Chapter Eighteen #2
He doesn’t answer—at least not with words. Instead, his hands come up to cradle the sides of my face, his palms warm against my skin. His gaze searches mine, dark and intent.
“I’m surprised you got this far,” I say, yet I can’t stop myself from arching into him. “I thought for sure at least one of those waitresses would have cornered you by now.”
“Don’t you know better by now?” His thumbs move in lazy circles on my jawline.
“What do you mean?”
“There isn’t a person in the world who could keep me away from you.”
And then his mouth is on mine.
His lips are warm, insistent, stealing the breath from my lungs before I even think to resist. My fingers tighten around the front of his tunic, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away before Indira walks in on us.
But my resolve, my clear thinking, my cautiousness—it all shatters beneath the weight of this kiss. His hands slide back, threading into my hair where it’s loosened from its pins, tilting my head as he deepens the kiss with aching reverence.
I let myself fall into it, into him, for just a moment. A moment where there are no titles, no mourning period, no prying eyes. Just Dante and me.
Then reality crashes back in.
With a sharp inhale, I press my palms against his chest and break the kiss, stumbling back a step. This isn’t his private room back at the castle. We’re on the presentation tour now. There are too many factors that could ruin this for both of us. “Dante, we can’t—”
“I know,” he murmurs, his voice husky. But he doesn’t move away. He gently brushes my hair from my shoulders, taking slow and steady breaths, like he’s struggling to restrain himself. “I’ll go.”
He should, but those two words are like daggers to my gut.
His breath is uneven as he studies me, and my heart pounds against my ribs, my body still burning where his hands were. His gaze is locked on mine, as if waiting for me to agree with him, that it’s best if he goes. If I tell him to leave, he will. But I can’t seem to form the words.
Instead, I step forward, closing the distance between us, tilting my chin up just enough to meet his lips again.
Just one more kiss. One small taste to get me through the night.
A groan rumbles low in his throat, and then his arms are around me, strong and sure, one hand cupping the back of my head while the other splays across the small of my back, drawing me flush against him.
His hard length presses against me through our clothes.
Heat flares through me like wildfire. I should stop this—I should pull away before it becomes impossible—but gods help me, I don’t want to.
His mouth moves against mine, slow at first, almost tentative, like he’s savoring each stolen second before it’s ripped away.
But then his grip tightens, fingers tangling in my hair, and I melt into him, my hands wandering up his chest, over the firm muscle beneath his shirt.
He sucks in air through his teeth as my fingers trace the scar just above his ribs. His own hands move, skimming down my waist, gripping my hips like he’s anchoring himself to me. His name is a whisper against my lips, reverent, like a plea.
His hands roam back to cup my ass. “Gods, Celeste. I don’t know how I’m going to survive this tour without being able to touch you.”
“If it’s your sense of touch that’s neglected, those waitresses were more than willing.” My words are teasing, but I’m not sure they belie my lurking jealousy.
“You think I wanted their hands on me? It took every ounce of control to not tell them to fuck off. To stand up and shout to the world that I belong to you. To say that, not only can they not have me, but no one else can have you.”
The corner of my mouth ticks upward. “Lord Stregasi, we’re not betrothed to each other quite yet.”
“You think I give a fuck about semantics? You are mine.” His hand glides between my legs, cupping me there and making me whimper. “This. Is mine.”
I’m so hot and wet, and when his thumb strokes the bundle of sensitive nerves at my center, I gasp and push into him. “Fuck it.” I throw my arms around his neck and grind into his fingers.
He lets out a deep moan as he devours me with kisses, and my head spins as he guides me backward, his hand still stroking my pussy.
A loud series of hammering thumps makes us freeze in place.
We jolt apart as the books Nadya had piled up on the nightstand tumble, hitting the wooden floor loudly and landing in a chaotic heap.
My pulse is still thrashing when, from the other side of the door, Indira’s sharp voice calls out. “Your Highness? Are you all right?”
Dante’s breath is ragged, his eyes dark with lingering heat as he looks at me.
I press a hand to my chest, trying to will my heartbeat back to something resembling normal before answering.
He slowly slides his fingers away from my core.
My body is screaming with disappointment, but my brain slowly gains clarity.
“I’m fine.” I force the words out evenly, still watching him. “Just—some books fell.”
A pause. “Why is your door locked?”
Dante lifts a brow, amusement flickering across his face despite the tension still crackling between us.
“You know, um, safety? I didn’t want any strangers walking in,” I say smoothly, though my voice is a touch too breathless.
Indira doesn’t sound convinced. “You should be sleeping, Your Highness. Shall I fetch you a tea?”
“Yes,” I say quickly. “That would be—thank you, Indira.”
I listen as her footsteps retreat down the hall, and the moment she’s gone, Dante exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head.
“You’re going to get us both killed,” I jest.
“Worth it.”
I swat at his arm playfully, then steel myself to release him. It’s so hard to let him go, so hard to not get swept up in that storm brewing in those grey eyes. I swallow hard, still caught in the gravity of his gaze. He lifts a hand, brushing his knuckles across my cheek, and my breath hitches.
Then, before I can think better of it, I grab the front of his shirt, pulling him down into one last kiss.
It’s slow, lingering, as if he’s memorizing the feel of me before he forces himself to leave.
When he pulls back, his forehead presses against mine for the span of a single breath, and then he’s gone, slipping through the door before anyone is the wiser.
I press my fingers to my lips, steadying myself, knowing these next couple of months are going to push me to my limits. Gods help me.