Chapter 16
16
EMILIA
M ichael drove me home, the car ride silent except for the occasional glances Adrianna kept shooting me. I could feel her concern like a weight on my shoulders, but I ignored it, staring out the window as the city lights blurred past.
My anger simmered just beneath my skin, hot and relentless.
I had snuck out for less than an hour.
An hour.
And for what?
To see that ?
The image of Dante and Valentina sitting together—her leaning in close, laughing like she had every right to be there—was seared into my mind. It replayed over and over like a cruel loop, each repetition twisting the knife deeper.
By the time we pulled up to the penthouse, my anger was a low boil, threatening to spill over. Michael parked the car, and I stepped out without a word, ignoring Adrianna’s soft, “Call me later, okay?”
Inside, Luca was still passed out on the couch, his arm draped over his face, an empty beer bottle on the floor beside him. He didn’t stir as I walked past, heading straight for the bathroom.
I needed a shower.
I needed to wash off the night—the club, the sweat, the suffocating scent of perfume. And most of all, I needed to wash away the jealousy clawing at my insides, the ugly, bitter thing that had taken root the moment I saw Dante with her.
The hot water scalded my skin, but I barely felt it.
I scrubbed at my arms, my chest, my neck, as if I could physically erase the way I felt—hurt, angry, and worst of all, vulnerable. I hated it. I hated him.
By the time I stepped out, the steam filling the bathroom in thick, suffocating waves, I felt marginally better. My skin was raw, pink from the heat, but the anger still simmered beneath the surface.
I wrapped my silk robe around myself, tucking the belt tightly against my waist, and ran a hand through my wet hair.
And then I heard it—the sound of the front door opening.
Dante was home.
I didn’t even think.
I stormed into the kitchen, my wet hair dripping onto the hardwood floor towards him.
Dante stood by the counter, pouring himself a drink, his back to me. He moved with that same infuriating calm, like nothing in the world could touch him.
I stopped just behind him, my anger flaring hotter at how relaxed he looked. How unbothered.
He turned as if sensing my presence, his dark eyes sweeping over me. They lingered for a moment, taking in the short robe, the damp tendrils of hair sticking to my neck, before settling on my face.
“Something wrong, princess?” he asked, his voice smooth and mocking.
"Where have you been?" I demanded.
Dante took a slow sip of his drink, his dark eyes watching me over the rim of the glass. He didn’t answer right away, which only made my anger burn hotter.
I crossed my arms, ignoring the way the towel slipped slightly against my damp skin. “I asked you a question.”
He set the glass down with a deliberate clink , his smirk deepening. “And I heard you.”
I exhaled sharply through my nose, my patience hanging by a thread. “Then answer me.”
Dante leaned against the counter, his posture infuriatingly relaxed. “I had business.”
“Business,” I repeated, my voice flat. “At a nightclub?”
His smirk didn’t falter, but something flickered in his gaze—something sharp and knowing. “Ah,” he drawled. “So that’s what this is about.”
I clenched my jaw. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” He tilted his head, his amusement only fueling my fury. “Don’t point out that you snuck out like a rebellious teenager just to spy on me?”
My stomach dropped, but I refused to let it show. “I didn’t?—”
“Oh, cara ,” he murmured, stepping closer, his voice dripping with condescension. “Don’t lie to me.”
I took a step back, my spine hitting the edge of the counter. Heat curled low in my stomach, but I shoved it down, focusing on my anger instead. “What did Valentina say?” I snapped, my voice shaking with frustration. “Did she tell you I stole the money?”
Dante’s smirk vanished.
For a moment, there was only silence—heavy, charged, dangerous.
Then, slowly, his head tilted, his expression shifting from amusement to something far more lethal. “Valentina?” he repeated, his voice low, edged with something dark. “What are you—” His eyes narrowed slightly, and then realization dawned. “How much did you see?”
I swallowed, my pulse hammering.
Dante exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “I’m going to kill Luca.”
“This isn’t about Luca!” I snapped, my hands curling into fists. “This is about you . About you sitting there with her like—like?—”
“Like what?” he murmured, stepping closer again, his presence swallowing the space between us. “Like I own the place? Because I do.”
I let out a frustrated sound, shoving at his chest. He didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch . “You’re an asshole .”
His lips twitched. “And you’re jealous.”
I scoffed, but the sound was weak. “I am not ?—”
His hands slammed down on either side of me, caging me against the counter. The movement was so sudden, so deliberate , that my breath hitched.
Dante leaned in, his voice a low murmur against my ear. “You’re jealous, princess ,” he said, his tone almost mocking . “And you don’t even bother hiding it.”
I forced myself to meet his gaze, my nails digging into my palms. “I don’t care what you do.”
His smirk returned, slow and dangerous. “Liar.”
I hated the way he knew .
His fingers brushed against my waist, the touch barely there, but it sent a shiver down my spine. “Tell me,” he murmured, his lips grazing the shell of my ear. “Did you spend the whole night watching me? Or just long enough to get yourself worked up?”
I clenched my jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
But he saw it anyway.
Dante’s hand slid lower, his palm pressing against my hip, his grip firm and possessive. “You don’t like seeing me with her,” he mused, his voice a dark whisper. “Do you?”
I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering against my ribs. “You’re delusional.”
He chuckled, the sound low and knowing. “Maybe.” His fingers traced slow, lazy circles against my hip, his touch burning through the thin silky fabric. “But you still haven’t answered my question.”
I hated the way my body responded to him, the way my breath came faster, the way my skin burned under his touch.
His hand moved again, sliding from my hip to my lower stomach, his touch deliberate, possessive .
I should have pushed him away.
I should have slapped him, screamed at him, told him to go to hell.
But I didn’t.
Because the truth was, I was jealous.
And Dante knew it .
And worse?
He liked it .
His lips brushed against my ear, his voice a dark promise. “You belong to me , Emilia,” he murmured. “And no one else matters.”
I hated him.
I hated him so much.
And yet, when his fingers tightened on my waist, when his breath ghosted over my skin, I didn’t pull away.
I couldn’t .
I hated the way his words sent a shiver down my spine, the way his presence wrapped around me like a vice, suffocating and intoxicating all at once.
I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to hold his gaze. “You don’t get to say that,” I snapped, my voice shaking with something I refused to name. “Not when you were sitting there with her ?—”
Dante’s smirk deepened, his grip on my waist firm as he pressed closer, his body a wall of heat against mine. “Is that what this is about?” he drawled, his lips brushing against my cheek, his breath warm against my skin. “You saw me with Valentina, and now you’re throwing a tantrum?”
I shoved at his chest, but he didn’t budge. “I don’t care what you do,” I lied, my pulse hammering.
His chuckle was dark, knowing. “ Liar. ”
His hand slid lower, fingers pressing into the curve of my hip, his touch possessive, demanding. “Tell me,” he murmured, his voice a velvet caress against my ear. “Did you sneak out just to see what I was doing? Or were you hoping I’d catch you?”
I sucked in a sharp breath, my nails digging into his shirt. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over my jaw, “you can’t seem to stay away.”
I hated him.
I hated how easily he unraveled me, how effortlessly he turned my anger into something else entirely.
His fingers traced slow, lazy circles against my hip, his touch burning through the thin barrier of my towel. “You don’t like seeing me with her,” he mused, his voice a dark whisper. “Do you?”
I swallowed hard, my body betraying me as heat coiled low in my stomach. “I don’t care,” I forced out, but the words rang hollow.
His hand moved again, sliding from my hip to my lower stomach, his touch deliberate, possessive .
I should have pushed him away.
I should have slapped him, screamed at him, told him to go to hell.
But I didn’t.
Because the truth was, I was jealous.
And Dante knew it .
And worse?
He liked it .
Dante’s hand slid up, his fingers grazing the hem of my robe, his touch teasing, testing. “Say it,” he murmured, his voice rough with something dark, something dangerous.
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “Say what?”
His smirk was pure sin. “That you’re mine.”
I let out a shaky breath, my body betraying me as heat pooled low in my belly. “Go to hell.”
Dante chuckled, his fingers tightening on my waist as he pressed me back against the counter, his body flush against mine. “Already there, princess.”
And then his lips crashed against mine.
The kiss was fire and fury, a battle of wills that neither of us wanted to lose. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me against him, his touch searingly hot. I gasped against his mouth, and he took advantage, his tongue sweeping inside, claiming, demanding.
I hated how good he tasted, how easily he stole the air from my lungs, how effortlessly he made me forget why I was angry in the first place.
His hands moved, one sliding up my spine, the other gripping my thigh, lifting me onto the counter in one smooth motion. My legs parted instinctively, and he stepped between them, his body pressing into mine, hard and unyielding.
His eyes were dark, intense, and they drank me in like a man parched, his lips curling into a slow, predatory smile. “My wife,” he murmured, the words rolling off his tongue like honey, thick and deliberate. His voice was low, so low it sent a shiver down my spine, pooling heat between my thighs.
I swallowed hard, my throat dry as he reached out, his fingers brushing against the curve of my jaw. His touch was electric, sending sparks skittering across my skin, and I instinctively leaned into it, my body betraying the fear that still lingered in my mind.
His hand slid down my neck, his fingers tracing a path of fire over my collarbone before resting on the swell of my breast. I gasped, the contact making my nipples harden instantly, pressing against my robe like eager little peaks begging for attention. He noticed, of course he did, and his smile turned wicked as he thumbed one through the fabric, sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core.
“So responsive,” he purred, his other hand sliding around my waist to pull me flush against him. I could feel the hard length of him pressing into my stomach, and I bit my lip to stifle a moan. His body was solid, muscular, and I could feel the heat radiating off him, seeping into me like liquid fire.
He leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear, his breath hot against my skin. “Do you know what I’m going to do to you tonight, wife?” he whispered, his voice dripping with promise. “I’m going to make you mine in every way possible. I’m going to take that sweet little pussy of yours and claim it as my own. And you’re going to love every fucking second of it.”
I shivered at his words, my body already responding, my core clenching with need. He stepped back slightly, his hands moving to the hem of my robe, and with a single, deliberate motion, he pulled it over my head, leaving me bare before him. The cool air kissed my skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his gaze as he took me in, his eyes raking over every inch of me.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice thick with lust. “Look at you. You’re perfect. Every fucking inch of you.” He reached out, his hands sliding up my thighs, leaving trails of fire in their wake. His thumbs brushed against the soft curls at the apex of my thighs, and I whimpered, my legs trembling as he pressed closer.
“Spread for me,” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. I obeyed without thought, my body moving on its own accord, and he groaned as he finally got a good look at my glistening slit. “Fuck, you’re already so wet for me,” he said, his voice rough with need. “My perfect little wife is already dripping for her husband.”
He dropped to his knees before me, his hands gripping my hips like a man possessed, and I barely had time to register what was happening before his mouth was on me, his tongue licking a hot, wet stripe from my entrance to my clit. I cried out, my hands flying to his hair as he devoured me like a man starved, his tongue swirling around my clit before plunging into me again and again.
“Oh god,” I moaned, my hips bucking against his mouth as he worked me with an expertise that left me breathless. His hands tightened on my hips, holding me in place as he fucked me with his tongue, each stroke sending waves of pleasure crashing through me.
“That’s it,” he growled against my pussy, his words vibrating through me like electricity. “Let go for me, wife. Cum on my tongue.”
His command was all it took. The coil in my belly snapped, and I came hard, my pussy grinding against his tongue as I rode wave after wave of ecstasy. He didn’t stop, not until I was a trembling mess above him, gripping the counter, my legs barely able to hold me up.
He stood then, his hands sliding up my body to cup my breasts as he kissed me deeply, letting me taste myself on his lips. “You taste fucking divine,” he whispered against my mouth. “But I’m not done with you yet.”
Before I could respond, he spun me around and bent me over the edge of counter, his hands gripping my hips possessively. I could feel his cock straining against me, and I whimpered in anticipation.
His hand tangled in my hair like he owned it—like he owned me—yanking my head back with a force that made my scalp tingle and my pulse race. The bathroom mirror stared back at me, but the girl in it wasn’t me. Not the me I knew. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen from his kisses, her eyes dark with a hunger I’d never let myself feel before.
I barely recognized her.
I barely recognized myself.
“Look at you,” he growled, his voice low and dripping with possession, like he was savoring every word. “Look at what you’re letting me do to you.” His other hand slid down my body, rough and demanding, fingers digging into my hip as he pulled me back against him. I could feel him, hard and insistent, pressing against my ass through his pants. My breath hitched, and I tried to look away, but his grip on my hair tightened, forcing me to keep my eyes on the mirror.
“No,” he said, his voice sharp and commanding. “You’re going to watch. You’re going see the moment I make you mine .”
I whimpered, the sound caught somewhere between fear and arousal, and he chuckled darkly, his hot breath grazing the shell of my ear. “That’s it, princess. Let me hear you. Let me see how much you want it.”
His fingers slid down to my bare, heated skin, and I gasped, my knees buckling as he teased me with his touch. “Fuck, you’re dripping for me,” he muttered, his lips skimming the curve of my neck. “You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you? Imagining how it would feel to finally have me inside you.”
I couldn’t answer. My mind was a blur of heat and need, my body trembling as his hand slid between my thighs, finding me bare once again, exposed to the cool air and the relentless gaze of the mirror. His fingers moved with deliberate ease, sliding through the slickness he’d already tasted, teasing me all over again. I moaned, my head falling back as he circled my clit, his touch just rough enough to make me ache for more.
“Look at yourself,” he ordered, his voice like a command I couldn’t bring myself to disobey even if I wanted to. My eyes fluttered open, and there we were in the mirror: him towering behind me, his chest pressed against my back, his hand working between my legs. His other hand still gripped my hair, forcing me to watch as he spread my thighs wider, exposing me completely.
“See how gorgeous you are?” he murmured, his lips brushing my ear, his voice thick with hunger. “My wife. Do you see how fucking gorgeous you are when you give in to me? When you stop fighting and just let yourself be mine? God, you were made to look like this—perfect, desperate, and begging for me.”
I wasn’t begging—not yet—but I could feel it building, the desperate need to have him fill me, to feel every inch of him stretching me open. He must have felt it too because he chuckled again, his fingers sliding lower, teasing my entrance before pressing inside. My breath caught at the stretch, at the delicious friction as he worked me open with two fingers, curling them just right to make me cry out.
“That’s it,” he said, his voice low and rough. “That’s my girl. Let me hear you.”
I couldn’t stop myself. The sounds spilled from my lips, moans and whimpers that echoed in the small space of the bathroom. He fucked me with his fingers, slow and deliberate, making sure I felt every thrust, every twist of his wrist. My hips rocked against his hand, chasing the pleasure he was so ruthlessly denying me.
“You want more?” he asked, his voice dripping with wicked intent. I nodded frantically, my nails digging into the edge of the sink as I fought to hold myself together. He pulled his fingers out slowly, dragging a desperate whine from my throat, before unbuttoning his pants and freeing his cock. It was thick, long, and impossibly hard, the flushed head glistening faintly in the light. I could see it in the mirror—veined and perfect, made to ruin me—and my mouth watered at the thought of tasting him.
But that wasn’t what he wanted. Not yet. He pressed the head of his cock against my entrance, teasing me with the promise of what was to come. I whimpered, my body trembling as he held me there, forcing me to feel every inch of him without giving me what I needed.
“Tell me,” he growled, his voice like a fucking demand. “Tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I breathed, the words spilling out before I could stop them. “Please… please Dante, fuck me. ”
He didn’t make me wait. With one sharp thrust, he buried himself inside me, and I cried out at the stretch, at the way he filled me so completely. He didn’t stop until he was fully sheathed, until there was no space left between us. My nails scraped against the sink as he held me there, his breath hot against my neck.
“Look at us,” he ordered, and I did. I watched as he pulled out slowly, dragging a moan from my lips, before slamming back into me with enough force to make me scream. My eyes locked on the mirror, on the way his body moved against mine, on the way he owned every inch of me.
It was filthy. It was perfect .
“That’s it,” he groaned, his hips snapping against mine in a rhythm that left me breathless. “Take it. Take every fucking inch.”
I did. I took everything he gave me, every thrust, every word, every possessive growl that spilled from his lips. He fucked me like he owned me—like I was his to ruin—and I let him. God, I let him. My body arched against his, my hands scrabbling for purchase as he drove into me again and again, each thrust hitting that sweet spot that made me see stars.
“You feel that?” he muttered, his voice rough with need. “Feel how fucking good I make you feel?”
I couldn’t answer. I was too far gone, too lost in the way he moved inside me, in the way he made me feel so completely owned. His hand left my hair, sliding down to grip my waist as he fucked me harder, faster, until I was so close to the edge I could barely breathe.
“Come for me,” he commanded, and I did. My body shattered around him, pleasure exploding through me in waves that left me trembling and gasping for air. He didn’t stop. He kept fucking me through it, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until I was a whimpering mess in his arms.
Only then did he let himself go, his hips slamming into me one last time as he came deep inside me, filling me with everything he had. His arms wrapped around me, holding me close as we both came down from the high, our breaths ragged and our bodies still trembling.
“Mine,” he muttered against my neck, and I couldn’t argue. Not when he’d just claimed every part of me so completely.
The girl in the mirror looked wrecked. She looked like his.
And god help me… I loved it.