She sank her teeth into the spot where his neck met his shoulder, had been wanting to do that for longer than she'd ever admit, and his sharp intake of breath was deeply satisfying.
He pressed her harder against the wall, his mouth finding hers with renewed intensity. Her hands fumbled at his jacket, fingers clumsy with urgency, and he let her work it off his shoulders. Let her yank at his shirt until her palms pressed flat against his bare chest.
The sound he made was half growl, half prayer.
Her nails raked down his chest, leaving trails of fire. Her fingers found his nipple and pinched, and his hips jerked forward involuntarily, grinding against her heat.
"Your turn," he managed, and his shadows danced around her, finding the complicated laces at the back of her gown.
His realm's aesthetic wrapped around her body like he'd chosen it himself. And now the fabric was loosening, slipping, pooling at her waist until she was left in nothing but a thin chemise.
Through the sheer fabric, he could see everything. Her nipples were already hard and straining against the material. The flush spreading down her chest. The way her breath came too fast.
"Perfect," he breathed.
His shadows slid beneath the chemise before she could respond, cupping her breasts, teasing her nipples with cool touches. She gasped, arching into the sensation.
"Your shadows," she managed, "they're—oh?—"
"They know what I want." His eyes were dark, watching her face as his shadows circled her nipples, rolling them between incorporeal fingers. "They've wanted to touch you like this for weeks. I've had to hold them back."
She pulled him closer. "Don't hold back."
His mouth descended on her collarbone, trailing down to the edge of her chemise while his shadows continued their work. Shewas making sounds she couldn't control, little gasps and moans that seemed to drive him wilder.
"Dante." His name slipped from her lips like a prayer.
He paused. "Say it again."
"Dante."
He kissed her then, softer than before. A brief moment of tenderness that made her chest ache. Because she'd said his name like it meant something. Like he meant something.
Then he was carrying her toward the bed, shadows swirling around them both.
She expected him to lay her down gently.
Instead, he threw her onto the mattress.
She landed with a bounce, skirts tangled around her thighs, the silk sheets a shock against her flushed skin. Before she could catch her breath, he was on her.
"Mine," he growled, hands already tearing at the remnants of her dress.
The expensive fabric ripped under his fingers. Her hips jerked toward him.
"Prove it."
Her hands raked down his chest, desperate for more of him. But shadows wrapped around her wrists, yanking them above her head and pinning them to the mattress.
She was trapped. Held down. Completely at his mercy.
Her cunt clenched.
His mouth descended on her throat, teeth grazing hard enough to mark. "You like this," he said against her skin. "Being held down. Helpless."
"I don't?—"
One shadow slid up her inner thigh, and her protest died in a moan.
