Chapter 7 Tasting

Olivia Fernandes

The moonlight cloaked us in something near to magic, casting a silver glow across the balcony as Dante and I stood suspended in a moment that throbbed with anticipation. He watched me with eyes that burned, waiting for a sign. He wanted certainty-my certainty. No hesitation. Not confusion. Just the truth of my desire.

The silence between us wasn't peace- it was tension so thick I could taste it. Inside me, thoughts collided like waves in a storm. I wanted him-God, I wanted him-with every aching cell in my body. I wanted to be the girl who didn't flinch, who didn't question, who took. But I also knew the weight of consequences, the kind that echoed long after the fire went out.

"We could just explore each other tonight... no pressure," he said, voice low and smoky, like temptation itself.

I smiled, the kind of smile that held secrets, as a spark lit in my chest. I didn't say all the filthy things that surged up in my mind-every wicked scene from every erotic novel I'd ever devoured-but I felt them. I wanted to be that girl, if only for tonight.

"I have a few ideas," I whispered near his ear, my breath fanning over his skin. I felt his body stiffen, sharp with attention. "Maybe you could show me a few things... things you like to do."

His arms wrapped around me, slow but possessive, fingers brushing my hair back to bare more of my face. His fingertips traced my cheek, then lower, skimming the edge of my bottom lip. My breath caught, and in a single, daring move, I parted my lips and welcomed his touch. I drew the pad of his finger into my mouth, warm and velvety against my tongue, dragging it along the base in a slow, deliberate stroke.

Dante growled low and guttural. It rumbled in his chest and hit me straight between the legs. One hand slid to the back of my neck, threading into my hair, while the other pressed harder against my waist, claiming me. He wasn't holding back anymore-and I didn't want him to.

I pulled him closer with sudden certainty. Our mouths crashed together, and the kiss was brutal and delicious. Hungry. Devouring. There was nothing soft in it, only the heat of two bodies on the edge of something inevitable.

"Don't be afraid, Liv. I don't break," he murmured against my lips, guiding my hand to the base of his neck. I dug my nails into his skin, dragging them down, leaving lines of heat. He moaned-deep and rough-and I felt it vibrate through both of us.

"When you look at me like that," I panted, "it's impossible to go slow."

His stubble scraped along my throat as he kissed and licked his way down my neck, and I arched into him, craving more-needing more. When he pulled back, my body rebelled with a soft, desperate whimper.

"You've no idea how hard this is for me, too, mia bella." His accent dripped between us like warm honey, and I felt it in places I hadn't known could ache.

I slid my hands down his chest, fingertips trembling with curiosity. His shirt clung to him, damp and tight over every sculpted inch. Lower. Down his abs. To the cool metal of his belt. My pulse roared in my ears as I unfastened it, fingertips brushing what lay beneath.

He hissed through his teeth, head tilting back in restraint-but barely. I felt him, thick and hot under the fabric, and a wave of hunger surged through me so fast it nearly knocked the air from my lungs.

"Dante..." I whispered his name, falling from my lips like a prayer.

He chuckled-breathy, but still in control.

"I promise I'll be gentle... when you're ready."

But I wasn't ready to stop. Not anymore. I stroked him through the fabric, and he throbbed beneath my hand, raw and real. I didn't know I could want something so badly. I didn't know I was capable of such a deep, desperate craving.

"Let's go inside," I said, voice shaking but certain, my eyes locked on his, burning.

"What are you planning to do with me, Olivia?" he asked with a smirk that nearly unraveled me. "Your eyes... they're begging."

We collided again, lips crashing like waves, and in one swift motion, he lifted me into his arms. I gasped, more turned on by the effortless strength in him than I could ever admit.

He carried me to the deep moss-green sofa and laid me down like I was something precious-but the look in his eyes said he also wanted to ruin me.

He hovered above me for a moment, gaze raking over every inch, and I knew- I felt-that he saw me in a way no one ever had. I wasn't nervous anymore. I was ravenous.

Dante didn't just want to touch me. He wanted to devour me. And I wanted nothing more than to be tasted.