Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Dante
I fucking can’t take my eyes off her.
And I so desperately want her to refuse to obey me so I can follow through on my threat…my promise.
Earlier at the bridal shop, I betrayed myself, giving into my baser impulses by kissing her, by cupping her breast and tweaking her nipple.
She responded.
So damn perfectly.
I can’t get enough of her.
And the only thing I can think of is getting my hands back on her delectable body.
As she hesitates, her fingers flirt with the hem of her dress.
Her dress clings to her curves like a second skin, like it has all day, but now in my bedroom, it feels different. More intimate. More dangerous.
“Do you need me to repeat myself?”
Her eyes widen as the flickers of shock ripple through them.
Her gaze is on mine, and her chest rises and falls in shallow breaths.
I take in the subtle tremor in her hands.
You want to test me?
Fuck if that doesn’t make my cock twitch in anticipation.
This woman…
Like she had after I was an asshole at the bridal shop, she lifts her chin.
“As I said, prisoners don’t get pretty dresses.” I move closer, my footfall sharp on the hardwood floors.
To her credit, she continues to stand her ground.
Relentlessly I press forward until I’m right in front of her. Her intoxicating scent—wild orchids and pure feminine rebellion—fills my lungs.
She doesn’t flinch, but the pulse in her throat jumps, and I itch to trace the rapid beat with my tongue.
It doesn’t matter that she pretends not to be affected by me; her body betrays her at every turn. If she hadn’t been attracted, she would never have left her friends on the rooftop to join me at the bar. And her beautiful little nipple wouldn’t have responded so perfectly to my touch.
“Last chance.”
Her lips part, and a soft exhale escapes.
Eyes wide, she fists the hem of the dress completely.
Then she hesitates, her gaze locked on mine, searching for something—mercy, perhaps, or a crack in my resolve. The Russo enemy won’t find either anywhere in my soul.
Slowly, deliberately, she lifts the fabric, inch by inch, revealing the smooth expanse of her thighs.
Fuck me.
Last night, after I carried her into my room, I saw every bit of her body, but then my actions were perfunctory, a necessity more than anything else.
There’s a huge difference between being sure she was as comfortable as possible and watching her show herself to me.
As she continues, the lace edge of her panties peeks out, black and delicate against her perfect skin.
My blood heats, surging south, and I clench my jaw to keep from reaching out, from ripping the damn thing off myself.
Patience, I remind myself. This is about control—mine over hers and mine over the damn hunger for her that’s threatening me.
She slides the dress higher, exposing the flare of her hips, the nipped-in curve of her waist.
Her breath hitching, she pauses. “Moretti…” There’s a huskiness in her tone that sends a jolt straight to my cock.
She’s still calling me Moretti, as if she’s not going to walk down the aisle to me tomorrow.
I want to make her scream it out loud. Dante. I want to hear it whispered from her full lips, want her to say it like a plea, like a prayer.
And she’ll do it before the day is over.
“Do it, Valentina.”
Like a martyr, she squeezes her eyes closed as she tugs the dress up over her torso.
Expensive silk whispers against her skin, and I drink in every detail—the way her ribs expand with each breath, the delicate shape of her collarbone, the black lace bra cupping her breasts. Her nipples harden under my stare. I imagine the feel of them, the taste of them.
“Keep going.” My voice is softer, but also rougher.
This is fucking torture.
Why am I doing this to myself?
Finally she pulls the dress over her head and drops it. As the material swishes to the ground, her hair tumbles free in dark waves that cascade down her back and frame her face in wild disarray.
Then, eyes wide open, shoulder blades pulled together, she proudly stands there in front of me, wearing nothing but her bra, panties, and her sexy heels.
The air between us crackles with tension.
Her body is a temptation. And I’ve never experienced this kind of humbling need before.
Women have always come easily to me—eager, willing, throwing themselves at my feet, wanting my power, my money.
But Valentina?
She’s not begging for my touch. In fact, I know the idea of having my hands on her repulses her.
That irritates the hell out of me.
Echoes of my brother’s words haunt me: Matteo’s warning that kidnapping her was insane. Then there was Nico’s quiet doubt about the marriage.
But I did what I had to do as the Moretti underboss.
The Russos killed my father. This is revenge, unification, the only way to avoid war. But her resistance, this quiet fire… It’s not what I expected. It’s making me obsessed, and obsession isn’t normal. Not for me.
I take the final step that separates us.
As I close the gap, I trail a finger down her arm, feeling her goose bumps rising as I do.
Her skin is warm and soft, and she shivers under my touch.
Though she narrows her eyes, she doesn’t pull away.
“You’re beautiful.” My voice is husky, betraying the way I ache to possess her.
She doesn’t respond, just watches me, her breath coming faster now, and I slide my hand to her waist, pulling her closer until her body is pressed against mine. The lace of her bra is against my shirt, and the heat of her seeps through the fabric.
“You’re mine.” I lean in and brush her ear with my lips.
She shivers, and it’s from response, not revulsion.
My cock hardens.
“But you’re still partially dressed, aren’t you?”
“Moretti…” She looks up.
“Let me fix that for you, my little prisoner.”
She stiffens slightly, and she forces her palms against my chest. “What the hell do you want from me?”
“A kiss.” I pull back just enough to meet her gaze, my thumb stroking her lower lip. “Earn my robe, Valentina. Kiss me, and it’s yours.”
Her eyes meet mine. A storm of emotions swirls in the depth of her gaze—anger, desire, confusion.
“Or you can spend the rest of the night in here naked.” Pointedly I glance at the cameras. “I know which I’d prefer to see when I check on you.”
“You’re a bastard.”
“Stone-cold,” I confirm.
“Fine.” She sets her stubborn little chin once more. “Kiss me if you must.” She closes her eyes.
With a soft chuckle, I capture her face between my palms.
Instantly her eyes open.
“No, no, Valentina. That wasn’t my deal.”
She scowls, and two adorable little lines burrow between her sculped eyebrows. “You want…?” Her lips part indignantly.
“Yes. Kiss me.”
For long, long moments she remains where she is, her chin set stubbornly.
I shrug casually. But there’s nothing casual about what’s happening inside me.
My cock is throbbing with need. My pulse is pounding.
I want this woman to give herself to me. No holding back.
And she will. Or I’ll be rewarded by the sight of her beautiful body. And I’ll fucking drink my fill.
With deliberate intent, I ease one of her bra straps from her shoulder, and she gasps.
“Your choice,” I remind her.
“Liar.”
I raise an eyebrow. She does love living dangerously. No man has ever survived that insult.
“My choice is no choice at all, Moretti.”
“On the contrary.” Gently I stroke the column of her throat with a knuckle.
“I want you totally naked. I want to see what I own. Feast my eyes on every part of you. And later, when I watch you through the camera feed, I want to see your hard nipples. The sway of your hips as you walk around the room. But I’m giving you the opportunity to deny me.
For the measly cost of a kiss.” I pause. “Is that such a high price to pay?”