Chapter 13
FRANKIE
I take great delight in slamming the front door behind me just as Dante is reaching the top step of the porch. My moment of glee doesn’t last long, though.
He pulls the door back open so hard, it bounces against the stop.
Then he steps inside and closes it, dripping onto the marble floor.
His eyes sweep over me and I brace for more of his scathing insults as I attempt to slip out of his soaked jacket.
The sleeves cling to my arms, refusing to let go.
He grins at my struggle, but there’s no humor in it.
He’s merely mocking the difficult time I’m having.
After watching the show for another moment, he snags the sleeve and yanks, freeing one arm so I can wiggle out of the jacket completely.
“You could have used the back door. It would have been a shorter walk. Or maybe the domestic staff’s door. Much more fitting.”
Wadding up the sodden jacket, I fling it at him. “Maybe I would have, if I actually knew there was a fucking back door to this mausoleum. But thanks for the suggestion anyway.”
I take off my heels so I don’t slip and stomp up the staircase that leads to my rooms. His footsteps follow me up, so I increase my pace.
Darting over the threshold, I move to close my door as quickly as I can, but he’s right behind me.
I spin to face him as he barges inside, the look on his face making it clear he won’t be denied.
My adrenaline kicks, another ache starting between my legs.
Dante kicks the door closed and advances on me. A shallow gasp leaves my throat as he grabs the lapel of my blazer and pulls me toward him.
I stumble from the momentum and fall into him, one hand on his chest. His warmth radiates through his damp shirt like the assault on my willpower that it is.
Just this simple touch makes me want him.
It’s a hate-want. I hate that I want it.
I don’t want to want him, and this has to stop.
A flush of embarrassment warms my cheeks at a quick memory of him thrusting into me against the car.
He was uncaring, unfeeling, and yet it didn’t bother me one bit.
His hands are suddenly everywhere, and my purse hits the floor, spilling its contents across the marble.
He strips off my blazer and my blouse first, then unclasps my bra.
I pull back, but the straps hold me in place, and then slide down my arms, the cups pulling free of my breasts and leaving them bare to his gaze.
Dante clenches his jaw and homes in on my nipples as they harden almost painfully against the sudden exposure.
“What are you doing?” I’m almost yelling. “You must be fucking stupid if you think I’m going to let you fuck me again after that!”
My rage gives him pause, but it doesn’t last as that cocky, irritating smirk claims his lips again. “I’d rather stick my dick into a beehive than back into a shrew bitch like you.”
With a light shove, he strides over to the bathroom, where he grabs something behind the door. Crossing my arms over my chest, I barely have time to react as he launches a bathrobe at me the same way I’d thrown his coat at him. I scramble into it, pulling the tie much too tightly around my waist.
He disappears into the bathroom again and comes back with a towel. This time I’m prepared when he tosses it. “Dry your fucking hair. You look like a wet dog.”
My jaw drops. “Well you look like a wet rat! And it has nothing to do with the rain.”
Not my best comeback, but it will have to do.
He looks sharply past me and I follow his gaze over to the bed.
It’s piled high with a mound of shopping bags and boxes, all the purchases I made today.
How the hell did those get in here? Donovan must have put them there when he got back earlier.
Or wait, does this place have some kind of butler?
I’ve seen plenty of staff around the house.
Dante makes a disgusted sound and storms from the room before I can ask. Blotting my hair with the towel, I find myself following him. I’m not done. Hell, I haven’t even started.
“Excuse me, but we are not done here.”
He doesn’t break his stride. “Yes, we are.”
“Dante.”
He continues down the hall, uncaring one bit that I’m on his heels.
“We need some ground rules,” I insist. “I did not consent to what just happened again.”
That’s enough to stop him dead in his tracks, and he turns to face me, looking incredulous. Anger creeps up my neck to my face and makes my hairline tingle.
“Are you implying that I raped you?”
I falter, because my brain and my emotions are tumbling over each other. I don’t like his cold, callous fucking. How easily he just takes what he wants while I don’t even attempt to shut it down. What does that say about me?
“No,” I blurt. “But it wasn’t…I was…”
Dante waves me off as he throws open a door, revealing another lavish bedroom that I assume must be his. “I don’t have time for this. I have to get to an important meeting.”
I trail after him into the room. “We need to talk about what happened.”
He ignores me and begins to whip off his wet clothes, shrugging out of his shirt and unfastening his pants.
Each dusky inch of his body slowly revealed as the fabric disappears.
He kicks free of his pants, standing there in his tight undies, the impressive outline of his cock visible through the damp fabric.
I force myself to look past him, just so I can focus.
“I’m meeting Jessica in ten minutes,” he says flatly. “Just go.”
Right. He has an “important meeting.” With Jessica. My ass.
He’s watching me, waiting for me to react to his comment about her. But I bypass that for now. It’s a fight for another day.
I try again. “I need to know that you’re going to respect my boundaries, Dante.”
“Did you ever once say no? Did a single word come out of your mouth to tell me you didn’t want me, Francesca?”
My nostrils flare, my fingers clench. “Moving forward—”
He steps into his huge walk-in, not even listening.
I focus on my breathing instead of berating him because honestly, I’m not sure where I’m even going with this conversation.
I’m angry at myself for loving how he controls my body and the boundaries are more for me than him.
The sounds of him dressing command my attention, almost making me forget what I was going to say. Why is this man so damn distracting?
He comes back out, fastening his cufflinks, long fingers working the link, twisting the backing, and pulling the sleeve.
His button-down is light blue, a perfect complement to his dark coloring, the collar neatly buttoned at the tips, the top undone enough to reveal he’s not wearing an undershirt beneath.
Threads of dark, curling hair peek from the undone buttons as he makes a slight turn, the fabric pulling hard against his muscular torso. I give myself a mental shake.
Does he have to look so damned put together after fucking in the rain?
“Moving forward, what? You want me to keep my hands off you? Forget it. You’re my wife.”
I cross my arms. “That may be, but I insist that we come to some terms.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I am not. This is my body and—”
He juts a hand at me palm out, silencing my tirade. Then he makes a move with his fingers as if I’m supposed to give him something. I have no idea what he wants.
“What?”
“The fucking credit card,” he says impatiently. “And the keys to my new car. Now.”
My heart is racing so fast, I can barely breathe.
Fuming and feeling like I might burst from my anger, I spin around and head down the hall to my room, grabbing what he wants and then storming back.
But instead of handing over the card and the keys like a good little Stepford wife, I march straight past him, throw open the French doors leading to his balcony, and step out into the storm.
My eyes catch his and hang on as I launch the keys and the card as hard as I can over the railing and out into the rain.
I give a cocky jaunt of my head as I come back in and yank the balcony door closed, letting it slam satisfyingly behind me. I’m soaking wet again but oh wow, do I not give a fuck.
He follows me as I exit his room, with a hissed, “Jesus Christ” racing from his lips. I skirt past the staircase, Dante still on my heels as an overly sweet voice calls up to him.
“Dante, are you ready? We’re going to be late.”
Fucking Jessica.
“I’ll be right down.” Dante barks the words while staring at me.
It’s my turn to smirk. I’ll never let him see how much it pisses me off that she’s literally at the bottom of the steps waiting for my husband to come to her.
“Go on, then,” I say, doing my best impression of Jessica. “Let her suck the taste of me right off your dick.”
I don’t wait for a response as I go into my room, shut and lock the door, and then stand there until my pulse and my emotions wind down. I can hear his footfalls across the marble floor, descending the steps, and then fading completely. Good riddance.
I imagine Jessica waiting downstairs with open arms, her boobs nearly popping out of whatever she’s wearing.
With a huff that’s so unlike me, I go to the bathroom and fill the tub with water as hot as I can stand.
Then I add a generous pour from a bottle of Lollia bubble bath, inhaling deeply as the scent of white tea and honeysuckle fills the room.
I need to soak both the chill and the touch of my husband out of me.
The water stings as I sink into it, but I grit my teeth and wait it out as my skin adjusts and the burn becomes welcome relief. But as I close my eyes and enjoy the tickle of bubbles against my jaw, I somehow can’t stop thinking about Dante.
His eyes had been so determined, so intense as he’d ripped my panties off me.
My fingers stray down there, exploring my hips, my thighs.
I didn’t look, but I’m sure there are marks from the force of the elastic digging into my skin.
I remember the feel of his palm against me, pressing, his fingers stroking and searching until I was helpless with want.
A flood of desire washes over me. Closing my eyes, I let my fingers wander to the ache, plunging them inside me, recreating the sensation Dante had caused when he’d fucked me against the car.
I spread my legs and stretch out in the oversized tub.
He’d kissed me so hard. I never realized that kind of aggression was something I’d enjoy.
I slip my fingers out and rub my palm over my center, feeling my own wetness as I thumb my clit and start making slow little circles around it.
I wish he’d kissed my neck, my breasts. Maybe worked his way lower until that wicked tongue was right here where my fingers are.
Tension swirls and cascades as I rub and stroke, trying to get some relief.
But the more I try not to think about Dante, the more I flash back to his granite face, the naked desire in his dark eyes, the hard perfection of that proud cock.
And the more I imagine him, the closer I get. It was foolish to think I could set boundaries on whatever this is between us. I want it, even though it’s so far from something I ever imagined I would enjoy. It’s as if I’ve become a different person in the few short days I’ve been Dante’s wife.
A swirl of sweet tension flies high, bringing me to the edge, and I start panting with anticipation, my free hand sliding up to squeeze my breast. But no matter how hard I try, how close I get, I can’t seem to get there.
Even when I reimagine the rough sex against the car, it’s no use.
I can’t reach the place I’m looking for. My release escapes me.