Chapter 37
Emilia
I couldn’t stop staring.
My stomach twisted painfully as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. I told myself it was nothing. She was probably just another business associate, someone he had to deal with as part of whatever empire he ruled over. But the way she laughed at something he said, her hand lingering on his arm a moment too long, made it impossible to believe that.
The rational part of my brain told me to look away, to stop torturing myself. But the irrational part—the part that remembered the way his hands had felt on me, the way his lips had claimed mine—kept screaming for answers I didn’t want to admit I needed.
I tore my gaze away, sinking back into the plush sofa as I tried to focus on anything else. The music from the club below pulsed faintly through the windows, its rhythm syncing with the pounding of my heart. I grabbed the glass of champagne a waiter had brought me earlier, the bubbles fizzing against the rim as I took a small sip. It didn’t help. No amount of expensive champagne was going to burn away the knot of frustration twisting inside me.
Don’t be ridiculous, I told myself firmly. He’s not yours. He’s not anyone’s.
But that thought didn’t bring the comfort it should have. If anything, it made the ache worse .
I glanced back toward the office without meaning to, my traitorous eyes catching on the woman’s easy posture, the way her body tilted toward Dante like she was magnetized. Her smile was wide and confident, her hand brushing his arm again as she spoke. Dante didn’t move away, didn’t even seem to notice—or worse, maybe he didn’t care.
My fingers tightened around the glass, its delicate stem trembling slightly in my grip. I set it down before I could do something stupid, like break it. My hands curled into fists in my lap as I tried to shove down the growing frustration, the sharp sting of jealousy I didn’t want to admit was there.
I didn’t want to care. I didn’t want to feel this way. But the truth was, I did. And it was infuriating.
I signaled to a passing waiter, my voice sharper than I intended. “Bring me something stronger.”
The young man hesitated, his brows drawing together in confusion. “Stronger, miss?”
“Yes. Whiskey, vodka, tequila—I don’t care. Just not champagne.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he said nervously, glancing over his shoulder as if someone might be watching. “We’re only allowed to serve you champagne.”
My lips pressed into a thin line. “Says who?”
The waiter fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, miss. It’s just the policy.”
I let out a frustrated sigh, my grip tightening on the champagne flute. “Fine. Just bring me another one of these, then.”
He nodded quickly, retreating with an apologetic “Sorry, miss.” I watched him go, the irritation simmering under my skin now bubbling dangerously close to the surface. All I’d wanted was something to dull the sharp edge of my nerves, to quiet the irrational thoughts swirling in my head. But no—apparently, even that was too much to ask.
I took another sip of the champagne, the taste suddenly cloying and unsatisfying. My gaze flicked back toward the office despite myself, but Dante was no longer there. I barely had time to process his absence before I felt his presence—an unmistakable weight in the air—at my side.
“You look upset,” he said, his voice low and smooth as he slid into the seat beside me. His dark eyes scanned my face, the faintest hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Care to tell me why?”
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” I snapped, setting my glass down with more force than necessary.
He tilted his head, his smirk deepening. “Not particularly. Besides, you looked like you could use some company.”
“Your company is the last thing I need right now.”
His brows lifted slightly, but he didn’t move. “Is that so?”
“Yes,” I said firmly, though the heat rising to my cheeks betrayed me. “Why don’t you go back to your...friend?”
Understanding flickered in his eyes, and his smirk softened into something more knowing. “Ah. So that’s what this is about.”
I turned away, refusing to meet his gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you don’t,” he said, his tone maddeningly calm. He leaned back slightly, his arm draping over the back of the sofa as if he owned the space—and me along with it. “But for the record, there’s nothing going on with her.”
I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest. “I didn’t ask.”
“No,” he agreed, “but you’ve been watching us for the past ten minutes, so I figured I’d save you the trouble.”
I bristled, my jaw tightening. “I wasn’t watching. I was...observing.”
“Observing,” he repeated, his voice laced with amusement. “Right. And what exactly were you observing, princess?”
“Don’t call me that,” I snapped, finally turning to glare at him. His dark eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and something else—something that made my pulse quicken despite my irritation.
“Why not?” he asked, his voice dropping slightly. “You don’t seem to mind when I call you mine.”
My breath caught, and for a moment, I couldn’t think of a single retort. He leaned in slightly, his gaze steady and unflinching.
“You’re jealous,” he said simply, his tone devoid of mockery. “Admit it.”
I let out a sharp laugh, though it sounded hollow even to my own ears. “You’re delusional.”
“Maybe,” he allowed, his fingers brushing lightly against my arm in a way that sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine. “But you’re still upset. And I think we both know why.”
I opened my mouth to argue, to deny the accusation outright, but the words tangled in my throat. Dante’s dark eyes glinted with challenge, his lips curving into that infuriating smirk that made me want to slap him and kiss him all at once. My silence was answer enough, and his expression softened, the sharp edges of his amusement giving way to something deeper, something that made my breath catch.
“You don’t have to be jealous, Emilia,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, like the soft scrape of velvet over steel. “I don’t want her. I don’t even see her. Not the way I see you.”
The sincerity in his tone was disarming, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. My chest tightened, my pulse thundering in my ears as his fingers brushed against my arm again, this time lingering. His touch was warm, grounding, and it sent a jolt of electricity through me that I couldn’t ignore.
“Dante…” I started, my voice trembling, but he cut me off with a soft, knowing smile.
“Do you know how hard it is to focus on anything else when you’re in the room?” he asked, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that made my heart stutter. “You’re like a storm, Emilia. Beautiful, unpredictable, and impossible to ignore.”
I swallowed hard, my throat dry as his words settled over me, heavy and undeniable. The tension between us crackled like a live wire, the air thick with unspoken truths and unrelenting desire. I wanted to push him away, to tell him he was wrong, but the truth was, I didn’t want to be ignored. I didn’t want him to look at anyone else the way he looked at me.
“Then prove it,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them. My voice was quieter than I intended, but the challenge in my tone was unmistakable. “Prove that you mean it.”
Dante’s smirk widened, his dark eyes gleaming with something dangerous and thrilling. “Careful, princess,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a near growl. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“Maybe I do,” I shot back, my chin lifting in defiance. My heart was racing, my skin tingling with anticipation as I held his gaze. “Maybe I want to see if you’re all talk.”
For a moment, he just stared at me, his dark eyes giving nothing away, the tension between us coiling tighter and tighter until it felt like I might snap. Then, without warning, he leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear as he spoke in a voice so low it sent a shiver down my spine.
“Don’t forget who you’re dealing with, Emilia,” he said, his breath warm against my skin. “I don’t just talk. I deliver.”
Before I could respond, his hand slid to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair as he pulled me closer. His lips found mine in a kiss that was agonizingly controlled, every movement intentional and maddening despite the fire burning between us. His other hand rested on my thigh, his thumb tracing slow, teasing circles against the leather of my leggings, sending a jolt of heat through me with every pass.
I melted into him, my hands gripping the front of his shirt as I kissed him back with equal fervor. The world around us faded, the noise of the club and the faint hum of conversation from the other VIPs disappearing until it was just us—just the heat of his body against mine, the taste of him on my lips, the feel of his hands claiming me in a way that left no room for doubt .
But Dante didn’t let me lose myself completely. He pulled back just enough to break the kiss, his forehead resting against mine as we both caught our breath. His hand on my thigh tightened, his fingers digging into the leather as his dark eyes searched mine.
“You’re mine, Emilia,” he said, his voice rough and possessive. “Don’t forget it.”
The words lingered in the space between us, heavy and undeniable. You’re mine. They echoed in my mind, sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the cool air of the VIP lounge. Dante’s dark eyes burned into mine, his hand still resting on my thigh, his grip firm and unyielding. My heart raced, each beat pounding against my ribs like a drum, and I couldn’t look away from him. Couldn’t even breathe properly.
“Prove it,” I whispered, my voice trembling but steady enough to carry the challenge. My chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, and I could feel the heat of him, the tension coiling tighter between us like a spring ready to snap.
Dante’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smirk, the kind that made my stomach flip and my knees weak. “Careful what you wish for, princess,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, like gravel wrapped in silk. “You might just get it.”
Before I could respond, his hand slid from my thigh to my waist, his fingers brushing against the bare skin where my silk top had ridden up. The touch was light, almost teasing, but it sent a jolt of electricity through me that made my breath hitch. The air between us felt charged, thick with unsaid words, and I could feel his gaze burning into me even before he leaned in closer.
His lips brushed against my ear, his voice low enough to send a shiver down my spine. “Stand up.”
The command was simple, but the authority in his tone left no room for argument. My pulse quickened, and I swallowed hard, my body moving before my mind could catch up. I rose from the plush sofa, my legs trembling slightly as I stood before him.
Dante followed suit, his tall frame towering over me. For a moment, he didn’t speak, didn’t move—he just watched me, his dark eyes tracing every inch of me with an intensity that made my skin prickle and my heart pound. Then, almost imperceptibly, his hand slipped into mine, his fingers curling around mine with a possessiveness that sent a thrill through me.
He guided me toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, the glass cold beneath my fingertips as I instinctively reached out to steady myself. Below us, the club pulsed with life—the writhing bodies on the dance floor, the bartenders moving with practiced ease, the glow of neon lights casting the room in shades of blue and red.
But none of it mattered. Not compared to the man standing behind me, so close I could feel the heat of him against my back.
“Look,” he murmured, his voice a low, velvet rasp that wrapped around me like a silken leash. His hands settled on my hips, firm and unyielding. “All this is mine—every inch of it.”
My breath caught, his words anchoring me in place. His hands tightened on my hips, pulling me back until there was no space between us, until I could feel the solid weight of him pressed against me.
“And you,” he continued, his tone dropping lower, darker, “every inch of you is mine too.”
I swallowed hard, my hands gripping the edge of the glass as I tried to process what he was saying, what he was doing to me. The weight of his words pressed into me, suffocating and thrilling all at once. His breath ghosted over my neck, his lips brushing so close to my skin that it made my knees weak.
“Do you know what that means?” His voice was a growl now, dark and full of something almost dangerous.
I couldn’t answer. Not with my heart racing like this, not with my body trembling under the weight of his words and his touch .
He slid his hands up my sides, his fingers brushing against the silk of my top before settling on my waist. With a gentle but firm grip, he turned me just enough so I could see his reflection in the glass. His dark eyes burned with an intensity that made my pulse stutter, and his expression—so predatory, so maddeningly calm—held me captive.
“Say it,” he demanded, his voice a low, commanding growl. “I want to hear you say it.”
I swallowed hard, my lips parting as I tried to find my voice. “I’m yours,” I whispered, the words barely audible over the pounding music below. “I’m yours, Dante.”
His smirk widened, and I felt his hands slide lower, his fingers brushing against the waistband of my leather leggings. “Good girl,” he murmured, his lips pressing against the curve of my neck in a kiss that sent a shiver down my spine. “Now let me show you what that means.”
Before I could process his words, his hand slipped beneath the waistband of my leggings, his fingers finding the bare skin beneath. My breath hitched, my hands gripping the glass in front of me as his touch ignited a fire that burned through every nerve in my body.
“Dante,” I gasped, my voice trembling as his fingers teased me, his touch deliberate and maddeningly slow.
“Shh,” he murmured against my neck, his lips trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses along my skin. “Let me take care
My breath hitched, and I felt my knees threaten to buckle as his fingers dipped lower, teasing the sensitive skin just above where I needed him most. The cool glass pressed against my palms was the only thing keeping me upright, grounding me as the world blurred and narrowed to just his touch, his voice, his presence.
“Dante—” I gasped, my voice trembling as his fingers brushed against the thin lace of my underwear. The sensation was electric, a jolt that shot straight through me and left me trembling.
“Do you trust me, Emilia?” he asked, his voice low and rough, the words rumbling against my neck as his lips continued their slow, torturous exploration.
“Yes,” I whispered, the word slipping out before I could second-guess it. And I did. Despite the chaos, despite the danger, I trusted him in a way that scared me. He was the storm, and I was willingly stepping into its center.
“Good,” he murmured, his tone laced with satisfaction. “Then let go. Stop thinking. Just feel.”
His fingers slipped beneath the lace, and I let out a soft cry, my forehead pressing against the glass as he touched me in a way that made my entire body ignite. Every movement was measured, intentional, his fingers exploring with a confidence that left no room for hesitation. He knew exactly what he was doing, exactly how to unravel me, and I was powerless to stop him—not that I wanted to.
“Look at them,” he said, his voice a dark whisper in my ear. “All of them down there, oblivious. They have no idea how gorgeous you look right now, pressed against this glass, falling apart for me.”
His fingers pressed deeper, and a gasp tore from my lips before I could stop it. “Oh my god,” I choked out, the words slipping from me in a desperate, breathless rush.
“No god,” he murmured, his voice like gravel, rough and commanding, “just me.”
The words sent a tremor through me, my body trembling in his arms as a wave of pleasure crashed over me. My hands slipped against the glass, unable to find purchase, and he caught me effortlessly, his strong arms wrapping around me and pulling me back against his chest.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my temple as he held me close, his breath warm against my skin. “You’re perfect, Emilia. So perfect.”
I sagged against him, my body still humming with the aftershocks of what he’d done to me. His hands were steady, grounding, as he smoothed them over my sides, his touch gentle now, almost reverent. For a moment, neither of us spoke, the only sound the faint thrum of the music below and the ragged sound of my breathing.
Finally, I turned to look at him, my cheeks flushed, my hair a mess, and my heart still racing. “You’re impossible,” I said, though there was no heat in my words.
Dante smirked, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “And yet, you can’t stay away.”
He wasn’t wrong. As infuriating as he was, as dangerous as this was, I couldn’t stay away. He was a magnet, and I was helpless against the pull.
He leaned down, his lips brushing against mine in a kiss that was soft and unhurried, a stark contrast to the intensity of the moments before. It was a promise, a reminder of everything he’d just claimed.
When he pulled back, his gaze softened, and he reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. He had a way of looking at me that made me feel exposed, like he could see every part of me, even the ones I tried to hide.
“Come on,” he said, his hand slipping into mine. “Let’s get you a drink.”
I let him lead me back to the plush sofas, my legs still unsteady as I sank into the cushions. The waiter returned with another glass of champagne, and Dante handed it to me before settling beside me, his arm draped casually over the back of the sofa.
The night was a blur of heat and tension, and even hours later, I couldn’t shake the feeling of Dante’s hands on my skin, his voice in my ear, the press of his body against mine. It was like he’d branded me, left an imprint so deep I could feel it in my bones. No matter how hard I tried to focus on anything else—the rhythmic thrum of the music, the faint hum of the city outside the car window as he drove me home—my mind kept circling back to him.
To the way he’d touched me.
To the way he’d claimed me.
The car ride home was quiet, but not the peaceful kind of quiet. It was heavy, crackling with unspoken words and lingering desire. Dante’s hand rested on the gearshift, his fingers tapping idly against the leather, but his gaze remained fixed on the road. I stole glances at him out of the corner of my eye, taking in the sharp line of his jaw, the faint shadow of stubble that made him look even more dangerous, more untouchable.
But he wasn’t untouchable. Not to me.
When the car finally pulled up in front of the Ricci estate, I hesitated, my hand hovering over the wdoor handle. I didn’t want to leave—not yet. But Dante’s dark eyes flicked to mine, and the intensity in his gaze rooted me to my seat.
“Go inside,” he said softly, his voice low and commanding. “And stay out of trouble.”
I swallowed hard, nodding as I reached for the door. But before I could step out, his hand shot out, gripping my wrist gently but firmly. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down my spine, and I turned to face him, my heart pounding.
“Emilia,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against the inside of my wrist. “Don’t forget what I said tonight.”
His words hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning. You’re mine. Don’t forget it. I nodded again, unable to find my voice, and he released me, his hand lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.
“Goodnight, princess,” he said, his lips curving into a faint smirk.
“Goodnight,” I whispered, slipping out of the car and closing the door behind me. The cool night air hit me like a splash of water, but it did little to quell the fire still burning beneath my skin.
I watched as his car disappeared down the long driveway, the taillights glowing faintly in the darkness. Only when they were out of sight did I turn and head inside, my heels clicking softly against the marble floors as I made my way to my bedroom.
The house was quiet, the kind of silence that felt almost oppressive, like it was holding its breath. I closed the door behind me, leaning against it for a moment as I tried to steady my racing heart. But it was no use. The memory of Dante’s touch, his voice, his presence—it was all-consuming, leaving no room for anything else.
I kicked off my heels, the cool floor a stark contrast to the heat radiating through me. My silk top clung to my skin, the faint scent of Dante’s cologne still lingering in the fabric. I peeled it off slowly, my fingers trembling as I tossed it onto the chair by the window. The leather leggings followed, leaving me in nothing but the delicate lace of my underwear.
The moonlight streamed through the window, casting a soft glow over the room as I sank onto the edge of the bed. My mind was a whirlwind, replaying every moment of the night in vivid detail—the way Dante’s hands had gripped my hips, the way his lips had claimed mine, the way his voice had made my entire body tremble.
I lay back against the pillows, my legs curling beneath me as my fingers trailed absently over the curve of my hip. My skin felt hypersensitive, every brush of my fingertips sending a jolt of electricity through me. I closed my eyes, letting the memory of Dante’s touch guide me, and my hand slipped lower, tracing the path his fingers had taken earlier.
A soft gasp escaped my lips as I pressed my palm against the heat between my thighs, the lace of my underwear doing little to dull the sensation. My hips arched instinctively, seeking more, and I let my fingers slip beneath the fabric, finding the slick evidence of just how much he’d affected me.
“Dante,” I whispered, his name slipping from my lips like a prayer, a confession. My fingers moved in slow, deliberate circles, mimicking the rhythm he’d set earlier, and I bit down on my lip to stifle the moan that threatened to escape.
The memory of his voice echoed in my mind, low and commanding. You’re mine. Don’t forget it.