I lower my head until my lips are beside her ear again. “The clothes aren’t entirely for them, Bianca. They’re for me. So when I look at you across a room, knowing what’s underneath…” I let my words trail off, letting her imagine it. “It has nothing to do with control. And everything to do with this.”
This time, I do touch her. I slide my hand down her side, over the curve of her waist, down to the hem of her shirt. I slip my fingers beneath it, finding the bare skin of her stomach.
She gasps. Her skin is like silk, hot and smooth. Her abdominal muscles contract under my touch, a frantic flutter. Her eyes fly open, locking with mine. There’s no anger in them now. Just shock. And a deep, dawning hunger that mirrors my own.
I splay my fingers wide, palm flat against her stomach, holding her there. The feel of her is incredible. Her hips give a tiny, involuntary jerk.
A slow, wicked smile touches my lips. “See?” I whisper, my thumb stroking a slow, maddening circle just below her navel. “You’re not a doll. This isn’t control.” I press my palm down more firmly, feeling the rapid, shallow pulse of her breathing. “This is the one thing I can’t control. And neither can you.”
I lower my head again, my mouth hovering over hers. Our breaths mingle, hot and desperate. I can almost taste her. Her lips are right there.Right there.It would be so easy.
But I don’t.
I stop.
I just hold myself there, a fraction of an inch away, letting the tension coil to a breaking point. Letting her feel the full, unbearable weight of the want that’s been building between us for days.
Her chest is heaving now, her body arching slightly, seeking a contact I’m deliberately denying her. A soft, frustrated whimper escapes her throat.
I’m totally fucked.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Bianca
The dress Dante chose for tonight is black, fitted, and shows more cleavage than I've displayed in my entire adult life.
I hate it.
I also look incredible in it, which makes me hate it more.
It makes me remember everything that happened last night.
If I didn’t know how much I wanted Dante before last night? I know it now.
No matter how crazy, dangerous and annoying this man is, I want him so much, my body sings for him.
"Ready?" Dante appears in the doorway, looking effortlessly perfect in dark jeans and a black button-down.
"Do I have a choice?" I raise a brow.
"No." But there's something almost gentle in his tone. "But for what it's worth, you look beautiful."
The compliment shouldn't make me feel warm. It does anyway. Everything he does these days makes me feel warm.
Stupid hormones.
"Where are we going exactly?"
"Matteo's place. Poker night with the Brotherhood." He offers his hand. "It's tradition. Every other week, we play cards, drink, and pretend we're not planning murders and territory disputes."
"How wholesome."
"We're very wholesome criminals." He pulls me toward the door. "Just... be yourself. They'll test you, but if you can handle me, you can handle them."
"That's not reassuring."
"It wasn't meant to be."
