Teaser time ~ Dark Mafia Romance: Bitter Poetry by L.V. Lane 🫦

Jul 28
2 min read

Who is ready for a spicy teaser from Bitter Poetry?

Deluxe Hardback Edition available on Kickstarter

Carmela

He lifts his head from the crook of my shoulder, and his dark eyes search mine. He’s overwhelming me. Like a tsunami bearing down on a lonely beach, his very presence is a force of nature, and I’m helpless before him. Dante is going to kiss me; I know he is. I should push him away. Do or say something to bring this to a stop.

Only I don’t want to.

I want his lips on mine, for him to be my first kiss—my first everything. Just as he said.

I want to fall into and under this man.

To let him sweep me away.

His hands move to cup my face, big, warm hands that feel impossibly good against my skin. I’m tingling all over, and my breathing is unsteady. An almost electric spasm lights up my center and a sweet, achy pleasure blooms in the wake.

Then his head lowers, and I forget how to breathe.

His lips touch mine.

I moan.

It’s too much and not nearly enough. He tightens his hands slightly, holding me immobile when I suffer an overwhelming urge to fidget. His tongue sweeps over my lower lip. I open. He slowly slants his lips over mine and his tongue tastes the inside.

My next moan is pure need. His scent fills my lungs, his big body caging mine against the door and creating a delicious sensation of being trapped and at his mercy.

I’m grateful he’s holding me still, taking away the worry about what I should do and how I should move to kiss him back. I surrender, feeling myself tumbling, letting him lead.

He deepens the kiss. My tongue sweeps against his, and, holy fuck, my stomach takes a slow tumble and my core spasms again.

His head lifts. His lips tantalizingly just out of reach.

My breathing sounds loud in the room, quiet otherwise but for the ticking of a clock.

He nips on my lower lip playfully, then releases it, leaving a throb that echoes in my pussy. Somewhere during the kiss, my hands have formed into fists. I force them to uncurl, lower them to my sides and press my palms against the door in an attempt to center myself.

Then he sinks to his knees. I blink down at him, confused, drinking in the way he manages to remain commanding even like this.

His hands are on the waist of my yoga pants.

“Dante?”

“Shut up and take it like a good girl.”