Chapter 9 Dante #2
“Why would they express an interest in having you take the position if they weren’t serious?” I ask, approaching from the other side of the island between us. “It would be a big step for you. Solidify you as a philanthropist.”
“And it would look good for the family,” she concludes, sounding bored before sipping from her glass.
“What’s wrong with that?” I ask as I remove my cufflinks. Is it because I want her to do it? Is she that resentful?
Instead of answering, she tips her head to the side, watching me remove my tie. “Staying in now?”
“I typically like to sleep at night,” I reply, eyeing her with a smirk. “You sound surprised.”
“I thought you would be in a hurry to give your papa the full report of what happened tonight,” she murmurs, wearing an overly sweet smile. “What, he’s not waiting up for you?”
I shouldn’t let her get to me. She’s obviously in a mood, looking for a fight. There’s no stopping my hackles from rising, though. “And there I was, thinking we had a nice time for the most part,” I retort. “I thought we made a good team out there. Now you have to throw this sarcastic shit at me.”
Shaking her head slowly, she replies, “Wow. It’s almost like I’m an actual person and not someone you can dress up and parade around, then put back in my box when we’re finished.”
“Is that what you think I’m doing?”
“It’s what I know you’re doing,” she snaps, and now any attempt at hiding her anger is history. “You’re all about presenting this image to these people you’re trying to impress. Making sure they spread the word that our families aren’t running around killing each other anymore.”
The dismissive hand she waves makes me grind my teeth.
“I’m glad you think it’s not a big deal. But then why would you?” I ask with a bitter chuckle. “We’re not talking about makeup and pretty dresses now.”
“That’s what you think of me? All I care about is makeup and pretty dresses?
” Slamming the glass on the counter, she pins me in place with a withering look.
“Tell me, husband, dear. Did it ever occur to you that’s all I have?
And don’t tell me I need to spend more time up at the house,” she warns, thrusting a shaking finger my way as she marches around the island.
“Get your finger out of my face,” I warn once she comes to a stop.
“Sure. Because that’s the real problem here. My finger.” Her eyes flash before she touches both hands to my chest and shoves. “There. That better?”
I barely felt it. At least, the force of the shove did nothing to me. The touch of her hands, meanwhile? My skin burns through my shirt. “What are you trying to do? Start a fight? It’s a little late for this,” I grunt while a storm builds inside and a craving along with it.
Yes, yes, give her what she wants. It’s what I want too. An excuse to let go for once. The way I did in the gym.
“What are you so afraid of?” she demands, shaking, red-faced. “Talk to me. I’m right here. I’m a human being!”
“I never said you weren’t.” Fuck, she is so tempting. Sweet, ripe, and alive, bubbling over with emotion, daring me to feel what I haven’t let myself feel in too long. “And now I have to get to bed because I have a long day ahead of me.”
“No, dammit! You are going to talk to me. I am your wife, not some underling you can dismiss whenever you feel like it. Or what?” she adds with a nasty laugh and a toss of her head. “You need a gun in your hand to feel strong and tough? Because otherwise, all you do is run away like a coward.”
That’s what does it.
That’s what takes ten years of sacrifice and self-control and throws it all out the window.
It’s what makes me back her across the room until we reach the front door, which she hits with a gasp before her arms end up pinned over her head, and I even realize I’ve closed my hands around her wrists.
For a few breathless seconds, it’s enough to stare down at her this way, to watch understanding turn her outrage into something closer to fear. Fear, which feeds the fire now blazing out of control and threatening to consume us both.
“I don’t need a gun to be strong.” Leaning down, our breaths mingling between us, I feel her body shudder against me. “Do you want me to prove it?”
“Let me go,” she whispers, teeth clenched. Her chest heaves with every ragged breath she takes, and the fragrance clinging to her skin gets more intense, especially when I cross her wrists and pin them to the door with one hand, leaving the other free to trail down her flushed cheek.
“No, because you reminded me of something.” The hair trailing over her shoulder is soft to the touch, like silk between my fingers. “You are my wife. And until now, I’ve tried to be a gentleman and give you space and time. Obviously, that’s not what you want.”
She sucks in a panicky breath when my hand slides lower, finally cupping her tit through the gauze fabric of her dress. Hunger slithers through me, filling my world with the need to stroke, to taste, to claim.
This woman is mine.
All I have to do is claim her.
Lowering my head until our mouths are only inches apart, I release a shaky breath.
Close, so close, I don’t know how much longer this can go on before I lose my grip, and she wishes she had never poked the monster sleeping inside me.
“So maybe it’s time for me to take what is mine,” I conclude in a whisper, letting my hand slide down to her hip and pull her close until the erection that’s starting to stir presses against her.
Her body stiffens, and she bites her lip once I start gathering the flowing fabric, bunching it up, and raising the hem a little at a time.
As soft as it is, I’m sure it’s nothing compared to the skin underneath.
“What do you think?” I ask before she gasps again once my fingertips stroke her thigh.
“What, you don’t have anything to say now? ”
Her tongue darts over her lips before she whispers, “Let go of me.”
“Is that what you really want?” Her mouth is too appealing, practically begging for my kiss. But instead of tasting those full lips, I let my mouth skim her jaw. Her soft sigh pairs with the way she tips her head back, giving me access to her long neck. “I don’t think so.”
“Because you know me so well?” she asks, then tries a defiant laugh. The breathlessness behind it tells another story.
“You tell me. You’re the one practically begging for me to lap every inch of your throat.” I lift my head away and put space between our bodies like I’m finished. “But if that’s the way you want it…”
Something close to pain flashes across her face. “It is,” she lies.
“Then I will definitely stop.” Looking down between us, I release a sigh, taking in her luscious body. “I won’t make you tremble harder than you already are. I wouldn’t dream of stroking your pussy the way I’m stroking your thigh.”
Her eyelids flutter when my fingertips graze her silky skin, and a soft, regretful groan stirs in her mouth. “This isn’t fair,” she whispers, swaying until her tits brush my chest.
“What? I’m giving you what you want.” Like magic, my hand is gone, hovering inches from her thigh.
She whimpers the way I knew she would. A child having their toy taken away before they’re finished playing. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” This is it. I’m reeling her in, slowly but surely. My mouth is dangerously close to hers, inches away, energy building in the space where our breath mingles. “Tell me, Sophia.”
“Don’t…” Another whimper before she breaks down, closing her eyes before giving in to what she craves. “Don’t stop.”
And now nothing in the world could stop me from finding the heat between her thighs, where a scrap of lace covers her pussy.
Her hips thrust at my touch, and I chuckle against her skin, stroking that lace, savoring the way she trembles and pants helplessly.
It’s safer to focus on her and not what she’s doing to me, or else I would have no choice but to impale her here and now, mercilessly.
That’s not who I am anymore. I cannot be that man.
Instead, my tongue lapping at the fluttering pulse beneath her delicate skin, I find the edge of that lace and slide my fingers underneath, stroking her silky slit.
She keeps herself bald, and the juices have started to coat her lips.
Holy fuck, she’s wet. She would grip me like a vice, wouldn’t she?
Not yet. Not like this. Not while I’m barely holding onto my last scrap of self-control. I would only hurt her now. It’s better to make her back arch when I find her swollen bundle of nerves and stroke it with my middle finger.
“Oh, God,” she whispers, bearing down on me, rolling her hips in time with my strokes. “Oh, Dante…”
Fuck. The sound of my name tumbling out of her mouth, heavy with lust, helpless with desire. She’s going to break me, I know it, and there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s inevitable.
“Come for me.” I pant close to her ear, groaning when she shivers and moans. My body is a coiled spring, I’m half out of my mind with need, and my entire world revolves around the way her body so easily responds to my command. “Give it to me, Sophia.”
“I’m… Dante… I’m… coming!” And then she does, crying out until my ears ring, drenching my fingers in a fresh flood of warmth from her core.
She turns her head like her mouth is trying to find mine, and there’s a moment when I see myself leaning in, claiming her mouth this time, and letting go of everything I’ve fought back and locked away, giving it all to her now and pouring it all into her, when Monica’s voice rings in my ears, “I could never be with a man like you. You’re vile. You’re an animal.”
A soft sigh that sounds a lot like disappointment leaks from between Sophia’s parted lips when I let go of her wrists, pulling my hand free from her thong. Her eyes dart over my face, filled with confusion and lingering pleasure.
“I’m going to bed now,” I tell her, straining behind my zipper, my pulse still racing, her juices on my fingers. “Goodnight.”
As I reach the top of the stairs, I hear her sigh, and I respond with the closing of my bedroom door.
It’s the only chance I have of blocking her out.
At least physically.
There is no blocking her out of my mind.