Fucking me?
Is that all that matters to him?
His display of masculine prowess had nothing to do with desiring me.All he wanted was to make me desperate and prove his dominance over me.
Bringing my chin up, I straighten the bodice of the gown.Then I meet his contemptible eyes in the mirror.
I’m now well aware of his dirty tactics.
And as far as I’m concerned, Dante Moretti can fuck all the way off.
ChapterEleven
Valentina
With chin up and my emotional barriers firmly in place, I coldly meet his gaze in the mirror.
Is this what he thinks my life is going to be like?Does he imagine that he gets to consume my every waking moment, dress me, decide when I eat, when I sleep?
The questions coil through me like the silk still clinging to my skin, warm from his hands, still humming with the echo of his fingers on my nipple.
I stand frozen on the platform even after he steps away.The mirrors reflect back a thousand versions of me—flushed, lips parted and swollen, breasts rising too fast against the bodice he chose.
My nipple throbs in slow, heavy pulses that travel straight down, tightening everything low and slick between my thighs.Honestly I want to hate him for what he’s intentionally doing to me.
But my traitorous body refuses the memo, clenching around nothing, aching for the very man who just proved how easily he can unravel me.
Unblinkingly he studies my expression, his dark eyes unreadable.
The air between us is supercharged, thicker than the Houston humidity pressing against the boutique windows.
Damn it.Damn him.
Randy clears his throat from the doorway, professional mask firmly in place, but his eyes flick between us with knowing discretion.“We’ll have the gown ready for final fitting next week, Mr.Moretti.”
Severing our connection, Moretti turns.“We’ll need it tomorrow morning.”
“I see.”Randy nods.“In that case, let me call our alterations specialist in.”
A few moments later, the man joins us.
Finally, when all the pins are in place, a clerk joins us, and she helps me out of the gown.
A few minutes later, wearing the plum-colored dress Moretti decreed this morning, feeling more in charge, I return to him.
I don’t know what I hope for next.
Certainly not returning to his bedroom.But I don’t want to spend more time with him.
When I emerge, he’s waiting, suit jacket buttoned, expression composed like he hadn’t just had his hand inside my wedding dress.
Standing, he offers his arm, as if he truly is an attentive groom-to-be.“Shall we?”
I smile politely at Randy as we leave the boutique.
Moretti’s man—tall, silent, built like a wall—checks outside before nodding at us to proceed to the SUV.
The car door opens before I reach it.
