8. Alexandria
CHAPTER EIGHT
alexandria
The girls left about twenty minutes ago.
My apartment is quiet, save for the hum of the classical jazz music playing in the background.
I stand near the kitchen island, trying to figure out where to start, a dish towel draped over my shoulder, and go to work on putting the leftover food in containers.
The empty wine bottles will go to the recycling bin along with the cans of now consumed sparkling waters.
I’m interrupt by a heavy knock reverberating through the front door. Three firm, deliberate raps, deep and unmistakable.
Dante.
I don’t bother asking who it is. I set the towel down, take a slow breath to steady the sudden flutter in my chest, and walk toward the foyer.
I quickly unlatch the deadbolt, pull the door open, and brace myself.
Dante leans against the doorframe, looking ungodly sinfully gorgeous.
His suit jack is gone, his sleeves are rolled up to expose his forearms, and, god, does it show off the hard muscles of his arms. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing the column of his throat.
“Wife,” is how I’m greeted. I roll my eyes, stepping back and swinging the door wide open. It’s not like he’ll leave; he’d find a way to wedge himself through. From what I’ve learned about Dante thus far, the man always gets what he wants.
“Dante,” I mutter, turning my back on him as he makes his way into my apartment.
“Did you get your head screwed on straight and have a good talk with your friends?” he asks smoothly, as if he doesn’t know his choice of words will piss me the hell off.
The scent of mandarine, pine, and Dante immediately floods the area, overwhelming my small living space.
I move toward the kitchen to finish my tasks as he sweeps through the area with that eagle eye of his.
The scattered pillows, the empty wine bottles on the counter, leftovers here and there, and finally my appearance.
Dante takes in my baggy gray sweats rolled low on my hips, the tight spaghetti strap top, and my bare feet.
When his eyes finally land on mine, the teasing smirk is completely gone, replaced with a look of hunger that has my thighs clenching.
His gaze burns with intensity, reminding me of our last time together and making me feel like he’s physically dragging his hands and body along my fevered skin.
I never replied to his earlier question; instead, I’m standing here, crossing my arms over my chest, holding his stare with a mixture of defiance and desire.
Dante stays quiet as well, only he crosses the distance between us in three long strides.
His hands move with a lethal speed, one hand fisting my curls at the nape of my neck, angling my face upward, while his other arm bands around my waist. He yanks me flush against his hard frame, effortlessly lifting me off my feet.
“Dante,” I gasp. His mouth fuses with mine, cutting off my breath, my words, and every rational thought.
The kiss is hot, possessive, and mind altering, a sudden explosion of raw pleasure that tastes like a promise of what’s to come.
My toes dangle inches above the floor as he holds my weight, his tongue sliding deep, claiming me all over again.
I let out a soft whimper, my hands flying to clutch at his broad shoulders, fingers digging into the expensive fabric of his shirt.
“We work, Alexandria,” he growls against my lips, his grip tightening its hold on me.
Between kissing me senseless, nipping at my bottom lip, trailing hot, wet bites down my jawline only to return to crush my mouth under his, and rasping his five-o’clock shadow against my skin, I’m nearly a pile of mush.
“You know we do. If you’d give me an inch instead of running a fucking mile every time you panic. ”
“I don’t run,” I pant weakly against his lips, my hips grinding against the hard ridge of his cock.
“You run every chance you get.” Dante’s teeth catch the sensitive skin of my throat, making me arch into him with a sharp gasp.
“Leaving Vegas, sneaking out of my bed, hiding my rings, and looking into Plan B.” He trails off before taking my mouth again, deeper this time, driving the air out of my lungs until the world starts spinning, until all I can feel is the thunderous beat of his heart against mine.
I brace myself for what’s to come next—Dante carrying me straight to the bedroom, the intoxicating heat of his body rubbing against mine, then throwing me on the mattress, stripping us bare, and driving into me with his thick, bare cock until I forget my own name.
“What… what are you doing?” He pulls back, doing the complete opposite of what I expected. He gently sets me on my feet, still towering over me, his chest heaving, his dark hair disheveled from my fingers, and his lips wet from our kiss.
“I got some sage advice from Rafe, Dom, and Vik after you gave me the universal sign and stormed out of the office,” he says, a beguiling grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
He looks down at me, taking a steadying breath as he fights for control yet clearly unable to do so when he lets out a low, rough laugh, shaking his head.
“Advice? From them?” I blink, thoroughly confused because two out of three of them went about a relationship the wrong way. Oh, who am I kidding? All of them have, and obviously, Dante is in the same situation.
“Apparently, I’m doing this all wrong,” he admits, his eyes softening around the edges.
“According to the peanut gallery in Vik’s office, dragging you into closets, forcing rings on your finger, and throwing you over my shoulder isn’t technically considered courting you.
Dom said I’m acting like a barbarian, Rafe said I’ll give you an ulcer, and Vik told me if I don’t slow down, you’re going to hire a hitman. ”
“They’re not wrong.” A small laugh escapes my lips. “What did Nolan say?” I ask. He’s always seemed like the more level-headed one.
“That’s easy. He said I’m supposed to get to know my wife,” Dante continues, stepping back to give me enough room to breathe, though he’s still laser-focused on me.
“He also said I need to listen to you, talk to you, and learn what makes that pretty head of yours tick when you’re not screaming or coming beneath me. The last part I added in.”
I stare at him, completely thrown off balance. The man who’s been bulldozing my life for the last forty-eight hours is now standing in my home, admitting he’s taking relationship advice from his friends.
“So,” he continues, turning around and walking over to my eggplant-colored velvet chair.
He sits down, kicks his long, muscular legs out in front of him, and stretches his arms behind his head, lacing his fingers together.
“I’m going to sit right here. I’m going to let you talk, let you vent, and let you ask whatever the hell you want. ”
“You’re serious?” I stand near the sofa, my hands resting on my hips and brows furrowed as I study him.
“Dead serious, wife,” Dante replies. “I told you I’m not going anywhere. If you need us to talk before we do anything else, then we’ll talk. Start firing questions. What do you want to know about your husband?”
“Alright, I guess we’re starting at the top.” I step around the couch, sit down, crossing my legs, and think of all of the questions I’m about to fire his way.