"Fuck... Dante, harder," Kendella gasped, her voice breaking into a high-pitched moan as she arched her back, forcing herself against him. Her fingers dug deep into his shoulders, drawing blood, but she didn't care. she wanted the friction, the sweat, the noise. She wanted to fill his senses until there was no room left for anything else.
Dante didn't say a word. He just gripped her hips with bruising force, his face a mask of dark, focused aggression as he drove into her. He wasn't being sweet. He was using her to vent a frustration he couldn't put into words.
"Yes... fuck... Dante!"
Think of me, she screamed silently, her eyes locked on his, watching for that flicker of distraction she hated. Not her. Never her.
She needed to drown out the conversation they'd had hours before—the one that had driven them to this bed in the first place.
Earlier, Kendella traced the line of his jaw. If Kieran couldn't be hers, then she'd go for Dante.
