Chapter 4 - Dante
Chap-ter 4 - Dante
I slam the pent-house door shut be-hind us, the sound re-ver-ber-at-ing through the steel and glass in-te-rior like the crack of a gun-shot. The im-pact rat-tles through my bones, but I barely feel it. My pulse is a drum-beat in my ears, my mus-cles wound so tight I feel like I might snap.
Elena stum-bles for-ward from the force, catch-ing her-self against the arm of the leather couch. For half a sec-ond, I see the flicker of vul-ner-a-bil-ity in her—just a shadow of it—be-fore she rights her-self and whirls around, eyes blaz-ing, chest heav-ing. Her dark hair is wild, strands stick-ing to her flushed cheeks from the wind out-side, and her hands clench into fists at her sides, nails dig-ging into her palms.
“Let me go,” she seethes, her voice ra-zor-sharp.
I don’t move. I don’t say a word. I just watch her.
Watch the way her breath-ing stut-ters, the way her body is poised be-tween fear and fury. Watch the way her lips trem-ble—whether from adren-a-line or rage, I can’t tell. Watch the way her de-fi-ance burns so brightly, it threat-ens to set the whole god-damn room on fire.
She’s fuck-ing beau-ti-ful when she’s an-gry.
Too beau-ti-ful.
My jaw tight-ens. My hands flex at my sides.
I should leave. I should turn away be-fore I do some-thing I can’t take back. Be-fore I give in to the in-stinct claw-ing at my ribs, the one that tells me to close the dis-tance, to grab her by the waist and si-lence her with my mouth, to make her for-get what-ever bull-shit truth she thinks she’s un-cov-ered.
In-stead, I step for-ward.
Elena mir-rors me by step-ping back.
An-other step. An-other re-treat.
Her spine meets the glass wall be-hind her, the cool sur-face steal-ing some of the heat from her skin. The city sprawls be-hind her in a sea of golden lights, but she’s all I see. She’s trapped be-tween me and the night, and for the first time since she stormed into that church, I see it—un-cer-tainty flash-ing across her face.
Good.
She should be afraid.
I place one hand against the glass be-side her head, caging her in.
Her scent wraps around me—warm vanilla and sugar, de-cep-tively soft, en-tirely at odds with the fire in her eyes. I breathe it in, let it burn its way into my senses. It’s dan-ger-ous, the way ev-ery-thing about her is start-ing to con-sume me.
“I asked you a ques-tion.” My voice is low, edged with some-thing dark, some-thing I don’t try to re-strain. “Do you have any fuck-ing idea what you just did?”
She lifts her chin, de-fi-ant de-spite the fact that she’s pressed against cold glass with nowhere to go.
“Yeah,” she bites out. “I found out the truth. Some-thing you re-fused to tell me.”
I slam my other hand against the glass.
She jumps, but she doesn’t cower.
“Truth?” My laugh is hu-mor-less, sharp enough to cut. “You think you know the truth?” I press in closer, just enough for my chest to brush against hers. Just enough to feel the hitch in her breath-ing. “You don’t know shit.”
Her lips part, her breath com-ing faster now, but she holds my gaze.
Fear-less.
Or reck-less.
Or both.
My blood thrums with some-thing lethal, some-thing pos-ses-sive. I should move away. Should stop my-self be-fore I get too close, be-fore I see too much.
But then her gaze drops to my mouth for a split sec-ond—so quick I al-most miss it.
Al-most.
My body re-acts be-fore my mind does, ev-ery mus-cle go-ing tight, ev-ery nerve stand-ing on end.
She’s play-ing a dan-ger-ous game.
And worse?
She has no fuck-ing idea she’s al-ready lost.
The way she sways to-ward me is slight, barely no-tice-able, but I catch it. I catch ev-ery-thing.
“You don’t own me,” she whis-pers.
My fin-gers curl into fists against the glass, the ten-sion coil-ing through my frame like a wire pulled too tight.
No.
I don’t.
But God help me, I fuck-ing want to.
I should move. Should step back be-fore I do some-thing I can’t take back. Be-fore this fire rag-ing in my veins con-sumes us both.
But then she shoves me.
It’s not enough to ac-tu-ally move me—I’m too big, too solid—but it’s enough. Enough to make my re-straint snap like a frayed wire un-der too much pres-sure.
My hand shoots out be-fore I even think. I grab her wrists and slam them against the glass be-hind her, pin-ning them high above her head. A sharp gasp es-capes her lips, the sound barely au-di-ble over the pound-ing in my ears, the roar of my pulse de-mand-ing more.
My fore-head nearly brushes hers.
She’s trapped be-tween me and the un-yield-ing glass, her body so close that I can feel her heat sink-ing into me, burn-ing through the lay-ers of my self-con-trol. Ev-ery shal-low breath she takes presses her soft curves against my chest, and fuck if I don’t feel ev-ery inch of her.
She trem-bles, not in fear.
In frus-tra-tion.
In chal-lenge.
In some-thing dark and elec-tric that mir-rors the storm tear-ing through me.
My grip tight-ens—not enough to hurt, just enough to let her feel it, to re-mind her who’s in con-trol. To re-mind my-self.
“Be care-ful, princess,” I mur-mur, my lips just inches from hers, my voice low and rough with warn-ing. “You keep push-ing me, you’re gonna find out ex-actly what hap-pens when I push back.”
Her breath hitches. Her pupils di-late, dark pools of de-fi-ance and some-thing else. Some-thing she doesn’t quite un-der-stand yet.
But she’s still fight-ing.
Still play-ing this game she doesn’t even re-al-ize she’s in.
I see it—the ex-act sec-ond she makes a de-ci-sion.
The pre-cise mo-ment she chooses to test me.
Her lips part, and she drags the tip of her tongue across the bot-tom one, de-lib-er-ately slow, de-lib-er-ately taunt-ing.
“What if I want to push?” she whis-pers.
Fuck-ing hell.
Heat slams through me like a wreck-ing ball, shat-ter-ing the last rem-nants of rea-son in my brain. My grip tight-ens on in-stinct, fin-gers flex-ing around the del-i-cate bones of her wrists.
A warn-ing.
A prom-ise.
She gasps, but she doesn’t tell me to stop.
No.
She arches slightly. A barely-there move-ment, but I feel it like a shock-wave straight to my gut.
It’s too much.
The scent of her—sweet and in-tox-i-cat-ing. The warmth of her body, the way her chest rises and falls against mine, her breaths com-ing too fast, too shal-low. The way her lips are slightly parted, her pupils blown wide, her body ra-di-at-ing heat and chal-lenge all at once.
She has no idea what she’s do-ing to me.
Or maybe she does.
I lower my head, bring-ing my mouth close enough that my lips graze the cor-ner of hers—just a whis-per of con-tact, just enough to feel the sharp in-hale she takes, the slight trem-ble that racks through her.
Her breath stut-ters.
I don’t kiss her.
But my lips ghost along the curve of her jaw, my breath fan-ning against her skin, mak-ing her shud-der.
My hands flex around her wrists, my pulse a war drum in my ears.
I shouldn’t want this.
I shouldn’t want her.
But fuck, I do.
She tilts her head slightly, just enough for her lips to ghost against mine.
A very near touch. Not a kiss.
Not yet.
Just a whis-per of warmth that makes my en-tire body coil tight with re-straint, ev-ery mus-cle locked, ev-ery in-stinct scream-ing at me to close the dis-tance.
Then she whis-pers, so softly I al-most don’t hear it—
“Are you afraid to lose con-trol, Dante?”
I snap.
My grip on her wrists jerks tighter as I shove her fully against the glass.
A sharp gasp leaves her lips.
I don’t move away.
I let her feel what she does to me.
The way my en-tire body is tense with re-straint.
The way my breath-ing is un-even, my pulse ham-mer-ing against hers.
She pushes against my hold, test-ing me, and I let her think she has a chance be-fore I push right back.
Her head tilts up, her lips barely brush-ing mine, and I know if I kiss her, I won’t stop.
I won’t fuck-ing stop.
Ev-ery rule, ev-ery ounce of dis-ci-pline I have will shat-ter, and I’ll take her the way I’ve wanted to since the sec-ond she first looked at me with that god-damn fire in her eyes.
And she knows it.
I can see it in her smirk, in the way her body presses into mine, dar-ing me to break.
I in-hale sharply through my nose, fight-ing it.
Fight-ing her.
Then, just as fast as I lost it, I shove my-self back.
The dis-tance be-tween us feels un-nat-u-ral.
Elena wob-bles slightly, blink-ing in sur-prise.
I clench my fists, my chest heav-ing. “This isn’t hap-pen-ing.”
Her eyes flick over me, over the way I’m barely hold-ing my-self to-gether.
And the worst fuck-ing part?
She smiles.
Not sweet. Not in-no-cent.
No, it’s some-thing dark. Some-thing know-ing.
“Why not?” Her voice is husky now.
I turn away be-fore I do some-thing I’ll re-gret. “Be-cause you’re not mine to have.”
I don’t stay to see her re-ac-tion.
Be-cause if I do, I might not be able to walk away again.