Chapter 23 The Reckoning in Fire

Chapter 23 The Reckoning in Fire
Dante

“Do you want to discuss semantics, Dante? Or would you prefer to take me home and fuck me?”

The words are still ringing in my ears, hot and sharp. My entire body is rigid. The feral grin I flashed in the ballroom feels permanent, a mask of unrestrained victory.

The drive home is a blur of speed and silence. Nico drives like a man possessed, sensing the seismic shift in the air. Mya sits beside me, her thigh touching mine. Her body heat seeping through the fabric separating us and into me.

The scent of her, anger, expensive perfume, and the faint, sweet musk of her arousal, is a suffocating, intoxicating blanket.

I keep my hand clamped on her leg, squeezing the flesh beneath the unforgiving fabric. She’s shaking, I realize with a spike of triumph, from sheer, desperate anticipation. She’s finally cracked. The denial broke her will, not her spirit. That’s a key distinction.

The second the car stops in the garage, I shove my door open and pull Mya out, my fingers wrapping around her arm. I drag her through the back entrance and up the winding, dark staircase.

“You made me wait,” I snarl, my voice low and thick with long-suppressed aggression. “If you were hoping it would teach me patience, you failed.”

Her breath hitches, sharp and uneven. “I made you wait because I hate you.”

“Keep saying it, Mya. Say it when you shatter. Say it when you claw my back. Say it when you beg for my seed.”

I throw open the door to our suite without bothering to turn on the lights. The moonlight streaming through the enormous windows illuminates the room in silent silver, leaving the massive bed in deep shadow. The polished floor gleams like ice.

She doesn't make it two steps inside before I smash her back against the nearest wall with brutal force. The air leaves her lungs in a whoosh. My mouth crushes down on hers. It’s not a kiss, but a ravaging claim.

Her fury meets mine. Her hands fly up, grabbing handfuls of my hair, pulling me closer, demanding more. Her lips part instantly, welcoming the violent plunge of my tongue. I taste the residual champagne, the fresh resentment, and the overwhelming heat of her craving. This isn't tenderness. This is a reckoning.

My hands go straight for the zipper of her brocade dress, ripping the metal teeth down in one swift, unforgiving pull. The structured fabric falls, leaving her standing in nothing but the lace stockings, garter belt and high heels. The diamonds at her throat and wrist are the only sign of the woman who just left the party.

I pull my mouth away, dragging it down the exposed column of her throat, my teeth nipping the delicate skin just above the necklace. Her breathing escapes in shallow, ragged gasps.

“You belong to me, Mya. Every inch of you,” I growl.

I grip her bare hips, grinding my erection, thick and throbbing, against the curve of her belly.

I want to take her now. Push into her and then fuck her into oblivion. The urge is a hurricane. But the denial game taught me one thing. I want the absolute, final, verbal surrender. The proof that she can’t deny when the fog of desire has lifted.

I drop my mouth to her ear. “Say it, Mya. Say you’re ready to capitulate. Say you need my cock inside you right now.”

She twists, raking her nails down my chest. “Fuck you, Dante.”

“I guess you need a little more incentive. I don’t mind waiting.”

I shove her onto the chaise lounge near the window. The plush velvet catches her, starkly contrasting the black lace of her stockings against the cream fabric. She lands awkwardly, her eyes wide, but before she can scramble up, I’m kneeling between her spread thighs.

I tear my pants open and my cock springs free, hard and hot, aching with weeks of relentless need. Her eyes fixate on it instantly, widening with a mixture of horror and ravenous hunger.

My hand wraps around her throat, fingers pressing lightly, cutting off her ability to speak, forcing her attention entirely on my next move.

I dip my head, my mouth finding the slick folds of her entrance. My tongue parts the damp velvet and plunges in, deep and immediate. She screams, the sound strangled beneath my grip, a raw, beautiful cry that finally breaks her iron control.

I work her ruthlessly. My tongue is a weapon of precision, mapping the swollen, aching seams of her need. I use my fingers, two of them, sliding deep into her tight core, stretching her, filling her, while my mouth never stops its merciless assault.

She’s mindless. Her hips rise and fall in sharp, frenzied spasms against my face, her whole body trembling violently. The hand around her throat prevents her from pulling away, keeps her anchored to the pleasure I’m so bountifully supplying. She’s delicious. Ambrosia from the gods. Her musk grows thicker around me and I decide this is my new favorite place in the world. Right here, between her thighs.

I drag her higher and higher, until her legs are wrapped tightly around my neck, her whole body vibrating with the promised climax.

Then I pull away. Completely. I stand up, my breathing loud and ragged. The cold air hits her slick, throbbin sex. She cries out, a low, guttural sound of agony and frustration, desperate for the release I snatched away.

“Beg for me, Mya,” I command, my voice low and dangerous. “Beg me to finish what I started. Say you’re mine, or we end it right here for tonight.”

Her face is pale, smeared with tears of shame and lust. She tries to speak, but only a ragged cough escapes. She scrambles toward me, grasping at my waist, pulling my erection to her lips.

“Please,” she sobs, the word threadbare. “Dante, please. I need you. I can’t… I can’t think straight anymore. I need your cock inside me now. Please… pleasure your wife.”

That word, wife, is the final key. The sound of her desperate surrender shreds every last piece of my self-control.

I shove her back onto the chaise, pulling her thighs wide. I don’t bother with foreplay, not now, not when she’s an exposed nerve ending. I grasp my thick, throbbing length and plunge it inside her in one powerful, brutal thrust.

She screams my name as I break through the thin seal of her control, the sound a mixture of pain and blinding, devastating relief. I bury myself to the hilt, filling her completely, feeling the shuddering, convulsive clench of her inner walls around my shaft.

I lean down, grasping her chin, forcing her to look into my eyes as I begin to pound into her, slow and deep.

“You’re mine,” I rasp, the words torn from my chest. “You’ll carry my legacy. You’ll answer only to me. Never deny me again.”

She can’t speak. She can only gasp and writhe under my assault, her eyes wide, drowning in the combined torrent of pain, heat, and absolute, overwhelming pleasure. The denial is over. The reckoning is here.