Chapter 28
Dante
“Lose. The. Swimsuit.” I growl.
The smirk that tugs at her lips is wicked. Defiant.
She lets it fall.
My blood ignites. My cock strains painfully against the fabric of my trousers, fuck, I’ve never been this hard in my entire life.
In a single stride, I reach her. One hand grips the curve of her ass, my fingers sinking into soft skin, the other tangling in her hair as I seize her mouth in a rough, devouring kiss. There’s no gentleness in it. There never is. I claim her the way I always do, like I own her. Because I fucking do.
She moans against my lips, her hands yanking at my soaked jacket, then my shirt. I shed both, kick off my pants, and just as we break apart, she steps under the spray, turning the water on.
I follow, hunger burning in my eyes. The moment the water hits my skin, I hiss.
“Damn,”
I mutter.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to burn me.”
She laughs, low.
“It’s the perfect temperature.”
I reach past her and adjust the heat slightly.
“That’s cold,”
she complains instantly.
“I’ll freeze.”
“It’s not cold, Harlow.”
I murmur, eyes dragging over every inch of her body.
“And rest assured, I have every intention of keeping you warm.”
I claim her mouth again, then guide her backward toward the marble bench.
“Sit.”
She obeys.
I drop to my knees before her. My hands grip the soft flesh of her thighs, parting them without pause. My tongue drags a slow line up her centre, and she shudders beneath the touch. I circle her clit, first with measured cruelty, then with purpose. Deeper. Harder. Her moans bounce off the tile walls, head falling back as she clutches the edge behind her, trying to anchor herself to something, anything.
I don’t stop. My fingers slip inside her, two, curling, fucking her, while my mouth continues its ruthless work. She’s close. I can feel it. And just as she’s about to come, I pull away.
Her eyes snap open, dazed, desperate, and burning with indignation.
“Why did you stop?”
she breathes, voice rough with need.
I smirk.
“This is a punishment, leonessa. Or did you forget?”
“You can’t be serious.”
I don’t answer. Instead, I hold her by the waist, guiding her upright on unsteady legs, and lead her back beneath the stream. I reach for the shampoo, lather it between my hands, and begin working it into her hair. Then her body. Every inch. My touch is thorough, slow, lingering where I know it drives her mad, but never giving her quite what she craves.
She watches me, frustration smouldering in her gaze, but I give her nothing but restraint.
Once we’ve rinsed, I run my hands over her breasts, cupping them, thumbing the tight peaks. I can’t help myself, I lean in, take one in my mouth, biting gently. She moans, arching into me.
“So sensitive,”
I murmur between licks.
“So responsive.”
She’s trembling now, teetering on the edge of release from nothing but the pressure on her breasts. And I stop. Again.
She looks ready to kill me and I smirk.
Stepping out of the shower, I reach for two towels, one I wrap around my waist, the other I secure around her damp frame.
I move behind her, slowly drying her hair, drawing the excess water out. My fingers glide through the strands with care.
When I’m done, I lift her into my arms and carry her straight to the bed. The towel slips away beneath my hand, leaving nothing between us.
Dark hair spills across the pillow like silk, her skin flushed and glistening. She doesn’t look real, she looks sculpted, divine. A thing men would burn kingdoms for. A thing I already own.
I disappear into the closet for a moment and return with a few select items. The instant she sees what I’m holding, her eyes widen, but she says nothing. No protest. No hesitation.
I cross the room my steps predatory.
Once I’m over her, I take both wrists and secure them above her head, binding them to the headboard with one of my silk ties. The position forces her chest upward, a silent invitation I don’t resist. I lower my head and take one peaked nipple into my mouth, savouring the sharp gasp that escapes her lips.
Her body is perfection. Sculpted for sin.
Fucking mine.
For the added edge of control, I reach for the second tie and cover her eyes, blinding her completely to what’s coming next.
I glance lower, legs parted, waiting. Not enough. I want her open. Exposed. Defenceless beneath me.
Another tie secures each thigh to the bedframe, leaving her splayed wide and entirely at my mercy. Restrains aren’t usually my preference, but the sight of her bound beneath me, unable to move, unable to run, unleashes something in me I no longer bother taming.
Once she’s splayed out before me, I lower myself to her mouth, taking it in a deep, possessive kiss that leaves her breathless. She tries to reach for me, to fuse herself to my body, but the restraints hold. She groans in frustration.
I pull away and watch her. She can’t see what I’m going to do next, and that anticipation leaves her trembling. I trail slow, wet kisses down her neck, biting, kissing, biting again. I circle her nipples with my tongue, down her stomach, to the delicate skin of her inner thigh.
She’s shaking, whimpering, desperate for release.
I can’t hold back any longer. I press into her in one powerful thrust. She cries out, loud and unrestrained, her body arching.
“Fucking hell, love,”
I grit out, eyes closed for a breath.
I stay still for a moment, just to feel the way her body clutches me, tight and pulsing, before I begin to move.
I take her mouth again in a feral kiss, our bodies tangled in wet skin and panting breaths. I drive into her, harder and faster, until I feel her start to tremble.
She squeezes around me, and I pull out suddenly.
“Dante, I swear… let me come,”
she cries.
I smirk.
“Is that an order, leonessa? You don’t give commands when you’re at my mercy, do you?”
“Dante…”
Without another word, I untie her wrists, remove the blindfold, and release her legs.
In one fluid motion, I flip her onto all fours and sink back inside her.
“Fuck, harder,”
she gasps.
And I give her exactly what she’s begging for. I drive into her with punishing force, relentless, unyielding, entirely consumed.
“Come.”
Thrust.
“For.”
Thrust.
“Me.”
Thrust.
“Now.”
That’s all it takes. Her body seizes around me, pulsing, dragging me over the edge with her.
We collapse onto the bed in a breathless mess.
“Fuck,”
I groan, burying my face against her shoulder.
“I fucking love you.”
“Always,”
she whispers.
My heart fucking explodes.
I lift my head, studying her face.
“Was that declaration genuine, or simply the result of being fucked senseless?”
She turns onto her back to face me fully, her expression soft.
“Dante… you know I don’t give away those feelings easily.”
Her voice is quiet. She swallows, then lifts a hand to my face, fingertips brushing along my jaw with aching tenderness.
“But I love you. I need you to believe that. Even if I don’t say it often, don’t ever doubt it.”
“Always,”
I murmur, echoing her words.
She nods once, eyes never leaving mine. “Always.”
For a while, we say nothing. We simply lie there, in silence, skin against skin, hearts finally speaking the same language. I hold her close, and for once, neither of us is running, from pain, from fear, from each other.
After some time, she presses a soft kiss to my lips and pulls back, a faint smile playing on her mouth.
“We should get ready for dinner.”
I groan into the pillow.
She laughs softly, disappearing into the bathroom.
Moments later, she emerges dressed in a simple summer dress, sandals on her feet, her face fresh and free of makeup. I stand at the mirror, adjusting my cufflinks, watching her reflection move behind me.
“I agreed to go out tonight,”
she says, tone light, almost careless.
“With Sofia and Elena. After dinner. Just the three of us, girls.”
I go still.
“Out?”
There’s danger in my voice.
“Out where, exactly?”
She meets my gaze without even a flicker of hesitation. “A club.”
My jaw clenches. I say nothing. Not yet.
But the fire under my ribs is already building and rising with every breath.
A club.
A fucking club.
Not a chance in hell.
We leave the bedroom together, her soft hand resting in mine. By the time we enter the dining room, it’s already full, voices overlapping in casual conversation, the clink of glass and silver filling the air. Laughter rises and falls. The usual symphony of family.
Family.
I catch the shift in my wife the moment it happens, the way her body goes rigid, every muscle drawn taut as her gaze lands on the faint bruise shadowing Niccolò’s cheekbone.
She doesn’t speak right away. Just narrows her eyes at Leonardo, sharp and assessing. And then, her voice slices through the room.
“If I see you lay a hand on my brother again,”
she says, tone lethal.
“I’ll make damn sure you regret it.”
Leonardo doesn’t flinch.
“He threw the first punch.”
“I don’t care. I won’t see any of you hurt.”
Niccolò lets out a quiet chuckle, fingers brushing the bruise at his cheek.
“Isn’t that supposed to be my line? I’m the one meant to protect you, sorellina.”
The smile remains on his lips, but it falters at the edges. I see the way her protectiveness unsettles him, as it reaches somewhere buried, unguarded. It moves him more than he’s willing to admit.
I pull out my wife’s chair and allow her to sit, then take my place beside her at the head of the table.
We begin to eat. The clink of silverware masks the tension coiled beneath my skin.
After a moment, I speak, voice smooth, almost idle.
“So... I heard something rather interesting.”
I pause, letting the silence stretch.
“Apparently, the ladies have plans this evening. A nightclub to be precise.”
A beat of silence follows my statement, brief, tense, then the room erupts.
Voices clash over one another. Niccolò curses outright. Enzo looks personally insulted, as though the idea offends his very existence. Even Luka mutters something under his breath about it not being safe.
I glance at him, with a nod of approval. That earns a zero point five this time. No more.
And my wife?
She rolls her eyes.
Rolls. Her. Fucking. Eyes.
I swear, the next time we’re alone, I’m going to spank that insolent look off her face, she’s made a habit of it lately, and I have little interest in indulging her unchecked defiance.
Across the table, Leonardo mouths something harsh in Elena’s direction, but she doesn’t so much as glance at him. She continues her conversation with Sofia, entirely indifferent to his presence.
The rest of dinner passes in low grumbles and half hearted attempts at conversation. Tension clings to every word. Eventually, the ladies rise from the table, announcing they’re going upstairs to change.
Their minds are made up.
And apparently, we’re expected to accept that.
No.
To hell with that.
If my wife truly believes I’ll let her walk into a club unguarded, dressed like temptation incarnate, she doesn’t know me as well as she thinks.
Once they disappear upstairs, the rest of us migrate to the living room. The TV flickers with some film Mattia chose, its noise little more than background. Luka lounges beside him, only half engaged. Mario scrolls through his phone without focus. I settle into an armchair with a glass of whiskey, eyes fixed not on the screen, but on the floor. Waiting.
Leonardo and Niccolò are at it again, locked in another spat that could just as easily end in bloodshed as it could in one naming the other godfather to his firstborn. Enzo exhales sharply, as if the mere sound of their voices is a personal affront to his sanity.
Then I hear the sound of heels on marble. I look up, and my jaw tightens so hard I feel it crack.
My wife.
My fucking wife.
She stands in the doorway in a deep crimson dress that should be illegal. Whoever designed it should be dragged out back and taught a lesson.
It clings to her like a second skin, sin incarnate, and the lower half? It might as well not exist. This isn’t a dress. It’s shimmering provocation sewn together with delusion.
She is, without question, the most exquisite thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.
And now I have a problem. A serious one.
Because I cannot, will not, allow anyone else to look at her like this. Not when every inch of that body, every glance, every goddamn breath belongs to me.
Mine. Entirely. Irrevocably. Unapologetically.
I know I won’t be able to control myself, not with her looking like that.
She walks toward me, poised and unbothered. I rise. My grip finds her waist. I kiss her lips, firm, aggressively. Her vanilla scent floods my senses. I want to lock her away. Cage her.
My voice drops.
“What the hell are you wearing?”
Before she can respond, Niccolò’s voice cuts sharply through the room.
“It’s already been decided, we’re coming with you.”
His tone is clipped, hard.
“There’s no damn way you’re walking out of this house looking like that. Alone.”
His gaze sweeps pointedly from Harlow to Sofia and Elena, then lands once more on the dress with visible disdain, like the fabric itself has personally offended him.
Sofia steps forward, arms folded.
“Absolutely not. It’s girls’ night. As in, girls. Surely that’s a concept even you can grasp?”
Harlow lifts her chin, a slow smirk playing at her lips.
“We’ll take guards. But the rest of you? No. You’ll only ruin it with all your overbearing, caveman theatrics.”
I don’t respond. I just stare at her, taking in every exposed inch I’ve already memorized. My fists clench until my knuckles ache. I plan a dozen ways to make her regret stepping outside that door tonight. Every one of them ends with her screaming my name.
She stands tall, chin lifted, ignoring every glare shot her way, or choosing to ignore us altogether.
Leonardo’s jaw ticks. His gaze flicks to Elena, inscrutable.
Niccolò paces. Enzo looks seconds from murder.
Even Luka... he doesn’t say anything, but his brows are drawn, his jaw tight.
Mattia frowns, his little face serious.
“You’re too beautiful. Everyone’s going to look at you.”
Sofia exhales dramatically, rolling her eyes at Mattia’s comment.
“Brilliant. You’ve trained them young, I see.”
She sweeps a hand through her hair.
“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is precisely why I’m still single.”
She shoots a pointed look in my direction. I don’t dignify it with a response.
Elena glances over at Harlow, unfazed.
“I honestly don’t see what the fuss is about. It’s not that short. If anything, it could stand to be a little shorter.”
Enzo turns his head slowly, his voice a lethal whisper.
“Not that short? That dress is one misstep away from indecency.”
His jaw tightens, gaze fixed like steel.
“And she’s my sister. I shouldn’t have to shield my eyes every time she walks into a room.”
Harlow arches a brow, amused.
I step closer, letting my lips brush her ear.
“Keep provoking me, leonessa,”
I murmur, my voice like velvet.
“And I’ll take you upstairs, tie you to our bed, and fuck you until you forget your own name.”
Her lips curl, all fire and defiance.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
Niccolò lets out a strangled noise.
“Do us all a favour and spare me the spectacle. I’d rather not be forced to witness it, I’ve no intention of losing my dinner.”
“Perhaps this would be a good time for you to fuck off back to Palermo.”
I fire back.
“Tempting. But as it turns out, my sister requires twenty four hour supervision.”
Just as I’m about to reply, Leonardo’s growl cuts through the room.
“Elena,”
his voice is rough, barely restrained.
“You’re not going.”
It’s the first time he’s addressed her directly in front of anyone. Usually, they pretend not to know each other.
“You don’t have the right to tell me what I can or cannot do,”
Elena replies coolly, not glancing his way.
“I have every fucking right,”
he snaps, stepping forward.
“And don’t test me tonight…”
“She’s going,”
Sofia interjects, her tone unyielding.
“We all are. And the rest of you will remain right here, sipping your aged whiskey and playing at civility like the charmingly deranged men you are.”
“I can be excellent company,”
Niccolò offers, already reaching for his keys, as if charm will somehow bypass logic.
“You’re not invited,”
Sofia snaps.
“This is girls’ night. Girls. No brooding, overgrown men with control issues allowed.”
“I’m not brooding,”
Enzo mutters, with such sincerity it’s nearly touching, if it weren’t so delusional.
Leonardo folds his arms.
“So we’re just letting them strut out in dresses clearly sewn in hell?”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,”
Harlow says sweetly, eyes glinting with amusement.
I step in, lean close to her ear.
“Stay home, and I’ll give you as many orgasms as you can handle. You won’t even have to ask.”
She smiles, all danger and defiance.
“Tempting. But no.”
“Try walking out that door,”
I murmur, lips grazing her temple.
“and I’ll put you over my lap the moment you return.”
“I’m excusing myself before this devolves into overt foreplay,”
Sofia mutters, sweeping past without a glance back.
Elena’s heels strike the marble in crisp succession.
“Do try not to wait up,”
she calls over her shoulder.
Harlow turns at the threshold, eyes gleaming with mischief. She winks, and has the audacity to blow me a fucking kiss, before vanishing out the door with the others.
The guards follow. I lift a hand and signal one of them.
“Stay close. I want eyes at all times, no lapses, no blind spots. Not even a second. Am I clear?”
He nods without hesitation.
“Perfectly clear, sir.”
The door closes. Silence settles between us, heavy and disbelieving.
“You’re letting her go?”
Enzo hisses, his jaw clenched.
Leonardo is already striding toward the exit.
“Screw this. I’m going after them. I’m not letting Elena walk into a club dressed like that, every bastard in the building will be gawking at her.”
I sip my whiskey, unbothered.
“Of course we’re following.”
Every head turns to me as I smirk.
“Give them ten minutes. Let them enjoy their short lived victory.”