Chapter 22
Julietta
Iwoke in Dante’s bed, the city lights casting a dim glow through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
My body ached, a symphony of bruises and scrapes singing their song of survival.
I was alive—and free. The penthouse was silent, but it wasn't the silence of emptiness; it was the silence of a predator's den, waiting for its master to return.
The door clicked open. Dante stood there, his silhouette framed by the soft light from the hallway.
His eyes found mine, and the world narrowed to that point of contact.
No words were needed. His gaze was a storm surge, crashing into me with a force that stole my breath.
Raw emotion carved lines into his face, a map of longing and fear and the echo of near loss.
I pushed myself up, the silk sheets sliding off my skin like a whispered secret.
My feet touched the cool floor, grounding me as I stood to face him.
The air between us crackled, a live wire of tension that sparked with every heartbeat.
He stepped closer, his movements deliberate, controlled, but his eyes—his eyes were wild.
"Julietta," he rasped, my name a benediction on his lips. His hand reached out, fingers tracing the line of my jaw, the curve of my neck, as if reassuring himself I was real. I leaned into his touch, my own hands finding his chest, the steady beat of his heart beneath my palm.
His other hand cupped my face, thumb brushing away a tear I hadn't realized had fallen. His eyes searched mine, a silent conversation passing between us. The almost-loss. The terror. The relief. The longing. It was all there, written in the lines of his face, the depths of his eyes.
And then, we collided. His mouth crashed onto mine, not with the bruising force of possession, but with the desperate need of a man starved for connection.
I met him with equal fervor, my hands fisting in his hair, pulling him closer.
His arms wrapped around me, one hand tangling in my hair, the other splayed across my back, pressing me against him as if he could absorb me into his very being.
We stumbled back to the bed, a tangle of limbs and desperate kisses. His hands roamed my body, not to claim or control, but to worship, to cherish. I arched into his touch, my own hands exploring the hard planes of his chest, the lean muscles of his back, the rough stubble of his jaw.
His mouth left mine to trail kisses down my neck, his breath hot against my skin. I gasped as his teeth grazed my collarbone, his hands sliding down to grip my hips. He paused, his forehead resting against my sternum, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Jules," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I thought I lost you."
My heart clenched, his words striking a chord deep within me. I cupped his face, lifting his gaze to meet mine. "You didn't," I said softly. "I'm here. I'm right here."
His eyes searched mine, a world of vulnerability laid bare in their ice-blue depths.
Then, he surged up, capturing my mouth in a searing kiss.
His hands gripped my waist, lifting me onto the bed, his body covering mine.
I wrapped my legs around him, urging him closer, needing to feel him, all of him.
His hands slid up my sides, his thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts. I arched into his touch, a gasp escaping my lips as his fingers found my nipples, rolling them gently. His mouth trailed down my neck, his tongue tracing the curve of my breast before taking one peak into his mouth.
I cried out, my back bowing off the bed as sensation shot through me. His hand slid down my stomach, his fingers slipping between my legs, finding me hot and wet and ready. He groaned against my skin, his fingers circling my clit, his teeth grazing my nipple.
"Dante," I gasped, my hands fisting in his hair. "Please."
He looked up at me, his eyes dark with desire. "Please what, Jules?" he murmured, his fingers sliding through my folds, his thumb circling my clit. "Tell me what you want."
"You," I breathed. "I want you. All of you."
His eyes held mine as he slid down my body, his shoulders settling between my thighs. His breath was hot against my skin, his fingers spreading me open. Then, his mouth was on me, his tongue sliding through my folds, his lips closing around my clit.
I cried out, my hips bucking against his mouth. His hands gripped my thighs, holding me open, his tongue delving deeper. He licked and sucked and nipped, his fingers sliding inside me, curling to hit that spot that made me see stars.
My orgasm hit me like a freight train, my body convulsing, my hands fisting in his hair. He rode it out with me, his tongue gentle now, his hands soothing as I came down from the high.
The air between us was thick with the scent of sweat and sex, the musk of our arousal clinging to the sheets like a second skin.
Dante’s weight pressed me into the mattress, his body a furnace against mine, every inch of him radiating heat.
His mouth crashed into mine, and I could taste myself on his lips—salty, intoxicating, a reminder of how thoroughly he’d just worshipped me.
His tongue slid against mine, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the flavor of us mixed together.
My fingers curled into the damp strands of his hair, my nails scraping lightly against his scalp, and he groaned into the kiss, the vibration humming through my chest.
His hands slid down to my hips, his grip firm, possessive, as he positioned himself at my entrance. The head of his cock teased me, hot and heavy, and I arched into him, my body already aching for more.
He froze, his blue eyes locking onto mine, dark with hunger but shadowed with something deeper—something that looked almost like fear. The room seemed to still around us, the only sound the ragged rasp of our breaths and the distant, muffled thrum of the city below, a world away from this moment.
"Are you sure, piccola volpe?" His voice was rough, gravelly, like he’d been screaming—or praying. His thumbs traced slow circles on my hip bones, grounding me even as his question sent a shiver down my spine. "Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me."
I reached up, my palms cradling his face, my thumbs brushing over the sharp angles of his cheekbones. His stubble prickled against my skin, a delicious contrast to the velvet softness of his lips. "I’m sure," I whispered, my voice steady despite the way my heart hammered against my ribs.
The scent of his cologne—dark, spiced, something like sandalwood and gunpowder—wrapped around me, intoxicating. "I want you, Dante. All of you. Every broken piece. Every secret. Every sin."
A muscle in his jaw twitched, his control fraying at the edges. Then, with a slow, deliberate thrust, he slid into me, inch by excruciating inch. My breath hitched as he filled me completely, stretching me, claiming me in a way that went beyond the physical.
The bed creaked beneath us, the sound lost beneath the wet slickness of our bodies moving together, the hitch in his breath as he bottomed out. My legs wrapped around his waist, my heels digging into the taut muscles of his ass, urging him deeper.
This wasn’t like before.
This wasn’t about power or possession or the twisted games we played. This was something raw, something real.
His hips rolled against mine, each movement deliberate, almost reverent, like he was memorizing the way my body responded to his. His eyes never left mine, the intensity in them burning away every lie, every wall, until there was nothing left but the truth between us.
The room was a cocoon of heat and sound—the damp slide of skin, the whisper of sheets beneath us, the low, guttural noises spilling from his throat every time I tightened around him.
His hands found mine, our fingers entwining, his grip almost bruising as he pinned them to the mattress beside my head.
The position arched my back, pressing my breasts against his chest, the coarse hair there abrading my nipples with every thrust. I could feel his heartbeat, wild and erratic, matching the frantic pulse between my thighs.
His breath came in sharp gasps, his forehead beaded with sweat, a single drop rolling down his temple to splash against my collarbone.
I licked my lips, tasting salt and need, and his gaze darkened, tracking the movement like a predator.
His pace quickened, his thrusts growing harder, more desperate.
The bedframe knocked against the wall with a rhythmic thud, the sound mingling with our ragged breaths and the wet, obscene noises of our bodies coming together.
I could feel him everywhere—inside me, around me, his scent in my lungs, his taste on my tongue.
My body coiled tighter, my muscles trembling with the effort of holding back, of drawing this out just a second longer.
His name spilled from my lips in a broken plea, and his mouth crashed down on mine again, swallowing the sound as his hips stuttered, his cock swelling inside me.
Then, with a final, deep thrust, he sent me spiraling.
My back bowed off the bed, my body convulsing around him as pleasure ripped through me, white-hot and blinding.
His name tore from my throat, a cry that was half prayer, half surrender.
He followed me over the edge with a guttural groan, his body shuddering above me, his hands gripping mine so tightly I knew there’d be marks tomorrow.
And I wanted them. I wanted the proof of this, of us, branded into my skin.
He followed me over, his body shuddering, his hands gripping mine tightly. His forehead rested against mine, his breath coming in ragged gasps. We stayed like that for a long moment, our bodies entwined, our hearts beating as one.
Then, he rolled off me, pulling me into his arms. I rested my head on his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear. His arms wrapped around me, holding me close, his chin resting on the top of my head.
We lay in silence, the weight of what had passed between us settling over us like a blanket. This was more than sex, more than desire. This was intimacy, raw and real and terrifying in its intensity.
"I love you." The words came out quiet but certain. Not slipping out—chosen. Said deliberately to this man who'd kidnapped me, protected me, given me space to become something more than anyone had ever let me be.
I tensed, waiting for his reaction, half-expecting him to push me away, to retreat behind his walls of ice and control.
But he didn't. He stiffened for a moment, his breath hitching. Then, his arms tightened around me, his hold almost desperate. He didn't say the words back, but he didn't need to. I could feel it in his touch, in the way he held me, in the steady beat of his heart beneath my cheek.
For the first time, there was no war between us. No battle for control, no struggle for dominance. There was only this—only us, entwined in the darkness, surrendered to the force that bound us together.
And in that moment, I knew—I was his. And he was mine. Completely. Irrevocably.
Terrifyingly.