Chapter 16
Harlow
As we arrive home, a hushed stillness blankets the estate. The only signs of life come from the guards stationed outside, their watchful eyes sweeping the perimeter.
Inside, the house feels almost unnaturally quiet, no murmuring voices, no distant footsteps. The usual presence of maids and staff is absent, I granted them the night off myself. The contrast is jarring. After a day consumed by ceremony, the ceaseless hum of conversation, and the relentless pull of expectations, the silence now feels almost unnatural, an echo of all that has transpired.
Beside me, the troublemaker stifles a weary yawn.
“Goodnight, Mattia.”
I murmur, watching as he turns toward the hallway leading to his room, his footsteps fading into the quiet.
Dante trails after him, his movements unhurried. I can’t quite explain the sensation that tightens in my chest as I watch him tend to his son, ensuring he makes it to bed safely. It shouldn’t affect me the way it does.
I push the thought aside and retreat to my own room, shutting the door quietly behind me.
The first thing I do is slip off my wedding heels, exhaling as the sharp pressure finally relents. My feet throb mercilessly, punishment for enduring these stilettos all day, each step a fresh agony, like walking on shards of glass.
I stride toward the closet, tugging open the doors with a weary exhale. My fingers skim over the rows of garments until I settle on a satin pyjama set, short, delicate, effortlessly sensual. The fabric is whisper soft, a welcome contrast to the intricate gown still clinging to my skin. With little thought, I toss it onto the bed, craving the relief it promises.
I need a shower. A long, scalding escape to strip away the weight of the day, to rinse the tension from my body and silence the lingering echoes of the past hours.
As I move, my reflection catches my eye in the mirror, and I pause. The dress is exquisite, every stitch a testament to craftsmanship, each delicate detail woven with precision. And yet, all I can think about is the impending battle of peeling it off alone.
I slip off the long gloves first, the silk gliding down my arms before I cast them aside. Then, I reach behind me, fingers groping for the zipper, but the corset’s tight embrace refuses to yield. The fabric resists, my movements clumsy with exhaustion, frustration mounting as I wrestle with the unforgiving design.
A noise stirs near the door, faint at first, a subtle disturbance in the quiet. It builds, a flicker of movement just beyond my awareness, until a deafening crash shatters the stillness.
I whip around, heart slamming against my ribs.
My gaze snaps to the shattered doorway.
Dante stands there, his broad chest rising and falling with intensity, the air around him crackling with something raw, something untamed. He looks like a man unshackled, a predator that has just torn through its restraints.
My eyes dart between him and the wreckage of what used to be my door.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
I snap, my pulse still hammering in the aftermath of the shock.
He steps inside, unbothered by the splintered remains beneath his feet, his movements honed with predatory intent. Before I can move, before thought even registers, his hand closes around my throat, firm yet controlled. He doesn’t tighten his grip enough to steal my breath, but the dominance in his touch is unmistakable. A silent warning.
My breath falters, not from fear, but from something far more perilous. Something that coils low in my belly, dark and unbidden.
His voice is a low growl, rough with restrained fury, each syllable vibrating against my skin. His breath skims my face, sending a shiver down my spine.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
I lift my gaze to his, eyes flashing as my pulse hammers against my ribs.
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
My voice is edged with irritation, each word crisp.
“I’m getting ready for bed, evidently.”
“Watch your fucking mouth, or I’ll find a better use for it.”
His voice is low, laced with a dangerous edge. His grip tightens slightly around my throat.
“I meant, what are you doing here, in this room?”
I blink, willing myself to push past the heat lacing through my veins, to steady my voice.
“I don’t know what your problem is, Dante, but I’ve been sleeping here since I first arrived. What’s the issue now?”
His lips barely graze mine as he exhales a dark, amused chuckle.
“The issue is,”
he murmurs as he drags his nose down the column of my throat, inhaling deeply before finishing.
“That now you are officially my wife. And my wife sleeps in my fucking bed.”
My body stiffens, tension coiling in my muscles as I press against his chest, desperate to put distance between us.
“No. I told you already. We are not—"
His grip tightens just enough to hold me still, his touch firm but not unkind.
“Don’t make me throw you over my shoulder, leonessa,”
he warns.
“Tomorrow, all your things will be moved into my room. You’re not to sleep here ever again.”
I shake my head, frustration bubbling beneath the exhaustion weighing down my limbs.
“Dante, don’t do this tonight. I need a hot shower and rest. We can resume our disagreement tomorrow.”
“Amusing.”
He murmurs, stepping back just enough to grant the illusion of space, to make me believe, for a fleeting second, that I’ve won.
Then, in one swift motion, he seizes me.
A startled gasp escapes my lips as the world tilts violently. Before I can react, I’m hoisted over his shoulder, my body helpless against his unyielding strength. He strides out of the room as if I weigh nothing at all.
“Dante, release me this instant!”
I demand, fists striking his back in futile protest.
“I think not.”
he responds smoothly, utterly unruffled. He strides into the master bedroom with purpose, kicking the door shut behind us before finally setting me back on my feet.
I stumble slightly, regaining my balance as I glare up at him.
“What the fuck—"
“You’re staying. Don’t make me repeat myself.”
He cuts in, his tone edged with finality.
I fold my arms, levelling him with a glare.
“You’re a damn barbarian. You tore the door off its hinges, and it wasn’t even locked!”
His lips curl into a dangerous smirk laced with venom.
“Yeah? Next time, I’ll do more than just break a door. So don’t give me a reason to.”
I huff.
“One might think you actually want to share a bed with me. How flattering.”
Dante scoffs, stepping closer, his voice rich with amusement.
“Don’t fool yourself. This is about appearances. It wouldn’t look good if my wife were sleeping anywhere but in my bed.”
His words convey one sentiment, but his actions speak quite another.
He continues to observe me, his gaze dark and unwavering. I exhale sharply, shaking my head as if it might dispel the tension thickening the air between us.
“Enough of this. I’m going to take a shower, I simply don’t have the energy to prolong this conversation any further.”
But in truth, exhaustion isn’t the only reason. Deep down, I know this isn’t a fight I’ll win.
Ready to disappear into the bathroom, I take a step backward, creating distance between us.
“Turn around.”
Dante commands.
I freeze.
The weight of his words settles over me, heavy, inescapable. Slowly, I turn, offering him my back.
I don’t see him, but I feel his presence, the heat radiating between us. Then, his fingers brush against my spine, a featherlight touch that finds the zipper of my dress. Excruciatingly slow, he pulls it down.
The fabric loosens, slipping from my body, but all I can focus on is the ghost of his knuckles grazing my spine. The touch is barely there, light, teasing, yet my pussy clenches with need, a wave of heat pulsing low in my belly.
Fuck.
My jaw clenches. Pathetic. He barely touches me, and still, my body responds as if he owns it. The realization irritates me almost as much as the slow way he moves, as if he already knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
As the dress slips from my body, pooling at my feet in a whisper of silk, I’m left in nothing but a delicate white lace thong and a matching bra, barely enough to cover me. I step free of the fabric and turn to face him.
His jaw tightens, the muscle ticking. His eyes darken, a quiet storm brewing beneath the surface.
Heat. Hunger.
It’s unmistakable, raw, unguarded, etched into the hard lines of his face.
I swallow hard, motioning toward the door.
“I’m going to—”
Before I can take a step, Dante’s fingers weave into my hair, gripping the back of my head with a force that leaves no room for resistance. He yanks me forward, dragging me into him, and our bodies collide, chest to chest, heat against heat.
And then, his mouth crashes against mine.
For the third time today.
A kiss that is anything but gentle. Hungry. Consuming. A raw, unrelenting claim.
A groan rumbles from his chest as he deepens the kiss, his grip in my hair tightening. His other hand trails down my side, skimming over my ribs before cupping my breast, his thumb grazing over the lace. He lingers there for a moment, teasing, before continuing lower, gliding over my stomach, descending with unspoken intent.
I gasp against his lips as his fingers slip beneath my panties, teasing, stroking, until I’m trembling in his grasp.
“Let me taste you.”
He murmurs against my skin, his breath hot, his voice thick with desire.
“Dante, I don’t think—”
“Let me rephrase that,”
he cuts me off, his tone darkening, leaving no room for protest. His grip tightens just enough to make my breath hitch.
“Lay on the fucking bed, Harlow, and spread your legs for me. I’m going to bury my face between my wife’s thighs until I have you screaming my name.”
My breath catches, and instinctively, I take a step back.
He follows.
Every retreating step of mine is met with one of his, until the backs of my knees hit the edge of the bed. My heart races as I look up, the sheer size of him overwhelming. He towers over me, his eyes locked onto mine. With a firm yet gentle push to my shoulder, he guides me down until my back meets the mattress, the bed dipping beneath me as I sink into it.
His hands find my thighs, parting them, spreading me wide beneath his gaze. With agonizing slowness, he hooks his fingers into the lace of my thong, dragging it down my hips, over my thighs, letting it slip past my ankles before tossing it aside. His eyes darken as he takes in the sight of me, bare, exposed, completely at his mercy.
I should stop him. Tell him no. But the words never come.
Instead, he leans in, capturing my mouth in another explosive kiss that steals what little breath I have left. His lips are slow, coaxing, but there’s nothing soft about the way his hands roam, claiming me inch by inch.
Fingers slip beneath my bra, pushing the fabric aside. Then, his mouth is there, hot lips closing around my nipple, sucking, teasing with his tongue. I arch beneath him, my body betraying me as pleasure licks up my spine.
He doesn’t stop.
His kisses trail lower, down the centre of my stomach, each one branding me, marking me as his.
And then, his tongue flicks over my clit, slow at first, a teasing stroke that makes my breath hitch before he presses in harder, licking, sucking, devouring like he’s starving for it. A strangled moan rips from my throat as heat engulfs me, my body arching, desperate for more. My fingers dive into his hair, gripping the strands, tugging, but it only seems to spur him on.
The scrape of his stubble against my inner thighs is a maddening contrast, rough and abrasive against my sensitive skin, a delicious burn that only heightens the pleasure. My legs tremble, threatening to close around him, but his grip on my hips is unyielding, holding me open, keeping me right where he wants me. He eats me like he owns me, like he won’t stop until I come undone for him, and when I do, I shatter with his name on my lips, his low, satisfied groan vibrates against me, dragging me even deeper into the abyss.
Suddenly, he pulls back just enough, his fingers wrapping around my jaw, forcing me to look at him. His expression smug and satisfied. His smirk is wicked.
“Sweet as sin.”
And just like that, as if nothing had happened, he straightens. Rising to his full height, he adjusts his suit, still perfectly in place aside from his loosened tie and a few undone buttons. With one final glance, he turns on his heel and strides away, leaving me behind without another word. The door clicks shut behind him. I remain there, motionless, stunned, breathless, utterly unravelled.
A wreck of tangled sheets and trembling limbs.
I exhale sharply, forcing myself to move, to reclaim some semblance of control. Shaking my head, I storm toward the bathroom, my pulse still racing, my body still thrumming with aftershocks.
What the hell have I just gotten myself into?