Home > Impossibly (Dante's Nine MC #1)

Impossibly (Dante's Nine MC #1)
Author: Colleen Masters

PROLOGUE

My surroundings come into focus at last. I realize that I am floating—but not through space. Warm water, scented with lavender and sage, suspends my naked body, comforting me. It laps against my skin, caressing every curve and limb. At first, I think I must be treading water in some hot spring, or sun-baked ocean—the body of water is that vast. But as the rest of the scene comes into focus, I find that I’m not in a sea at all. I’m in a marble and golden bathtub, sunken into the floor of some elegant, unknown room. I gaze up and see that the ceiling is made of curved glass, and the moon shines down from above. The moon, and some other very vibrant lights...perhaps of the neon variety?

“What are you doing all the way over there?” asks a rich, rasping voice.

I look around sharply, sending little splashes of water everywhere as I try to cover my naked breasts. Warm, amused laughter rings out from the far side of the enormous tub. I peer through the steamy air and see that I’m not alone in this place. There, across the way, glow two piercing blue eyes. Heart battering against my ribs, I inch closer. Up out of the mist rises a broad, cut torso, covered in inky lines. Two thick, muscled arms drape over the edge of the tub. A face unlike any other, itself like something carved out of marble, watches me approach. And a full, irresistible smile bursts open there as I approach.

“There’s my girl,” Declan Tiberi growls, holding out his strong hand to me.

I place my hand in his, marveling at the sudden spread of heat that rushes through me at his slightest touch. Declan pulls me toward him, guiding me through the steamy water. His brown curls are wet, slicked back from his gorgeous face. Slowly, tentatively, I come to standing before him, letting my eyes trail all along every defined muscle of his chest, his web of intricate tattoos. I spot a scar or two on his chest, rising up from the bulky, firm panes of his pecs.

“Won’t you come closer?” he breathes, running his hands down my bare arms. A cascade of goose bumps stand up wherever his fingertips trail.

I sink down into the water, hiding my naked body from view. I’m suddenly bashful, feeling young and inexperienced. My long blonde hair twists and waves in the water, fanning out all around me. My cheeks are burning with excitement and self-consciousness.

“I’m a little nervous,” I admit to him, averting my eyes.

“It’s just me,” he says softly, “You know me, Kassie.”

My familiar name rolling off his tongue sends a shiver of joy down my spine. I dare to meet his gaze, feeling like I could get lost in those sapphire eyes.

“I’ve never...been with a man before,” I tell him honestly, “Not really. I’ve messed around and all, but never...you know.”

“Is that so?” he asks, unwaveringly, “Well...do you want to know what it’s like? To be with a man—to be with me?”

“More than anything,” I breathe, inching closer.

“I want to show you, Kassie,” he says, coming toward me in the water. “I want to show you what it’s like. How good it can be.”

His torso rises up out of the pool, his perfect rack of abs glistening and slick. He towers over me, even as I stand, letting my breasts meet the warm air. He groans as he takes me in, his eyes drinking in my every inch, my every curve.

This is it, I think to myself as he closes the space between us. Declan cups my chin in his strong hand, titling my face up toward his. He looks sure and serious, but elated. Happy. And all at once, I realize that I’m not afraid anymore. I want this. I want him.

“Just let me show you,” he says, his voice rasping lustily, “Let me make you feel amazing, Kassenia. I’ll show you...”

He lowers his full, firm lips to mine. I close my eyes, open myself to him, full of trust and longing. His tongue glides deliciously against mine. He pulls me against him, and I feel the rock hard length of him pressing against my belly. Just feeling him there, knowing that he’s hard for me, is almost more than I can handle. I throw my arms around his broad shoulders, desperate to feel him inside of me, where I’ve never felt any man before. I want him to be the first one to know me that way. He’s the first man I’ve ever met who’s strong enough to handle me. Take me. Show me what this is all about.

Declan catches me up in his arms, spinning me around in the warm, steamy air. He sets me down on the edge of the tub, my legs snaked around his tapered waist. I lay back against the cool tile as his fingers trail over my collarbone, ribs, thighs. His thumbs brush over the pink peaks of my nipples, sending shockwaves of pleasure dancing along my nerves. He cups my sex in a sure hand, running his fingers all along my slick slit. He pulls his hands away and a new, unnamable, amazing pressure makes itself known against that throbbing place between my legs. A low, aching need goes off like a bomb in my belly as I suck in a huge breath, waiting to be filled up by this incredible man.

“Declan,” I moan, bucking my hips toward him, “I need you...”

CHAPTER ONE

Somewhere beneath Las Vegas, Nevada, present day...

A thousand rabid boxing fans leap to their feet as the fighter squares off against his challenger. The two fearsome, ruthless men have been at it for nearly a dozen rounds, flying at each other with nothing short of deadly force. Each man has been bruised and beaten, taken and given staggering blows—but only one can walk out of this ring with his life, it's the only way this fight ends.

The very canvas beneath the fighter’s feet begins to tremble as the crowd stomps and jostles, craning their necks for a glance of him. He knows that he’s something to behold. At six and a half feet tall, 200 pounds and change, he’s a man to be reckoned with. His balanced, cut form ripples with muscle, but not the curated, manicured muscle you find on urban gym rats and vain, desperate men. No—the fighter’s bulk has been earned. Built up on the battlefield, in the ring, fighting hand-to-hand, tooth and nail. Just as he does now.

He wipes the blood and sweat off his brow, a wild grin spreading across his full lips. His opponent has put up quite a fight, but he’s fading fast. The challenger’s knees wobble, his chest heaves, he may just collapse of his own accord. But the fighter can’t take any chances. The stakes are too high to leave anything up to fate. He has to finish this man, for good.

“Dante’s Son. Dante’s Son. Dante's Son.” the crowd chants feverishly, crying out the fighter’s ring-christened name.

They can smell blood in the air, and they’re lusting for more. This is what they came for, after all. If they’d just wanted to see a good fight, anywhere in Vegas would have done. But here underground, far from the reach of the law or God, this is where real fighting lives. This is where men fight to the death, while millions of dollars trade hands at the end of every night. You can feel the tension, the excitement, the primal drive of money, power, and the finality of death electrifying the air. The fighter breathes it in, all of it, as he prepares to strike one last time.

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