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“You’re not going to walk through life, Amara,” he uttered roughly, each word a vow that cemented itself in her heart. “You’ll dance through it. And I’ll fucking remove anyone who tries to break your rhythm. I promise you.”
He had actually started reading up on trauma and torture survivors to understand her psyche better, so he could help her in any way she needed to heal.
“I will kiss you and brand myself upon your heart, Amara,” he told her quietly. “Just make sure you’re ready for me to.”
“You’re the beat to my heart, Amara,”
“You’re in my blood, beating in my fucking heart. The only way you go is when the heart stops.”
“One day, I’m going to put my ring on that finger, Amara,” he grit out, pushing up another inch into her. “One day, I’m going to put my babies inside you. Just wait for me, baby. Please wait for me.”
knowing the queen of his heart was going to be the mother of his child.
“You’re mine, Amara. Mine to cherish, mine to protect, mine to love. We may not be husband and wife to the world but I have been married to you in my heart for eight years.
“Give me your dreams and your nightmares, your pleasure and your pain, your fantasies and your fears. Give me everything. Be my queen outside, and my filthy girl inside,” he hammered his hips into hers, his words coming out rough, gritty, raw. “And make me fucking yours, so everyone who looks at my ring knows I have you finally. Say yes, Amara.”
That was his warrior child, inside his warrior woman.
Dante had learned her breaths to learn her responses and anticipate her needs. He had spent years tracking the changes in them, understanding what each variation meant. He had memorized her like his favorite song.
