Chapter 17
Emilia
T he drive home had been suffocating. Dante hadn’t said a word after the incident at the sandwich shop, his jaw tight, knuckles bruised and bloodied on the steering wheel. The silence between us was thick, heavy with unspoken tension and the lingering heat of that kiss. My lips still tingled from it, but I forced myself not to think about that. Or the way his hands had felt on me. Or the way I’d wanted him to pull me closer, consequences be damned.
When we finally pulled into the driveway, I practically bolted out of the car, desperate for space. The cool night air hit my skin, a welcome reprieve from the stifling atmosphere inside the Aston Martin. I didn’t wait for him as I made my way inside, my heels clicking against the marble floor of the entryway.
He followed, of course. I could feel his presence behind me, a dark shadow that seemed to fill the entire house. Without a word, he veered off toward my father’s office, the door clicking shut behind him. I stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door, my chest tight with frustration and something else I didn’t want to name.
I needed a shower. A long, scalding shower to wash away the events of the day—and the lingering traces of him.
The water was almost too hot, scalding my skin as it cascaded over me, but I welcomed the burn. It was grounding, a physical sensation to drown out the chaos in my mind. I closed my eyes, letting the steam envelop me as I tried to piece myself back together.
But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking about him.
The way he’d looked at me in the car, his dark eyes burning with something raw and unrelenting. The way his voice had dropped to that low, dangerous murmur that made my pulse race. The way he’d kissed me—like he was staking a claim, like he wanted to consume me whole.
I hated him for it. Hated the way he made me feel out of control, like I was teetering on the edge of something I couldn’t name. And yet, beneath the anger, there was something else. Something I didn’t want to admit.
Desire.
Steam rose in thick, suffocating clouds, wrapping around me like Dante’s arms should’ve been. My hands trembled as I raked them through my soaked hair, tugging at the strands, wishing they were his. His face was burned into my brain, that sharp fucking jawline, those full lips that were made for sin, and those dark, brooding eyes that seemed to see right through me, straight to the pulsing, aching mess between my legs.
The sound of the water pounded against the tiles like a drumbeat synced to the rhythm of my own ragged, needy breaths.
I leaned my forehead against the cold tiles, but the chill did nothing to cool the fire raging inside me. My nipples were hard little peaks, begging for attention, and my pussy—Jesus Christ—it was throbbing, wet in a way that had nothing to do with the shower. My fingers trailed down my neck, following the phantom path of his mouth, his tongue, his teeth. I could still feel the ghost of his lips on my skin, and it was driving me fucking insane.
With a frustrated growl, I let my hand drift lower, skimming over my collarbone, down to my tits. I pinched a nipple, hard, just the way I imagined he would, and a moan ripped out of me, raw and primal. My other hand slid down my stomach, fingers dipping into the heat between my thighs. I was fucking soaked, my cunt clenching around nothing, desperate for something—anything—to fill it.
“Fuck,” I hissed as my fingers found my clit, swollen and begging for attention. I circled it slowly at first, teasing myself, imagining it was his tongue, his fingers…his cock. My hips started to move on their own, grinding against my hand as I worked myself faster, harder. The water beat against my back, but it was nothing compared to the pleasure building inside me, hot and urgent and unrelenting.
“Dante,” I whimpered, my fingers working furiously now, plunging into my dripping pussy while my thumb kept up the relentless pressure on my clit. My legs were shaking, my breath coming in short, desperate gasps as I chased that sweet, fucking perfect release. I could feel it building, that tight coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter until—
“Oh God,” I cried out as I came, my body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me. My knees buckled, and I braced myself against the tiled walls, riding out the orgasm until I was spent, trembling, and more fucking frustrated than ever.
I shut off the water with more force than necessary, the echo of the faucet twisting through the bathroom. Wrapping myself in a towel, I stepped out of the shower, the cool air prickling my damp skin. My reflection stared back at me from the fogged mirror, my cheeks flushed, my lips still slightly swollen.
I looked...undone. Like a woman who’d just been kissed senseless by a man she couldn’t stand.
Shaking my head, I pushed the thought away and reached for the silk slip I’d left draped over the vanity. The fabric was cool against my skin, clinging to my still-damp body as I adjusted the thin straps on my shoulders. It was an indulgence, something I’d bought on a whim and rarely wore. But tonight, I needed the comfort. The illusion of luxury and control.
Padding barefoot into the kitchen, I decided to make myself dinner. Something simple, something to keep my hands busy and my mind occupied. The soft glow of the under-cabinet lights bathed the room in a warm, golden hue, the kind of light that made everything feel softer, dreamier. The faint hum of music from my phone filled the space, a soothing backdrop to the rhythmic movements of cooking.
Steam rose from the pot of boiling water on the stove as I stirred the pasta, the scent of garlic and olive oil filling the air. I moved with practiced ease, the routine comforting in its familiarity. For a moment, I almost felt normal. Almost.
And then I felt it.
That shift in the air. The subtle, electric charge that signaled I wasn’t alone.
My body tensed, every nerve ending suddenly on high alert. I didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. His presence was unmistakable, a dark, magnetic force that seemed to pull all the oxygen from the room.
“Is this how you always dress when you think you’re alone?”
His voice cut through the quiet like a blade, smooth and sharp, laced with something that made my skin prickle. I froze, my fingers tightening around the stem of the wine glass I’d been reaching for.
“I thought you’d left,” I said, keeping my back to him. My voice sounded steadier than I felt, but my heart was racing, the blood pounding in my ears.
“Clearly.” The single word dripped with amusement, but there was an edge to it, a warning I couldn’t ignore.
I turned slowly, clutching the wine glass like it was a shield. He was leaning casually against the doorway, his dark suit still immaculate despite the long day. His eyes were on me, dark and intense, tracking every inch of exposed skin with a deliberate slowness that made my breath hitch.
The silk slip suddenly felt too thin, too revealing. The hem barely grazed my thighs, the straps delicate against my shoulders. My damp hair clung to my neck, leaving small wet patches on the fabric. I felt exposed, vulnerable in a way I wasn’t used to.
His jaw clenched, his fingers flexing at his sides as his gaze lingered. “Put some clothes on.”
The order was soft but sharp, a command wrapped in velvet. It sent a shiver down my spine, though I wasn’t sure if it was from anger or something else. His voice had that effect—soft and composed, but so laced with authority that it was impossible to ignore.
I lifted my chin, defiance flaring in my chest. “I’m in my own home.”
His eyes snapped to mine, dark and unrelenting, and for a moment, the air between us crackled with tension, like a storm on the verge of breaking. I could see it in the way his shoulders stiffened, in the way his jaw ticked, how my refusal to bend chipped away at his composure.
It was intoxicating, watching him unravel—just a little. I shouldn’t have pushed him, but there was something about Dante that made me want to press, to see how far I could take it before he snapped.
“Your home,” he repeated, the words slow and mocking, like he was tasting them. Then, in two long strides, he crossed the space between us, closing the distance so quickly that my breath hitched. Before I could react, his arm shot out, caging me against the edge of the counter.
The heat of his body was suffocating, bleeding through the thin silk of my slip as he leaned in, his presence overwhelming. I could smell his cologne—smoky and spiced, with an edge of something darker—and it made my head swim.
His fingers found my bare shoulder, brushing against my skin with a touch that was too gentle for how dangerous he looked. Slowly, deliberately, he traced the thin strap of my slip, letting it slide an inch down my shoulder.
“Your home,” he said again, his voice low and almost mocking, his lips so close to my ear that his breath warmed my skin. “Does that make it a free pass to test my patience?”
I swallowed hard, my heart hammering wildly against my ribs. His proximity made it impossible to think straight, and my pulse thundered louder with every second he lingered.
“I didn’t realize you had any patience to begin with,” I said, my voice laced with false confidence.
The faintest grin tugged at the corners of his lips as a low chuckle rumbled from his chest. It was the kind of sound that sent a shiver down my spine, making me feel like I’d just stepped into quicksand. His fingers toyed with the strap again, letting it slide down further, his knuckles grazing the sensitive skin of my arm.
“You have no idea what you’re playing with. I told you this was dangerous.” he murmured, his breath ghosting against my cheek.
But I did—didn’t I? The fire in his eyes, the way his body tensed with restrained control, the danger that seemed to cling to him like a second skin—I knew exactly what I was playing with. And I couldn’t help myself.
I tilted my chin up, forcing myself to meet his gaze. His dark eyes bore into mine, and for a moment, I let myself get lost in them. It was a mistake. Looking at Dante was like staring into a storm, violent and beautiful all at once.
“You think I’m scared of you?” I asked, my voice sharper than I felt.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his thumb brushed against the bare skin of my shoulder, a touch so light it felt like a whisper. The corner of his lips twitched, though it wasn’t quite a smile.
“No,” he said finally, his voice low and deliberate. “I think you like to see how far you can push me.”
He wasn’t wrong. There was something about him that made me want to taunt, to test his limits. Maybe it was the way he always seemed so composed, so in control, like nothing could shake him. I wanted to see what it would take to break that control, to see what lay beneath it.
And maybe it was reckless, but some part of me liked the way he looked at me when I pushed him too far—the way his eyes darkened, the way his breath hitched, like he was barely holding himself back.
“Why would I do that?” I asked, feigning innocence.
Dante’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. “Because you’re curious.”
My pulse quickened, but I refused to look away. “Maybe I just don’t like being told what to do.”
His grip on the counter tightened, his knuckles whitening as he leaned in closer. The heat of his body was unbearable now, his chest brushing against mine as he lowered his head, his lips grazing the shell of my ear.
“You want to know what happens when you push me too far, Emilia?” His voice was a whisper now, low and deadly, and it sent another shiver down my spine.
I swallowed hard, my resolve faltering for a split second. “Maybe I do.”
The words left my mouth before I could stop them, and for a moment, the tension in the room was suffocating. His thumb slid along the side of my neck, brushing against my pulse point, and I knew he could feel how fast it was racing.
“Careful,” he warned again, his voice so quiet it was barely audible. “You’re going to regret it.”
But I didn’t feel regret—not yet. All I felt was the thrill of defiance, the way my heart pounded as his gaze burned into mine. Taunting Dante was like playing with fire, and I didn’t care if I got burned.
Because the truth was, I liked the way he looked at me when I pushed him too far. I liked the way his control cracked, like I was the only one who could unnerve him.
His eyes flicked down to where his fingers rested against my bare skin, and I cursed myself as I realized I was, in fact, trembling. His smirk deepened, and I felt the heat rising to my cheeks.
“Next time you want to parade around half-naked…” His voice dropped an octave, the rasp in it sending a shiver down my spine. “…make sure I’m gone first. ”
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” I said, my voice sharper now, trying to claw back some semblance of control.
“Didn’t you?” His hand slid lower, grazing the curve of my arm before gripping the counter beside me. He leaned in even closer, his lips hovering just inches from mine. “Or are you just testing me?”
My throat dried, and I struggled to find my voice. “You think everything’s about you, don’t you?”
He chuckled again, and the sound was infuriatingly smug. “You’re making it very hard to believe otherwise.”
The pasta water hissed as it boiled over onto the stovetop, but neither of us moved. The sound barely registered over the pounding of my heart and the way his gaze dipped lower, lingering on the curve of my collarbone, my lips, and the bare skin he had no right to be looking at.
“You should go,” I said, but the words came out weaker than I intended, my voice shaking under the weight of his presence.
“Do you want me to?” His tone was almost casual, but the challenge in his eyes was anything but.
I hated that I didn’t have an immediate answer.
His other hand came up, his fingers gripping my chin and tilting my face up toward his. His touch was firm but not rough, and it sent a jolt of heat straight through me. “Say the word, Emilia. Tell me to walk away, and I will.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. His gaze dropped to my lips, and my resolve wavered, the air between us tightening like a noose.
“Afraid of what you’ll do if I don’t?” I whispered, my voice barely audible, but I knew he heard it.
Something flickered in his eyes—something dangerous. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he was going to close the gap, to kiss me, to ruin us both.
But then, with an exhale that sounded like it cost him everything, he stepped back. His movements were sharp and deliberate, like he was physically forcing himself to retreat. His hand lingered on my chin for half a second longer before he let go, his fingers brushing against my skin one last time as he pulled away.
“Clothes,” he said again, his voice tight and controlled, though the strain in it was unmistakable. “Now.”
He turned to the stove, reaching out to turn off the burner, cutting off the boiling water with a flick of his wrist. For a moment, I just stood there, frozen in place, my body still humming from his proximity.
“Goodnight, Emilia,” he said, his tone clipped, before stalking out of the kitchen without a backward glance.
I stayed there for a long time, the air still charged with the aftermath of his presence. My hands splayed against the counter for support, my knuckles brushing against the cool marble as I tried to steady my breathing.
The rain outside had picked up, the sound of it pattering against the windows like a heartbeat. Goosebumps rose on my skin, though I wasn’t sure if it was from the chill or the memory of his touch.
I hated him in that moment. Hated the way he could unravel me so easily, the way his presence lingered long after he was gone.
Shaking my head, I turned back to the stove, draining the pasta with trembling hands. But the meal was forgotten, replaced by a different kind of hunger—one I didn’t want to name.
Later, as I lay in bed, the memory of his touch haunted me like a ghost. His voice, the heat of his breath, the way he’d looked at me like I was the only thing in the room that mattered—it all replayed in my mind, vivid and unrelenting until I fell asleep.