Chapter 5 A Wife
Her fingers curled into the sheets, nails digging in. His pace deepened—each stroke rough, each thrust sending tremors through her. His hand slid down between them, fingers seeking that sensitive spot, circling, teasing until her whole body tensed with pressure she couldn’t hold back.
Then everything snapped.
She shattered, crying out his name, body trembling beneath him. But he didn’t stop. Driven by her trembling heat and the way her body clung to his, he thrust harder, rougher. His mouth found hers in a bruising kiss as he lost himself in her.
No mercy. No pause.
Without a word, he pulled free and flipped her over onto her stomach. Her gasp was muffled into the mattress as he lifted her hips, knees digging into the bed while her chest pressed down. One hand pinned her shoulder, the other gripped her waist, fingers digging into her soft skin.
“Stay like that,” he muttered, voice low and rough.
She felt him kneel behind her, heat pressing into her back. His hand slid down, parting her legs wider—no asking, just taking. His mouth returned to her from behind.
His tongue ran slow at first, tracing her folds, then quickened, messy and hungry. Wet heat glided over her again and again as he licked her hard. His tongue flicked over her swollen nub, then slipped lower, tasting her like he couldn’t get enough. She squirmed, overwhelmed, but his grip on her hips was firm, locking her in place.
“Don’t move,” he growled. Then he flicked her clit again with his tongue until her body shook, sucking hard.
Her body jolted, a loud cry tearing from her lips as he continued—rough, fast, relentless—even as she begged under her breath. Her hands clenched the sheets, wrists straining, body rocking against his face with every flick of his tongue. He growled into her, the vibration sending another wave through her. His fingers spread her open wider, tongue buried deep, licking her up and down until she thought she’d break right there.
Then he pulled away, lips wet, chest heaving.
He lined himself up behind her. The thick head of his girth pressed against her entrance again, and this time—no slow build. He slammed in deep with one brutal thrust, making her gasp loudly into the mattress. She tried to move forward, but he grabbed her hips and drove in again, harder.
His pace was ruthless.
Fast.
The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room—mixed with her cries and his heavy breaths. He kept her bent low, back arched, body helpless as he pounded into her from behind. Each thrust hit deep, shaking the bed, making her gasp harder with every snap of his hips.
“You feel that?” he muttered harshly, hand sliding up her back. “You did this to me.”
She tried to speak, but her voice broke as he slammed into her harder than before. Her body rocked forward with every thrust. He grabbed her shoulders, pulling her back into him. Her legs trembled, barely holding her up as he drove into her over and over.
He was rough. Possessive. And he didn’t stop.
His fingers tangled in her hair, yanking her head back just enough so her cries wouldn’t be muffled by the sheets. He leaned close, mouth brushing her ear, whispering, “Now you’re mine.”
She cried out again, body shaking as waves of pleasure crashed through her. But he didn’t let up. With a low growl, he slammed into her harder, deeper. One hand slipped between her legs, fingers finding her clit and rubbing fast—matching the rhythm of his hips.
She screamed, trembling as she came around him, her walls tightening hard—but he didn’t stop.
“Again,” he demanded, voice hoarse. “Cum again, Anya.”
Her body was already raw with sensitivity, but his fingers kept moving, rubbing harder as he thrust deeper. Her arms gave out, collapsing into the bed, but he held her hips up, forcing her to take it. His thrusts grew rougher, his growls louder—like he was losing control.
“Cum again. I want more,” he ordered. With one last hard thrust and a fast circle of his thumb, she shattered again, legs shaking violently beneath the intensity.
He followed soon after, groaning her name, his grip bruising as he buried himself deep one last time, hips jerking against her as he came hard inside.
They both collapsed, breathless.
Her body twitched from the aftershocks, barely able to move.
He shifted lower, dragging her legs open again and settling between them like it was the only place he belonged. She gasped softly as his tongue traced over her sensitive folds—slow now, but still greedy, still claiming her.
“Don’t close your legs,” he murmured, voice raspy against her skin. “I’m not done tasting you.”
His breath fanned over her inner thighs as his hands pushed them wider. Then his mouth was on her again. He licked slowly, drawing out every drop, every shiver, like he wanted to memorize her taste. His lips trailed along her soft skin before biting down—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make her jolt.
She moaned, legs trembling as he sucked on the bite mark. Another bite followed, this time on the opposite thigh, then his tongue soothed the tender skin as she whimpered beneath him.
“Hush, Anya,” he muttered, kissing a trail up her thigh. “Let me lick you.”
Her hand slid weakly into his hair, but he grabbed her wrist and pinned it down, licking her again—slow and filthy.
He stayed there for a while—licking, sucking, nipping softly until she was a mess again, whimpering under her breath, body twitching with every soft bite. Finally, he slowed down. His lips pressed one last kiss inside her thigh before laying his head there, using her soft skin as a pillow, arms wrapped under her legs.
Her fingers drifted lazily through his hair, her breath still uneven.
He nuzzled between her thighs, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other splayed protectively over her lower stomach, he let sleep take him. His lips brushed her skin with every exhale, and even as his breathing slowed, his fingers stayed wrapped around her.
***
The next morning, Anya stirred, her lashes fluttering as she blinked herself awake. She turned slightly—only to feel a strong, muscular arm wrapped tightly around her waist. Her bare back was pressed against solid, warm skin.
Still groggy, she turned onto her back and blinked up—
And froze.
Dante was right beside her, fast asleep, his bare chest pressed against her back, his arm possessively wrapped around her waist. The room was cold, the AC humming above, making her shiver and acutely aware of the complete lack of clothes on her body.
Her heart skipped. Her lips parted in silent shock.
She slowly turned to her side and tried to slide away, inch by inch, her mind racing. Maybe she could slip out quietly. Maybe she could pretend it didn’t happen.
But before she could move another inch, that strong arm around her waist tightened—and in one swift motion, she was pulled back into the bed.
Anya landed flat on her back as Dante shifted, turning her toward him. His sleepy eyes opened, heavy-lidded and dark with that morning haze, and locked onto hers.
“Where do you think you’re going?” His morning voice was husky and low, full of heat.
Before she could respond, he pulled her closer, her nipples brushing against his chest. She was completely flushed as he leaned in, whispering against her lips.
“You’re mine now.”
Anya’s heart thudded wildly. Flashes of last night—blurry, messy—suddenly came back into focus. Her lips, his touch, the way he held her... Her heart pounded, stomach in knots.
“You were very enthusiastic last night,” he murmured against her skin, amused. “Told everyone at the bar you’ve seen every inch of my body.”
Her eyes widened. “What?!”
“You tried to take my shirt off in the bar. Said you wanted everyone to see how good my body is.” He chuckled, a low, teasing sound.
Anya groaned, mortified, and covered her face with her hands. “Oh my God…”
The memories were coming back—and fast.
She peeked out from behind her fingers, her voice barely above a whisper. “Did we really… sleep together?”
Dante reached up, gently pushing her messy curls back from her face with surprising tenderness. His dark eyes held hers.
“What do you think?” he murmured. “Can’t you feel it?”
Her cheeks flamed instantly. Oh, she could feel it—every bit of it.
He paused. A frown touched his brows as his tone turned serious.
“And from now on, you’re not allowed to have a single drop of alcohol when I’m not around.”
The very thought of her—drunk, falling into another man’s arms, touching him, doing to him what she did to him —made rage burn through Dante’s veins like wildfire. Just the image of it made his fists clench.
It was not an option.
Now that she was in his bed, in his arms, no one else was allowed near her. She was his. Whether she admitted it or not—his girlfriend, his woman, and soon enough, she’d be his wife.
Anya stirred slightly, the fog of sleep lifting from her features. She tilted her face up, blinking at him with drowsy eyes. “You don’t have to do this,” she said kindly, her voice low and slightly raspy. “No need to think I’m your responsibility just because you slept with me.”
Her fingers clenched against his bare chest, a faint crease forming on her forehead. “You and I… we’re not the same.”
Dante’s jaw tightened, the muscles flexing with every word she spoke. His eyes darkened with a storm of emotion.
She tried to ignore the shift in him and kept speaking, even though her voice shook a little. “I don’t want to look like some gold-digger, not when I’m already in such a bad place.”
She looked away, starting to sit up, avoiding his gaze.
“And honestly…” she muttered under her breath, just to push him away, “I wouldn’t even commit to a man who wasn’t good enough. You might want to work on your skills a little more. I wasn’t exactly satisfied last night.”
That was the last straw.
Dante’s patience snapped.
He grabbed her shoulder and yanked her back down, making her fall flat onto the bed beneath him as he climbed over her, trapping her with his tall, muscular frame. His grip found her jaw, firm and commanding, forcing her to look into his eyes.
“Say that again,” he growled.
His body pressed against hers, close, dangerous, hot—and she stopped breathing for a second. Her heart pounded in her chest, the tension between them sparking to life.
He leaned down, his voice low and deadly quiet. “Then let me try again. And this time, I won’t stop until you admit you’re satisfied.”
“What—no!” Anya gasped, eyes wide with panic.
‘Is he out of his mind? I’m still sore from last night!’ Her heart raced as her thoughts spiraled. ‘I didn’t mean it seriously. I only said all that to push him away! I didn’t want him to feel obligated to stay after a one-night stand. I have nothing. No money, no home, no future. The last thing I want is to be someone else’s burden. But this goddamn man took my words as a challenge, and an invitation?’
Dante’s mouth found her skin again, scorching and possessive. His lips trailed over her neck in slow, maddening circles—kissing, licking, teasing, leaving a trail of fire that made her shiver uncontrollably. Each breath she drew came out shaky, breathless, caught between want and surrender. Her body betrayed her with every gasp and tremble, muscles tightening under his touch like electricity was coursing through her veins.
“Dante—oh God—I’m sorry! I’m satisfied. I promise. I swear—!” she gasped, voice trembling with desperation, hoping to stop him before she lost herself again.
But the man was relentless. Without breaking contact, his hands moved with ruthless precision. He slid down her body, his fingers ghosting over the curve of her thighs before spreading them wide. She barely had time to process it before his fingers slid between her slick folds, parting her as if she belonged to him. In the next moment, his fingers thrust inside her, stretching her wide.
“Ahhh…,” her cry echoed through the room, sharp and desperate, her back arching off the bed as she tried to pull away, overwhelmed by the intensity.
“You are so fucking troublesome,” Dante growled, his voice thick with raw desire and something darker beneath it.
Before she could react, his hands were on hers, grabbing and twisting expertly. In seconds, he had bound her wrists to the bed with a rough silk tie, tight but not cruel, his movements so practiced it was as if he’d done this a hundred times before.
“Dante, I—I spoke too much. I didn’t mean it,” she tried to reason, voice shaky, pleading for mercy.
His dark eyes narrowed, sharp and unreadable, a slight smirk curling the edge of his lips. He tilted his head, assessing her like a predator sizing up his prey. Then, one hand gripped her hips firmly while the other’s fingers slipped back inside her, thrusting deep and slow at first.
His fingers curled expertly, rubbing against the tender skin inside her, searching, teasing—and then finding her G-spot with precision. She gasped, trembling, her body unraveling faster than she thought possible.
Within seconds, she came apart—harder and deeper than ever before.
“Ahh…” she cried out, body shaking violently, limbs weak beneath him.
But Dante wasn’t done.
His fingers slid from her core, gliding lower to her ass. A single finger pressed against her tight, hesitant entrance before slipping inside. Her eyes flew open, mouth parting in a silent, shocked cry. She tried to hold herself steady, but the finger pulled out only to thrust back in again, slowly at first, then building into a relentless rhythm.
Moaning uncontrollably, she tried to tame herself down, but the pleasure only intensified, her mind slipping into a haze. She was coming on his fingers again, waves crashing over her in quick succession, body trembling, overwhelmed by the raw, filthy sensation.
And it didn’t stop there.
One orgasm spilled into another, her body writhing beneath him, desperate for release that felt both endless and impossible to contain. Even as Dante’s fingers slowed, sliding again between her folds and slipping into her weeping channel, trying to soothe her frayed nerves, it wasn’t enough. Not by a long shot.
Her whimpers turned into desperate pleas. “Please… I’m really satisfied. I swear…” she begged, voice thick with need and exhaustion.
But Dante’s response was merciless.
His rod slid inside her again, filling her completely, and he moved with fierce intensity—hard and fast—making her cry out over and over. Each thrust pushed her closer to the edge again and again, his growls vibrating through her skin.
One orgasm melted into the next, each wave of pleasure crashing over her relentlessly. Her body writhed beneath him, trembling and arching as if trying to catch a breath of relief that never came. Every nerve ending burned, every muscle clenched and released in a chaotic symphony of sensation.
She was desperate—desperate for release, for rest—but the pleasure felt infinite, impossible to hold or contain.
Dante’s fingers, which had been expertly coaxing her through the storm, began to slow, his touch lingering like a whispered promise. He tried to soothe the rawness, to calm the wild pulses racing through her veins—but it was futile. Her nerves were raw, trembling under his touch, craving more.
Her breath hitched, voice trembling with a mix of exhaustion and longing as she whimpered, “Please… I’m really satisfied. I swear…” The words spilled out, thick and needy, a plea born of both surrender and desperation.
His thrusts were fierce, relentless, hard and fast, each one driving deeper than the last. The sound of her cries filled the room.
With every powerful thrust, he pushed her closer to the edge again and again, igniting new fires that flared hotter and fiercer inside her. His growls rumbled low in his throat, vibrating through her skin.
Her muscles clenched involuntarily, trembling and tight, as wave after wave of heat crashed over her. She was lost, utterly consumed by the fierce rhythm of his body, the power of his touch, and the storm of pleasure he continued to stir deep within her.
And still, he didn’t stop.
***
Dante stood at the edge of the room, pulling his belt through the loops.
His tall, lean frame looked like it had been carved by gods. Broad shoulders, sculpted chest, the white shirt clinging to him like a second skin. He looked like a hero from a drama—except better. Real.
Anya watched him, biting her lower lip. She still couldn’t believe she’d slept with this man. A man who could make her feel everything and steal her breath away—fully clothed or not.
She reached for her earrings on the table, slipping one into her ear.
Dante’s phone rang on the bedside table. He walked over, picked it up, glanced at the screen, then set it down again without answering. Instead of moving away, he sat beside her on the bed and pulled her straight into his lap, making her sit snugly against him.
He took the earrings from her hands and carefully started putting them on for her.
Anya squirmed slightly at the feel of his rough fingers grazing her delicate skin. He smirked, tightening his hold around her. He pulled her closer, one hand resting on her waist, the other brushing her earlobe gently as he clipped the jewelry on.
His nose dipped behind her ear, breathing in her scent. His lips grazed her skin, trailing heat wherever they touched.
The phone rang again.
This time, Dante looked at the screen and saw Mom flash across it.
“Pick it up for me,” he whispered huskily into her ear. “Put it on speaker.”
He held her close with one hand wrapped around her waist, his thumb gently stroking her skin, while the other hand brushed her ear, placing the earring with deliberate care.
Anya trembled slightly in his arms, the size difference between them overwhelming. Even though she was young, and he was thirty—his body, his presence, everything about him made her feel small, fragile.
She did what he said. Her hand slid across the screen and pressed the speaker button.
“You’re like a scared little bird when you’re with me,” Dante murmured, placing a kiss behind her ear that made her shiver. He smiled.
A woman's voice came through the phone.
“Dante?” Janet’s voice rang out warmly.
It was his mother.
Janet Kingsley lived a charmed life—elegant, always surrounded by her social circle, and known for her love of gossip and grand plans.
She sounded more excited than usual.
“Dante, do you remember that little girl who used to visit our house all the time when you were kids? Charles Carter’s daughter? We always said we’d fix your marriage with her someday. She came from such a good family, and you adored her so much. You wouldn’t let her out of your sight back then.”
Anya stiffened.
Another woman?
“I’m not sure... I don’t really remember,” Dante muttered, voice casual, but the slight crease in his brow betrayed him the moment he felt her body tense in his arms.
"You’ll find out soon enough!" Janet said excitedly, continuing without a care in the world.
"I heard Charles already found her after that incident at the amusement park. Ever since that incident at the amusement park, he never stopped searching. And now she’s finally back!"
“Mom, I don’t care,” Dante muttered, his voice gruff as he tried to end the call. But Janet kept talking.
“He’s bringing her back home, Dante. Soon. And then you’ll finally have your wife!”