Epilogue
Dahlia
O ne Year Later
Steam curls around us like juicy secrets and silk.
I’m perched on the edge of the counter in nothing but one of his shirts—white, crisp, smelling like him. Dante’s fresh out of the shower, towel slung low on his hips, hair wet and mussed. Ridiculously handsome. Unfairly smug.
I tilt my head, watching him in the mirror as he runs a hand through his hair, those dark eyes tracking my reflection like a target. He’s so used to being the one in control. So used to watching me fall apart.
Not tonight.
“Something on your mind, little thief?” he asks, his voice warm with amusement.
I smile slowly. “Yeah. You.”
Then I stretch—just a little—and let the shirt ride up high on my thighs. I don’t miss the way his gaze drops, darkens. How his fingers flex like he’s already imagining them on my skin.
I hook a finger at the collar of the shirt. “You know, I’ve been thinking…”
“Dangerous,” he murmurs, stepping closer.
I let him.
Until he’s right between my knees, hands braced on either side of me. But before he can kiss me, I smirk and whisper, “You’re awfully tall for someone so easy to topple by someone so little .”
He stills.
“What?” he breathes, almost disbelieving.
I lean in, brush my lips over his jaw. “I mean, for someone so big and bad, you really let little ole me wreck you.”
His hand fists in the hem of the shirt. His voice is gravel. “Is this you paying me back for calling you little, baby?”
I look up at him through my lashes. Grip the cock tenting his towel. Stroke stroke stroke. “Maybe. Just a little .”
He groans like he’s in pain. “Careful, Dahlia. Payback might just backfire on you.”
I grin, impossibly smug. “Has that ever stopped me, Master?”
Five minutes. That’s all it takes to topple my Dom when I take him down my throat.
“Jesus! Fuck! That was…incredible.”
Yup.
I fucking win.
Next Day
I’m naked.
Except for the plug snug inside me—polished obsidian, rimmed with rose gold—and the digital interface flickering across the table like it’s just another lazy Saturday morning.
Dante’s hand rests against the back of my neck. Warm and steady and possessive in the way only he knows how to be. His thumb brushes my skin in slow, idle circles, like he’s reminding me I belong to him—that he belongs to me, too.
I’m half-curled in the big leather chair of our upstairs lounge, one foot tucked under me, a stylus dangling from my teeth while I tap through firewall overlays and biometric backdoors like I’m shopping for shoes.
Three tabs are open—each one tied to a potential entry strategy—and our audience is already casting their votes.
It’s become a bit of a tradition.
One year since we burned Vesper to the ground, and now we’re semi-retired... sort of. Just the occasional job. For the right cause. The right thrill.
And tonight?
Tonight’s a good one.
“Oh look,” I chirp, shifting slightly so the plug presses deeper, making me squirm. “Option C is winning by a landslide.”
Dante’s gaze doesn’t flick to the screen. His focus stays glued to me. It always does. “Option C is a death trap,” he says mildly.
“Which means...?” I glance at him out of the corner of my eye.
He smirks. “So obviously, you’re going to do it.”
I flash him a grin. “What can I say? Our followers have excellent taste in mayhem.”
He leans down, mouth brushing the shell of my ear, his voice rough with promise. “If you make it back without a scratch,” he murmurs, “I’ll fuck your ass so hard you won’t be able to sit for a week.”
My breath catches like it always does when he talks like that—casual filth in that velvet-dark voice that makes my thighs clench and my brain short-circuit.
God, I love this man.
I pretend to ponder. “Hmm. So what you’re saying is... I shouldn’t sabotage the escape route to spice things up?”
His hand tightens slightly at my nape in warning. “Dahlia.”
“Fine, fine.” I wave him off playfully, tapping through another encrypted node. “I’ll behave. Ish.”
He sinks down onto the ottoman in front of me, still shirtless from this morning’s workout, the scars across his chest catching the light like runes of power and blood. His eyes lock on mine with that look—half amusement, half menace, all Dante.
“You’re insatiable,” he says softly. “And reckless. And mine. So absolutely no scratches.”
I shiver. Not from fear. Never from fear.
From belonging .
“Always,” I whisper, leaning forward to press a kiss to his mouth—quick and dirty and hot enough to promise later.
His hand trails down my spine, stopping at the plug. His thumb taps the base lightly.
“You want that reward?”
I arch my brow. “What do you think?”
He groans under his breath. “Then win for me, little thief.”
My grin is wicked. “Now I have to.”
Thirty Minutes Later
Getting dressed in front of Dante is a game. A tease. A ritual.
He sits back on the edge of the bed, shirt unbuttoned, tie hanging loose, eyes devouring every movement like I’m the only show in town.
Which, to him, I probably am.
I hook the thigh holsters first, the leather hugging my curves like a second skin. Then the sheer black mesh blouse, the one that’s more suggestion than coverage. My cropped jacket hugs my waist, the hem brushing just above the waistband of my tight skirt.
He watches me clip a slim blade to my boot, then pin my hair up, twisting it high to reveal the diamond collar glittering at my throat.
A symbol. A promise. A challenge.
“Color?” he asks as he finally starts to button his shirt, one slow movement at a time.
I smirk into the mirror, eyes locking with his. “Green.” Then I blow him a kiss over my shoulder and add, “Greedy little green goddess, Daddy.”
The growl he lets out is instant. Low. Dangerous.
“Keep talking like that,” he warns, sliding his cufflinks into place, “and I’ll fuck you in the alley before we even make it to the vault. You’ll heist with cum dripping down your thighs.”
I bite my bottom lip, humming like I’m tempted.
And God, I am .
But I want the whole show tonight. The full reward. The high of a job pulled off perfectly— then the bliss of being undone.
So I wink. “Later.”
We make it in and out with barely a hitch.
The tech was older than expected.
The building’s vault wasn’t even triple firewalled. The guards were glorified bouncers with tasers and bad attitudes. It was almost too easy.
But the thrill ? That was still very real.
The way we moved together—fluid, sharp, seamless. His hands covering me as I pried open the last sequence. His mouth at my ear counting down the final seconds. My fingers feeding him the drive, heart pounding.
Our shadows slipping into the night like vapor.
And when we burst into the penthouse, the door slamming shut behind us, the only thing louder than the alarms in my blood is the sound of our laughter.
Dante locks the door. I’m already kicking off my heels. Unzipping my skirt. Peeling off the sheer blouse and jacket like I’m shedding skin.
“Was I good?” I ask, backing toward the playroom, my collar catching the light like a gleaming promise, skirt around my thighs.
He doesn’t answer with words.
He stalks .
All that predator energy still coiled tight from the job, now zeroed in on me. His tie still hanging loose. His sleeves rolled up. His eyes locked on my dripping heat between my thighs.
“You were fucking brilliant ,” he growls.
He catches me before I can reach the mat, yanks me flush against him, then spins me, bending me over the padded edge like I’m a gift he’s waited all night to unwrap.
The spreader bars keep my legs wide open.
The plug pops free with a slick, obscene sound, and I whimper as cool air teases my sphincter. My knees wobble. My pussy clenches.
I’m so wet I can feel it dripping down my thighs.
Dante groans behind me. “You came from the thrill, didn’t you?”
I can’t lie to him. Not when his fingers stroke through my soaked folds, not when one slides inside me like it knows exactly where I ache.
“Maybe,” I breathe. “Or maybe I just really wanted my reward.”
Dante
She gasps when I push in.
Tight.
So tight. So fucking sublime.
My cock stretches her inch by inch, the resistance divine, her body trembling against mine as I fill her slowly—carefully. But not too carefully. She wants the stretch. Craves the pressure. Has begged for it, over and over, until I promised her this.
“God, you were made for this,” I rasp, my grip iron around her hips. My fingers bruise with reverence. My control barely holding. “This ass... fuck, baby. You love giving me this part of you, don’t you?”
“Yes, Sir,” she breathes, and her voice breaks on the words.
That sound.
That surrender.
It goes straight to my chest like a detonation. A soul-deep quake.
“You love being my good little thief.” I slam in deeper, groaning at how her body strangles my cock, at how perfectly she yields .
She whimpers. Just a little.
And it shatters me.
Because she’s everything—this wild, brilliant, impossible woman who crawled under my skin like a drug and stayed . Who turned my world inside out and then rebuilt it, better and more beautiful than I ever deserved.
I wrap her hair around my fist, drag her upright until her spine curves against my chest. Her head lolls to the side, exposing the diamond-studded collar at her throat. I kiss it. Bite it.
“Know what I’m going to do,” I growl into her ear, “after I make you come?”
She moans, needy, breathless. “What?”
“Put a ring on your finger.”
She freezes.
“My last name on your tongue,” I continue, slower now, fucking her deep and mean. “Maybe a new collar too. Gold this time. And then I’ll do this again. And again. Every fucking day if I have to.”
She lets out a trembling laugh—then it breaks, crashes into a soft sob of pleasure as I angle my thrusts just right.
“You’re never letting me go,” she whispers, voice splintering with feeling.
“Damn right I’m not. Now come for your Master.”
I hold her through it.
Through the wave that overtakes her. Through the shaking sobs and stuttering moans and the way her body milks me, tight as a vice, her orgasm wracking her completely.
I keep fucking her through it, slower now, claiming every inch of her. Letting her cry. Letting her feel everything I’ve been too fucked up to say until now.
She’s never been more mine than in this moment.
And I’ve never been more hers.
She’s back in her favorite place, sprawled on top of me now, boneless and glowing, her cheek pressed to my chest. Her thighs are still trembling. I can feel the echo of every moan in the thrum of her heartbeat against mine.
I run a hand down her spine. Soft, slow. The kind of touch that says stay .
Then I kiss her temple.
“You’re everything,” I murmur, voice low and rough. “And I’m so fucking glad I caught you, little thief.”
She hums against my skin. Smiles.
But then she lifts her head, meets my gaze, and her eyes are still gleaming—less with mischief now, more with something deeper.
Something that hurts a little, even in its beauty.
“You didn’t just catch me, Dante,” she says softly.
I raise a brow. “No?”
She leans in. Presses her lips to my jaw, warm and trembling.
Her voice is quieter this time. Honest.
“You ruined me.” A pause. A breath. “In the best way. Just the way I needed you to.”