Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
Bianca
The car ride home is silent.
Dante sits beside me, one hand resting on my thigh in a way that looks possessive from the outside but feels like a brand burning through the fabric of my dress. Neither of us speaks. The tension from the party—the dance, the fight, Caterina's threats—looms in my mind like a living thing.
When we pull through the gates of his estate, I expect him to go straight inside and retreat to his office or his room or wherever he goes when he needs to think.
Instead, he opens my door before I can reach for the handle.
Uh… okay…
"Come with me," he says and takes my hand, pulling me out of the car. "I never gave you the grand tour. Time to fix that."
"I already toured the house myself," I say, stumbling slightly in my heels as he leads me toward the side entrance. "Maria showed me everything on the first day, remember?"
"Not everything." There's something dark in his voice. Something that makes my pulse quicken. "There are parts of this house Maria doesn't have access to."
Uh… the dungeons? The cells? Is he going to kill me?
We're climbing stairs now. Not the main staircase but a narrower one, hidden behind a door I'd assumed was a closet. Up and up until my calves burn and I'm breathing hard.
He’s definitely going to kill me.
"Dante, where are we—"
"You'll see."
One more flight. Then he pushes open a door, and we step out onto the roof.
He wants to push me off? How messy.
The city spreads in the distance, a galaxy of lights against the dark sky. But that's not what makes me stop breathing.
There's a pool. A full-sized infinity pool, heated if the steam rising from the surface is any indication. Lounge chairs. A bar area.
"This is..." I trail off, taking it in.
"My favorite place." He moves behind me, so close I can feel the heat of him. "No one comes up here without my permission. Not Maria. Not the guards. No one."
His hands find my waist, and I feel him start to work at the zipper of my dress.
"What are you doing?" I try to turn, but he holds me in place.
"Getting rid of this." The zipper slides down, exposing my back to the night air. "I hate this dress. Hate that you wore it to defy me. Hate that you looked so perfect in it I couldn't think straight all night."
"Dante—"
The fabric tears. Actually tears, the sound loud in the quiet night. He's ripping it off me, his hands rough and impatient, and I should be angry but all I feel is heat pooling low in my belly.
“Psychotic bastard.” I mutter under my breath, because talking and protesting won’t change anything at this point.
The dress falls in a puddle at my feet, leaving me in just my underwear and heels in the middle of his rooftop.
"Better," he murmurs.
I spin to face him, crossing my arms over my chest. He's already shrugging out of his jacket, loosening his tie.
"I'm not your toy." But my voice comes out breathless.
"Then stop acting like one." His eyes rake over me, dark and hungry. "Stop pushing me. Stop testing me. Stop making me want to do things I know I shouldn't."
"Like what?"
"Like this."
He closes the distance between us in two strides, his mouth crashing against mine. The kiss is all teeth and tongue and desperation, nothing gentle about it. His hands are everywhere—my hair, my waist, sliding down to cup my ass through my underwear.
I should push him away. Should slap him for tearing my dress and dragging me up here like I have no say in the matter.
Instead, I kiss him back just as hard, my nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt.
When we break apart, we're both breathing hard.
"The pool," I say, my voice rough.
"What about it?"
"I want to swim."
I step back, unhook my bra, and let it fall. Then my underwear. Standing naked in front of him, exposed in every way, and the look on his face makes me feel powerful instead of vulnerable.
I turn and dive in.
The water is perfect—warm enough to be comfortable but cool enough to shock my overheated skin. I surface in the middle of the pool, slicking my hair back, and find him standing at the edge.
Watching me with eyes so hungry, I’m almost scared.
"Scared of water?" I challenge.
He strips. Fast and efficient, no show about it, until he's as naked as I am. And Christ, he's beautiful. All lean muscle and controlled power, his body as carefully maintained as everything else in his life.
Then he's in the water, moving toward me with purpose.
I back up until my shoulders hit the tiled edge, trapped. He cages me in with his arms on either side of my head, his body not quite touching mine but close enough that I can feel the heat of him through the water.
Maybe challenging Dante Vitale was a mistake?? Shit.
"H-Hi," I say, aiming for sarcasm but landing on breathless.
"Hi." His knee slides between my thighs under the water. "Still think you're not my toy?"
"I'm not—" The words cut off as his thigh presses up, creating friction exactly where I need it.
"No?" He leans in, his mouth at my ear. "Then why are you here? Why did you follow me up here? Why are you naked in my pool, looking at me like you want me to devour you?"
"I don't—"
"Liar." His hand slides down my stomach, between my legs, and I'm mortified by how ready I am for him. "You do want me to take you… hard, fast, brutal.
"Dante—"
"We're going to do this," he says, his fingers working me with maddening precision. "But first, you need a word. Something you can say if you want me to stop. Because once we start, I'm not going to be gentle, Bianca, I’m going to lose control and you’re going to take every minute of it."
My brain struggles to form coherent thoughts and fails spectacularly. "A-A word?"
“A safe word.” His thumb circles, the pressure a maddening, perfect promise against my clit, making me gasp. “Something you wouldn’t normally say. So I know when to stop.”
I try to think. My brain is just fog and steam. I try to focus on anything other than the slow, torturous circles he’s tracing, the way his other hand is splayed possessively on my hip, pinning me to the cold tile.
“Checkmate,” I finally manage, the word a choked-out thing.
He pauses. The absence of his touch is its own kind of agony. “Checkmate?”
“Because you think you’ve already won.” I force myself to look him in the eye, to meet that dark, hungry gaze despite the heat flooding my cheeks. “But the game isn’t over.”
A slow, devastating smile spreads across his face. My stomach clenches. Goodness. “Perfect.” Then his fingers slide inside me, two of them, a smooth, claiming invasion that makes my eyes roll back, and I stop thinking entirely.
“Oh!” I gasp.
He works me with a brutal, knowing rhythm, his fingers curling just right, his thumb resuming its relentless, circling torment.
I’m clinging to his shoulders, my nails digging into the hard muscle there, my head thrown back against the tiles.
The water streams over my throat, my breasts, and I’m panting, each breath a ragged, desperate sound swallowed by the wave of the water.
“That’s it,” he rasps against my ear, his voice rough with want.
“Let me hear you. Let me feel how fucking wet you are for me, Bianca.” His teeth graze my earlobe, and a violent shiver racks my body.
His fingers plunge deeper, faster. Oh god.
I can feel the coil in my belly winding tighter, a spring about to snap.
My hips buck against his hand, seeking more, seeking the finish line.
Right when the world starts to dissolve into pure, white-hot sensation, he stops. His hand pulls away completely.
No! Please no!
I whimper my protests.
“Not yet.” His voice is a command, a low growl that vibrates through me.
“Bastard—” I snarl, my body screaming, teetering on the very edge.
He cuts me off, not with words, but with his mouth.
He crashes his lips to mine, and it’s not tender, it’s everything.
It’s an obsession. His tongue pushes past my lips, claiming my mouth with a primitive hunger that makes my knees weak.
I kiss him back just as fiercely, my hands tangling in his wet hair, pulling him closer.
I can taste the faint hint of coffee and pure, masculine him, and it’s the most addictive thing I’ve ever known.
We break for air, gasping, and he immediately dives back in, his lips softer this time, sucking on my bottom lip, nibbling, making a low groan rumble in his chest. It’s a kiss that says he’s starved for me, a kiss that promises this is just the beginning.
His mouth leaves mine, trailing hot, wet kisses down my jaw, my throat, his tongue laving the water from my skin.
He bends a bit, his hands sliding up my thighs to grip my waist. His eyes are locked on my breasts, and the look in them is pure, unadulterated lust. He just stares for a moment, and the intensity of his gaze is a bit overwhelming.
“Fuck, look at these,” he murmurs, his voice full of awe.
His big hands come up to cup them, his thumbs brushing over my nipples, making me cry out.
“So fucking perfect. Heavy. They fill my hands so good, Bianca.” He leans forward and takes one pebbled peak into his hot mouth, sucking hard, his tongue flicking over the sensitive tip.
The sensation is electric, a jolt straight to my core.
He switches to the other, giving it the same lavish, sucking attention, biting down just enough to make me gasp and arch into him.
My breasts feel so full, so sensitive, and the sight of him worshipping them, water dripping from his hair onto my skin, is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
He looks up at me from his position, his mouth glistening, his eyes dark pits of desire. “You like that? You like me sucking on these perfect tits? You were built for this, for a man’s mouth, for my mouth.”
“Y-Yes,” I hear myself moan, my fingers tightening in his hair.