My mind was prepared to riot, to throw a fit and point out all the ways he was more stubborn than I, but my defenses weren’t in order.
My heart hammered until it hurt, and he stood so close that I could see every little detail on that perfect face. God, he looked good, even beaten up. The worst part was that some twisted part of me found his concern touching.
“I didn’t ask you to keep me safe,” I repeated, trying to sound firm, but even I heard the shakiness in my own voice. “I don’t need you fighting my battles.”
Dante stepped even closer and pursed his lips, like he was trying to stop himself from lashing out. “You didn’t ask me? Funny, I seem to remember you signing those marriage papers pretty damn quick when I told you it was for your protection.”
Damn it. He was right. When he’d offered me safety that night after the auction, I hadn’t hesitated. I’d grabbed onto his offer like a lifeline, though not for the reasons he believed. I simply hadn’t wanted to bring any more trouble to Papa’s door, but I’d never questioned what it might cost Dante.
“I… I wasn’t thinking straight.” I argued weakly.
“Okay. Maybe you weren’t thinking straight then. But I don’t recall you asking for a divorce after.” His voice dropped lower. “So you can understand that from where I’m standing, you’ve been perfectly fine with me keeping you safe. You’re only denying it because things are complicated.”
“Nothing’s complicated,” I protested to maintain my point, even though I’d forgotten the whole cause of this argument. My mouth suddenly felt dry, and I tried not to let my legs tremble. His eyes… I was drowning in them.
“Bullshit.” He was so close now that I had to tilt my head up to see his face. “Everything about us has always been complicated, Alisa. You’re keeping secrets and I’m not prying, but I know trouble when I see it.”
I shook my head and took a large gulp of air, my eyes widening as he leaned a little forward.
“And you know what else is complicated?” His breath was now hot against my face. “The fact that right now, even with all the fucking bullshit that went down tonight, I still want you so fucking bad I can barely think straight.”
My breath caught. His confession hung between us, and I wanted to rage at how dare he, but the words died in my throat because they would’ve been lies. I did want him, more than he knew, but the depth of all the secrets I kept made staying angry easier than speaking the truth.
For one heartbeat, we stood frozen, neither of us moving, as though one wrong shift could change the trajectory for where this was going.
And then, I don’t know who moved.
Maybe we both did.
All I know is suddenly his mouth crashed against mine, and he tangled one hand in my hair, pulling me against him with such fierce force that I felt my body sing his praises as every muscle relaxed and heightened in sensation all in one go.
I kissed him back just as ferociously and pushed myself against him even harder. God, what was it about him that turned me into a magnet, always seeking out every inch of him?
I dug my fingers into his shoulders, wanting, needing, starving for more. Our tongues met, and when they did, we were no longer gentle or coy. We were all teeth and tongue and pent-up frustration finally unleashed.
His hands moved down my body with rough palms and wanting fingers, leaving trails of fire in their wake. He grabbed the hem of my nightdress and tore it upward, pulling away from the kiss only long enough to yank it over my head.
His eye widened when he realized I wasn’t wearing anything underneath except a bra.
“Fuck,” he growled, his hands immediately going to my ass, squeezing hard enough to make me gasp as he pulled my body tight against his, until my breasts squeezed against his chest. The way he looked down at us, at how I looked against his body, hit me right between my legs, and I felt a gush drip down my thighs.
“You always roam around like that? How come I never noticed?”
“Usually you’re too distracted by my lips,” I teased, nipping at his bottom one just to prove my point.
He groaned, “You’re killing me,” and then started kissing me again.
I reached for his shirt between kisses, desperate to start what I’d left unfinished just days ago, but dreamt of every night. He helped me, shrugging it off his shoulders. I fumbled with his belt and finally got it to unbuckle and yanked down the zipper.
He ducked his head and took one nipple between his teeth. Pleasure licked down my spine like fire on silk, and I gasped, the sound turning to a moan as my body arched toward him, desperate for more of that delicious sting.
“Dante,” I whispered, voice wrecked with need, as I pushed his pants and boxers over his hips. His cock sprang free—thick, hard, and burning against my skin—stealing the breath right out of my lungs.
He walked me back until my spine hit the wall, and then his mouth was everywhere—my neck, my breasts, my collarbone—leaving marks I knew I’d feel tomorrow.
But I didn’t care.
I wanted them.
