Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Valentina
About where our marriage will take place?
Dante’s words hang between us, heavy and unyielding.
His body is an imposing wall of muscle and menace as he continues to tower over me, arms crossed, his dark eyes locked on mine like a predator assessing its catch.
My foot throbs where the bandage presses against the fresh wound, a sharp reminder of his unexpected tenderness moments ago, but now that flicker of humanity is gone, replaced by the cold calculation of the man who abducted me.
Two choices. As if he’s bestowing some grand favor when all he’s doing is tightening the noose around my neck.
I shift on the bed.
The movement sends a fresh jolt through my arch, but I refuse to let him see the wince.
My heart somehow manages to accelerate into a wild rhythm that echoes in my ears, each beat fueling the fire of defiance burning in my chest.
I won’t cower, won’t let him see how much his words rattle me.
“How generous of you, Moretti.” I struggle to hold my voice steady against the tremor threatening to creep in. I lift my chin, meeting his gaze head-on, feeling the weight of his stare like fingers tracing my skin. “And here I thought you’d just drag me to whatever altar suits your twisted plans.”
His lips twitch.
It’s not quite a smile. It’s more a promise of the storm to come.
He uncrosses his arms and moves in closer until his knees brush the edge of the mattress.
The heat from his body radiates toward me.
My pulse quickens, not just from anger but from the way his presence fills the space, making the room feel smaller, the air harder to draw in.
He reaches out, slow and deliberate, his fingers grazing my jaw. Then he captures my chin and tilts my face up.
There are calluses on his thumb and fingers, at odds with his polished exterior, reminding me of exactly who he is.
And involuntary shiver ripples down my spine.
“If you choose to be stubborn, I’ll make the decision for you.”
His breath fans across my lips.
For a wild moment, I imagine what it would be like if this weren’t coercion—if his touch were invitation rather than command.
Ruthlessly I shove the thought away, focusing on the ache in my foot, the despair in my father’s voice.
“We can be married at the Bella Rosa in Las Vegas.”
At the casino owned by Lorenzo Carrington. Conveniently the reputed mobster also happens to be Dante’s cousin. “No.”
He smiles as if anticipating my answer.
My throat dry, I swallow deeply, hating the way the pressure of his touch makes my skin tingle.
Needing some breathing room, I grab his wrist and move his hand away from me.
“In that case, it will be the St. Louis Cathedral.”
That’s also a hard no from me.
Rumor has it that his older brother, Matteo, forced Alessia DeLuca to marry him there.
My breath catches, the image flashing through my mind—the soaring arches, the stained glass filtering light in jeweled patterns, the echo of footsteps on marble floors.
I won’t walk down the aisle of the cathedral where generations of Morettis have worshipped.
“There are no other options.”
Swiftly I reconsider.
It’s a more public venue, some place where I’ll have potential allies and maybe some distractions that present a sliver of opportunity for me to escape without igniting a full war.
But it also means parading this farce before a priest, potentially sealing my fate in front of those who know the Russo name and the elites who will whisper about my humiliation long after.
He trails his fingers down the column of my throat, then across my collarbone.
“Don’t touch me.” But my words are breathless. And this time, I don’t move his hand away.
“You’ll know you’re mine.” He allows his fingers to drift lower, brushing the swell of my breast through the shirt.
I gasp.
The sensation is electric, pooling warmth between my thighs despite everything.
Against my own wishes, my body arches slightly toward him.
His eyes darken with hunger, and shame rushes through me as he reads my response.
“Valentina.” He leans in, forcing me to confront the pull between us. My abductor. The man who tends my wounds and touches me as if I’m made of spun glass.
With deliberate intent, as if he already owns me, he moves his hand to cup my breast.
I suck in a sharp breath.
“So responsive.”
Thank God he isn’t touching bare skin.
He strokes his thumb across the tip of my breast through the fabric of his shirt, and immediately my nipple tightens, my body betraying me.
“That’s it.”
His gaze flicks down to take in my reaction. Satisfaction gleams in his eyes, making my cheeks burn.
“Now it’s time for me to sample the wares.”
Frantically I shake my head. But we both know the truth.
When it comes to him, my responses are completely feminine and have been from the moment I first saw him on the rooftop.
Even the hated reminder that he’s my captor can’t make me stop wanting him.
His fingers linger on my breast, his pressure firm yet teasing, sending sparks of unwanted heat cascading through me.
My nipple pebbles harder under his thumb’s insistent stroke, the friction through the shirt amplifying every sensation.
A storm rages in me, defiance battling my unwanted desire.
How can I respond to this monster who stole me away, who intends to bind me to him in a forced marriage?
Determined to resist, I clench my fists at my sides. Intentionally I dig my nails into my palms. And the sharp bite grounds me, reminding me of who I am: Valentina Russo, not some simpering captive.
More in control, I grab hold of him. “Stop.” Even though my voice is laced with my fury, there’s a quiver in it that betrays me.
But instead of shoving his hand aside, I curl my fingers around his wrist . The steady thrum of his pulse is a massive contrast to my own erratic one.
“You don’t want this?” His eyes narrow, and the dark depths seem to swallow the dim light of the room.
“No.”
Does he see the conflict on my face?
I’ve never had a reaction to any man like this before. And it’s maddening.
A low chuckle rumbles from his chest. “Your body tells a different story, princess.” His words are a caress, wrapped in a rumbly timbre that resonates through me.
I release his wrist as if burned, and the damnable warmth of him lingers on my fingertips.
I refuse to allow him to have this kind of power over me.
Yet even as I think it, my breasts feel heavy, aching for more of that forbidden contact, and shame twists in my gut, sharp as the glass shard he pulled from my sole.
“Are you certain?”
Without warning, he slides his hand to my waist.
His broad palm is unyielding, and he splays his fingers to span my ribcage.
Heat seeps through the shirt, branding me, and I draw in a ragged breath.
The potent scent of him fills my lungs, intoxicating even though I despise him.
“Let’s see, shall we?”
I should stop this right now.
But it’s as if I’m no longer in charge of my own responses.
“Stand for me.” His voice is a command, but his tone is gentle.
As always, his contradictions undo my resolve.
His other hand joins the first, encircling my waist, and he lifts me with effortless strength.
Instinctively I press my palms against him for balance as he sets me on my feet.
God, I hate the way his muscles feel—solid and unyielding, a reminder of his physical dominance and the way he’d so effortlessly kidnapped me and undressed me.
As I pull back, my injured foot protests with a dull throb, making me wince.
Dante adjusts me, keeping his grip firm, guiding me toward him until our bodies are flush.
The sudden closeness steals my breath.
His chest is pressed to mine, the hard planes of his body molding to my softer curves. Even through the layers of fabric separating us, the insistent, rigid heat of his erection juts against my abdomen.
I suck in a breath.
“You hate this.”
“Yes.” But a terrible warmth blooms.
Seemingly of their own accord, my hips shift, a tiny movement that brushes against his heat.
Moretti inhales sharply as he tightens his fingers on my waist. He digs in just a little, enough to send pinpricks of sensation radiating outward.
The hardness of him throbs, and I’m helpless to ignore the way it makes my inner muscles clench, even though a voice in my head screams at me to push him away.
This is wrong.
So wrong.
He’s my enemy, my captor.
His friction ignites a fire low in my belly, spreading upward, making my nipples tighten further, scraping against the shirt with every shallow breath.
I tell myself this is a leftover effect from the drug he fed me.
But that’s a lie.
And the bastard grins, as if he knows it.
He continues to look at me with intense eyes.
His pupils are dilated, swallowing the irises until they’re almost black.
There’s hunger there, raw and unfiltered. But it’s swirled with possession that chills me.
“Moretti…” I’m not sure what I’m asking for.
My hands are still on him, and my fingers flex involuntarily. The subtle rise and fall of his breathing syncs with mine. And I don’t attempt to push him away.
“Tell me.” His voice is as urgent as it is commanding.
I shake my head. There’s still a rational human brain buried somewhere deep inside me.
“Then I’ll have to prove how much you want me.”
The air between us heats until it’s supercharged.
Then, slowly, he lowers his head.
His breath—rich with whiskey—is warm on my lips.
Generously he gives me a fraction of a second to pull away if I choose. Instead, I remain where I am, and anticipation fills me.
Moretti’s mouth claims mine with a brush of his firm lips that’s almost tender.
Shocking me, it feels more like an exploration that a conquering.
My eyelids flutter closed despite myself, and I feel the world narrow to our single point of contact.
He deepens the kiss a little. He coaxes my response rather than demanding it.
If he’d been a brute, I could have shoved him away.
But this…?
This…
Sensation floods me as his gentle pressure radiates tingles down my neck, across my chest, to pool in my breasts and then even lower still.
Under his expert touch, I can’t help but yield to his demands.
“That’s it.”
I part my lips slightly, allowing him in.
His tongue sweeps gently, tasting me in a slow dance that makes my knees weaken, forcing me to lean into him more.
Emotions crash through me—confusion at this gentleness from a man who’s been nothing but ruthless, anger at my own yielding, and beneath it all, a spark of desire that flares brighter with each pass of his tongue.
I slide my hands higher, then back, over his shoulders and up his neck.
He shudders faintly, and I know he wants me every bit as badly as I am starting to want him.
With a guttural moan, he deepens the kiss.
He’s still gentle, but now there’s an undercurrent of heat.
His erection thrusts harder against me, and the heat of it sears me, making me acutely aware of his dominance.
Moretti eases back then, just enough to break the contact, his breath mingling with mine in the scant space between us.
His eyes search my face, no doubt taking in my flushed cheeks, my parted lips, the way my chest rises and falls rapidly.
I’m exposed to him, vulnerable in a way I have never been before. It’s as if he can see straight to the emotional turmoil inside.
The air cools on my damp lips, a stark contrast to the warmth building inside me, and I fight the urge to lean in again, to chase that gentleness that’s so at odds with everything he is.
But before I can process, he captures my mouth again, this time hard, with a force that erupts like a dam breaking.
His lips crash against mine, demanding, devouring, his tongue plunging in without preamble, claiming every inch.
The shift is electric, sending shockwaves through me.
He slides one hand up my back to tangle in my hair. Then he angles my head for deeper access.
When I reluctantly grant it, he presses his free hand against my lower back, grinding me against his thick cock.
The hardness digs into me, hot and unyielding, each subtle thrust of his hips sending friction straight through me.
God.
I moan into his mouth, the sound muffled, involuntary, and it spurs him on.
His kiss turns fiercer, and his teeth nip at my lower lip. The sting is sharp and thrilling, blending pain with pleasure in a way that makes my head spin.
What is it about him?
A dozen sensations overwhelm me… The rough scrape of his stubble against my chin, abrading my skin in a delicious burn. The way his body heat envelops me, making sweat prickle along my spine.
Helplessly I clutch his shirt, twisting my fingers in the fabric, pulling him closer.
An orgasm begins to unfurl inside me, even as my mind screams at me to stop.
But I’m drowning in my own reactions.
Desperate desire claws at me, making me rock my hips against him, seeking more of that heated friction.
He continues to give me what I crave until I’m breathless.
Even though my lungs burn for air, I’m unwilling to break away.
My nipples ache now as they rub against his chest.
The world narrows until nothing exists but us.
The way he tugs my hair with the right amount of force to send sparks down my scalp and the way he grinds against me promises the relief that I need.
Finally he pulls back.
His chest is heaving as much as mine, and damn him to hell, his eyes blaze with triumph.
Suddenly my lips feel bruised, and so do I.
I draw in huge gulps of air as sanity crashes back.
Releasing him, I drop my hands.
My emotions are a mass of confusion, arousal, resentment—all tangled in a knot that tightens with every heartbeat.
“Oh, you definitely wanted it, Valentina.”
“Fuck you, Moretti.” This time I don’t just mouth the words.
A bastard through and through, he grins. “Want me to prove it to you again?”
I put as much distance between us as possible, until my shoulders hit a wall.
But I needn’t have bothered.
With predatory grace, he strides to the door.
Hand on the knob, he looks back at me. “Be ready to leave at ten.”
What the hell?
“You’ll need a dress.” He sweeps his hot, lethal gaze down my body. “Not that I can’t figure out the size.”
Of course he can. His hands were all over me, and he undressed me earlier.
“And we’ll need the license for tomorrow’s ceremony.”
For tomorrow’s…