Broken Promises: (Broken Duet #2)

I gasp, closing my teeth on Dante’s shoulder. He leans over me, one hand entangled in my hair, the other on my hip, lips on my neck as he thrusts his hips back and forth in a slow, passionate beat. His fingers dig into my flesh, and hooded eyes watch me in-between kisses. The quiet rustling of bed sheets, Dante’s low, throaty growls, and my almost inaudible moans create a stimulating atmosphere that fuels our desire.

Cold drops of water, remnants of a recent shower, trickle down his neck and drip onto my hot skin, introducing more goosebumps, more shivers, more squirming. Dante rests on his elbows, holding his arms along mine to trap me as if he never wants to lose sight of me again.

A greedy, lustful kiss burns a new dose of desire through my bloodstream. Like a boost of energy, it changes the calm, passionate moment into a heated battle. I free myself from the makeshift cage of his arms, drawing long lines on his back as the muscles in my abdomen tighten in anticipation.

We’ve been in bed for a while, but Dante’s not ready to let me come. He brings me sky-high, to the brink of an orgasm, and then stops at the crucial moment. Pleasant pain spreads in a wave of vibrations through my body when he stills, buried deep inside, denying me the release.

He sucks in a deep breath, combing my long, damp hair behind my ears. “You’re trembling, Star. And I didn’t even let you come yet.” Satisfaction paints his handsome face, but a cheeky smirk means he wants to torture me for a long time.

“I’ll be sore for days.” I press the back of my hand to my forehead. “Enough, please.” I brace against his chest to push him back and dictate the pace so I can take what I need.

“Don’t even think about it.” He straightens his elbows, hovering higher. “I love when you’re on top, but today I prefer the look on your face every time you’re so close.”

I trail my hand down my stomach, desperate to come. I expect Dante to stop my efforts, but he arches back further, dark eyes on me when I circle my clit with two fingers, mimicking his moves when he touches me like this. Gathering a handful of the sheets, I throw my head back, holding my moans on a tight leash.

Dante dives between my legs, guiding his hot tongue along my entrance. “You’re so fucking sexy, baby, don’t stop.”

Like a balloon filled with helium, I rise higher and higher, closer to the all-encompassing release. Dante slips two fingers inside, stroking my G spot. That does it. Stimulation overload. My moans bounce off the walls as I clench my thighs together, holding his head in place until the waves retreat.

I’m still shaking when Dante pushes my legs aside, climbing back to kiss me. The orgasm hasn’t completely faded yet, and I bite my lip instead of his, hands on his shoulders, when he slips his hard cock back inside, making me cry out.

“Eyes, Layla. Show me those gorgeous eyes.”

I look at him, smiling down at me. “This is too much…” Pleasure mixes with a sting of pain that has me writhing beneath him as another orgasm looms nearby.

“Too much? We’ve barely scratched the surface.”

He thrusts harder, igniting every nerve ending in my sensitive, exhausted body. I wrap my legs around his hips, disappearing into the depths of my own consciousness as my mind explodes with fireworks. Dante pins me to the mattress, pumping in and out to prolong and magnify the sensation. A brutal kiss bruises my lips before he stills, holding me in place as he sinks his fingers into my flesh.

His green eyes flutter shut, muscles shift beautifully under his skin, and lips part when he comes.

I have no strength left to embrace him. Dark spots in front of my eyes disturb the image of his handsome face inches from mine until he collapses beside me, wrapping one arm around my middle to haul me closer. I’m limp, a rag doll in his hands. I can’t move. All I can do is attempt to calm my heartbeat and catch enough air to remain conscious.

Dante comes to his senses first, as always.

A wrinkle marks his forehead when he rises on his elbow to look at me. His jaw clenches, and puff, the satisfaction is gone, replaced by worry.

I lift my head from the pillow. “What’s wrong?”

“You bit your lip.”

I move my hand to touch it, but Dante stops me before my fingers come across the blood. The metallic, disgusting taste fills my mouth, and my stomach ties itself into a knot. I hate that. I hate that I can’t control this reaction or lessen the heavy feeling in my chest. A pang of anxiety replaces the last of my pleasure.

“Give me a sec.” He pulls on a pair of boxers, heading to the bathroom only to emerge back a minute later with a wet towel in hand. He sits on the edge of the bed, parting my lips with his thumb to wipe the cut clean.

“You should be happy,” I say. “I didn’t register the pain. Too much pleasure.”

“I’d rather you didn’t panic minutes after sex.”

“I think I might deal with blood better now that I know what triggered the phobia in the first place.”

He considers my words for a moment as if trying to find the answer for himself. Looks like he found the wrong one because anger taints his features. “Did Frank hurt—”

“No! No, he has nothing to do with it. I promise.”

“Okay, what is it then?”

“You… I was seven, and you got hit. Frankie was looking for a first-aid kit in the kitchen when I walked in.”

“I remember that. You were the cutest little thing. I hated seeing you cry.” He pulls me in and falls back, cuddling me to his chest. “I still hate it now.”

With my head on his torso, I contour his biceps with my finger, enjoying the soft kisses he presses to my hair. “I forgot about it, but when I saw blood on your shirt last week, it all came back. Looks like I loved you back then too.”

“You’ll have to be careful for a few days, Star. I won’t be around to take care of you if you open up this cut on your lip.”

“Don’t remind me. I have eight more hours of acting like I don’t have to go anywhere. Let me pretend I can stay here with you and that no one is trying to kill me.”

After the shooting, Dante made the difficult decision for us both, to evacuate me from Chicago. If I’m being honest, the idea is the safest bet right now, but the destination leaves a lot to be desired. I had no say in the matter. Even if we could vote, I’d lose because Dante’s not alone in his conviction. He and Julij think there’s no safer place than Julij’s uncle’s house in Moscow.

Dante gets out of bed again, pulls one of his white shirts off the hanger, and throws it at me, announcing a break from all the sex. I sincerely hope it’s time for food.

“Dinner? I want a big burger with grilled chicken and a rainbow of vegetables.”

He takes his cell from the nightstand, eyes on me, while I button down his shirt. “Go to Bellissimo. I want the usual. Layla wants a burger with grilled chicken and vegetables.” He looks away when I cover my boobs, wriggling my butt into a pair of sweatpants. What a fashionable composition: sweatpants and a smart shirt that falls down to my mid-thighs. “Then pay him enough to do it.”

I gather my hair into something that’s supposed to resemble a bun and tangle a bobble around the masterpiece, ready in under three minutes to go downstairs and wait for food.

***

“Stella Meridionali?” I wrinkle my nose, glaring at my new passport.

Dante handed it over after I went through the passport control. The airport representative, probably bribed, led us through Employees Only corridors into a small room reserved for passengers departing on board private aircraft.

“Meridionali…” I test the word. “Sounds Italian. Change of plans?” My voice fills with excitement. Italy is warm in February compared to Russia. “Rome? Milan?”

Dante wraps his arm around me, and with his other hand, he pulls out a small manilla envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket. “It’s not Italian, Star. It’s Latin. Unfortunately, no change in plans. You’re still going to Moscow. New York first, though. Julij will join you there.”

“Latin? Why Latin?” I rest my forehead against his torso.

“That’s a secret. Stop asking questions.”

“We’re scheduled to take off in fifteen minutes,” a stewardess says from the other side of the room. “We should board the plane now.”

“They won’t leave without me,” I mutter.

Dante pushes me away enough to get a look at my childish pout. “No, but they’ll have to wait for the next takeoff window, and you only have forty minutes in New York to get through security and on board the next plane.”

I cling to him once more. “I’ll fly tomorrow.”

“Do not do this, baby.” He presses his cheek to my temple. “You think I want you to go? I don’t, but more than that, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

I hate it when he’s right. Leaving Chicago to hide in Moscow is the smartest choice. Without me around, Dante will focus his whole energy on closing the hit.

I clench my teeth, taking a rickety step back, and the cloud of anxiety that’s accompanied me since Morte’s visit to the hospital in Dallas grows in strength, moving with me. An unwavering, irritating companion. My eyes pool with tears as I sniffle pathetically, staring into Dante’s eyes—as sad as when I aimed the gun at his heart.

He cups my face, bending down to catch my lips in his, the kiss full of contradicting emotions we both can’t shake. “I don’t want to see your tears. You need to be strong for me, and you need to miss me like crazy. Understood?”

I nod but don’t dare speak, too worried that my vocal cords will break the dam, giving my tears a free pass.

“Good girl. Call me when you land.” He pecks my forehead. “I love you, Star.”

With that, he turns on his heel and leaves, not daring to look over his shoulder. A single tear trails down my cheek, but I wipe it off with my sleeve, annoyed that it had the nerve to escape its confinement.

I fling my purse over my shoulder, drape my coat over my arm, and follow the flight attendant out of the building, leaving Chicago, Dante, and everything familiar behind.

All I hope is that I’ll live long enough to come back.