I meet his gaze, and the intensity in his expression steals what little breath I have left. His control snaps, and his body moves with a desperate, aching need that mirrors my own. Every stroke sets my nerves on fire, driving me higher and higher until the world blurs around the edges.
Heat courses through my body, and I dig my fingers into the muscles of his back, rolling my hips in time with every pump of his cock until I’m forced to go hurtling over the edge. His body spasms as he finds his release, spilling into me. I cling to him, letting the sensation pull me under—deeper, sweeter—until nothing exists but the heat of his body, the roughness of his breath in my ear, the sound of my name on his lips.
His forehead rests against mine as he stills, his chest rising and falling against my body. The air between us is warm and heavy, filled with the fading echoes of our pleasure. He rolls until he’s lying next to me but turns my face by my chin so he can kiss me. Dante’s body still molds to mine, his arm draped across my waist as if he can’t bear to let me go, and I press my cheek into his shoulder, where his tattoo is. My heart thuds softly against his chest, and I feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my palm—strong, sure, and entirely him.
The night is deep and quiet, the echoes of the ball nothing more than a memory now.
Moonlight spills through the open window, painting silver streaks across the sheets, across him—the sharp angles of his face softened by the glow, the tan tones of his skin catching where the light brushes over muscle and scar.
We lie tangled in the quiet, his fingers moving idly along my bare arm, tracing slow, thoughtful patterns across my skin. I shiver, though not from the cold.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks.
Then, softly, Dante exhales. “I need to ask you something.”
“How can your brain possibly be working already?” I ask. “My head’s still spinning.”
He lets out a slow chuckle and presses a kiss into my temple. “It’simportant.”
I let out a slow breath. “Okay.”
He strokes my hair gently, and I let my fingertips wander over his chest.
“I know neither of us truly had a choice in this,” he murmurs, his voice a low thread in the stillness.
I glance at him, at the way his brows draw together slightly, his gaze fixed somewhere distant, lost in thought.
His fingers don’t stop moving. Up and down, featherlight over my wrist, my forearm. Like he’s drawing a map, committing me to memory.
“I can’t control what my father does,” he continues. “But I can control myself. And if nothing else, I want to be fair to you.”
I shift slightly, turning toward him, my heart pressing tighter against my ribs. “Dante, what is it?”
“I belong by your side.” His voice is steadier now, more certain. He finally looks at me, really looks at me, his dark eyes burning with something I can’t name. “I know my place. As your betrothed. As your husband. Your partner in all things. That’s where I belong.”
My lips part, my breath thin, but I don’t interrupt.
He watches me for a moment longer, then drags a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. “I love you, Celeste. And I want nothing more than to marry you.”
My breath hitches at his words.
His fingers trail back down my arm, pausing just below my wrist. “But I need you to be sure it’s what you want. Not something arranged. Not something you have to do for anyone else. Not for my father, not for Hedera, not even for Delasurvia.” His thumb brushes over my knuckles, slow and deliberate. “For you.”
A lump rises in my throat.
I already know my answer.
I know it in my bones, in the way my soul steadies when I’m near him.
I open my mouth to say it. To tell him that I love him, too.
But before I can speak, Dante reaches up, pressing a single fingeragainst my lips.
“Not yet,” he murmurs. “I want you to really think about it. Sleep on it.”
My heart stutters.
He holds my gaze, his expression unreadable, though there’s something tender beneath the quiet restraint. “I don’t ever want you to feel like the queen does,” he says softly. “Like you’re trapped. Like you have no escape.” His jaw tightens slightly. “Even if I would never be like my father, I don’t want you to feel even ashadowof what she does. No regrets. I want you to enter this marriage becauseyouwant it.”
