Page 54 of Ivory Crown
I found myself sitting on the bed then dressed only in my underwear and an oversized T-shirt feeling oddly exposed - not because of my attire—I’d grown used to being on display in front of him—but because something about that night scraped away another layer between us.
The terror of losing him hit me square in the chest—a feeling I didn’t expect to have—it was real and raw—the fear of seeing him lying in a pool of his own blood, taken out by a rival’s bullet. Even though he held me there against my will, the thought of a world without Dante terrified me more than I wanted to admit.
“So…rough night,” I said, because what else could I fucking say?
He laughed humorlessly. “Yeah.”
“Sleep. You need it,” I told him and I meant it.
“You need it more. You’re pregnant,” he said. “You’re carrying our child. You need your strength.”
“Help me out of these?” Dante’s voice broke through my thoughts, his shaky hands trying and failing to undo the button on his slacks. “Sorry, I just…”
“Of course,” I said, sliding off the bed. My bare knees met the cold tile floor with a soft thud as I positioned myself in front of him. I reached for the clasp of his slacks, fingers brushing against his skin, and felt a jolt of something electric pass between us.
“Jade,” he murmured, the sound of my name on his lips sending an unexpected rush of warmth flooding through me.
I looked up at him, our eyes locking. “Yeah?”
“Nothing,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Just...thanks.”
“Anytime.” The truth was, there wasn’t anywhere else I’d rather be. Despite the chaos of our lives, this strange captivity had bred a peculiar kind of intimacy between us—one that I couldn’t deny, even if I wanted to.
As I slid his slacks down his legs, the fabric whispering its descent, I found myself asking, almost without thinking, “Do you want to have sex?” It wasn’t just about desire—it was a question loaded with all the complexities of our arrangement, the need for connection, and perhaps even a small dose of solace we could offer each other.
Dante looked at me, obviously a little taken aback by the directness of my question. There was a pause, a moment where everything seemed to hang in the balance, before he answered with a simple nod.
“You sure?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I always want to have sex with you.”
The early morning air was heavy with the scent of rain from the night before, the city slowly coming to life outside Dante’s penthouse. I was acutely aware of the weight of his gaze on me, a mix of darkness and desire that seemed tethered to the very essence of who he was.
“Jade,” Dante’s voice cut through the stillness, tinged with a note of concern I hadn’t expected. “Do you want to put a pillow under your knees first?” He handed me a pillow, his movements mechanical, as if he was performing a duty rather than partaking in an act of intimacy.
“We don’t have to…”
“No, I want to,” he said. “I do. I love your mouth on me. Don’t stop. I’m just still winding down because the night was crazy. This will help.”
“Okay. But you’ll tell me if you want to stop.”
“I don’t want to stop, Jade,” he replied, a smile creeping into his voice.
“Thank you for the pillow,” I murmured, adjusting the pillow beneath me.
I brushed aside the thought, focusing instead on the man before me. Leaning forward, I nuzzled into the warmth of his thigh, feeling the unmistakable hardness that betrayed his body’s reaction to my proximity. My lips found the sensitive skin between his legs, and I could feel him tense, a silent struggle against the vulnerability of pleasure.
“Relax,” I whispered softly, coaxing him. It was a strange dance, one I’d never performed for him before, and the conflicting surge of power and submission left me breathless. He was so hard and ready, his desire palpable, yet the tension in his body betrayed a reluctance to let go completely.
“Just let go,” I whispered against him, tracing the length of him with my lips. “I’ve got you.”
And he did let go. His body relaxed beneath me, every breath ragged and unsteady as he gave himself over to the experience.
“Jade,” he gasped out my name like a prayer, fingers grazing my cheek before tightening their grip on my hair.
Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and explored further, letting my lips and tongue guide me. Hearing Dante’s sharp intake of breath, feeling his fists tighten around my hair, was more exhilarating than anything I’d experienced in the lab. The realization startled me; this man had come to mean so much more than just my captor.
Dante lay back, a silent surrender in the tension of his frame easing. I kept my pace, the taste of him both unfamiliar and intoxicating. As I moved, I reveled in the soft groans that fell from his lips, hating myself for the joy it brought me to hear him unravel.