted just enough to look at him. Dante's expression was infuriatingly calm. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing to me, and judging by the faint curve of his mouth, he was enjoying every agonizing second of it.

I clenched my thighs together, desperately trying to reclaim the sensation he'd deliberately taken away. “You are such an a*shole,” I mumbled against the countertop.

“Maybe.” He leaned closer, his mouth brushing the shell of my ear again. “But I seem to remember you telling me you've been f*cked better.”

My eyes narrowed. He actually intended to make me beg…now. Not later. He wanted to hear me beg to come right now. And by God

I was already dangerously close to giving him what he wanted. My body buzzed with another wave of need as he slowly, inch by f*cking inch, re-entered me. He didn’t stroke me with his fingers; he didn't rock his hips; he just let the fact that he was slowly filling me again drive me insane with need.

“Dante,” I pleaded.

Something dangerously satisfied flickered across his expression. His eyes darkened as he watched me struggle against the inevitable.

“Say it.”

My stomach tightened as his fingers barely moved—it was just enough to have me dragging in a ragged breath.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Go to hell.” I clenched my jaw, my mind still wanting to fight but my body on the verge of winning out.

His hand stilled again, and I whined. Actually whined. I am so f*cked if he already has this effect on me. I turned and held his gaze for half a second. I swallowed. I hated that my body was already begging without me having to say it out loud. I closed my eyes. I was going to kill him.

“F*ck me,” I finally groaned.

A slow, wicked smile curved across his mouth.

“That's better.” His voice was thick with his accent, and it rolled over my body like a caress.

His hand tightened around my hip as the next thrust drove a cry from my throat. Whatever restraint he had been forcing himself to maintain disappeared. He drove into me again. And again. Hard enough to make the countertop shift beneath my hands. I barely had time to breathe before the next one hit, my body jolting with every brutal movement. I crashed over the edge a heartbeat later. A scream tore from my throat as my walls fluttered around him, dragging him over the same cliff.

My body sagged against the marble, and for several seconds all I could do was force the air I knew back into my lungs. My legs trembled beneath me, and Dante’s hand remained locked around my hip. His c*m was already running down the inside of my thigh. I turned my face, hiding from the smug look I am sure was on his face.

Dante Lazzari had just f*cked me better than anyone. Just made me beg for it.

And the most humiliating part?

I wanted him to do it again.