15. Alexandria
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
alexandria
By the time Friday evening rolls around, my back is aching and my feet are screaming in my heels.
Vik calling a last-minute meeting right as I was packing up my desk was not on my bingo card.
Dante left earlier in the day to head to his house, excuse me, our house in Medina.
The drive across Lake Washington gave me time to decompress, the evening sun painting the water in hues of golds, oranges, and purples.
When I pull up the long, gated driveway to the sprawling estate, the house is quiet, bathed in the soft glow of the interior accent lighting, and it helps relax me even more.
I park the car in the garage, next to Dante’s, another change I’ve had to acclimate to.
A car, in the city, seems unfathomable, but when I left the penthouse apartment today, Dante gave me three options: drive in with him, which is what I’ve been doing, but it also meant leaving with him, and I couldn’t do that with work.
Take a hired car from work then to Medina, which seemed really crazy to me.
Then there was the last option: I drive one of his cars to work and then to the estate.
I chose the last, he followed me to work, and then he made me promise to text him before I left work. I did that, too.
I get out of the car, grab my things, and walk inside, slipping off my high heels in the mudroom off the kitchen with a long, satisfied sigh.
Dante didn’t just move my things—he practically transported my entire apartment.
My favorite plush velvet chair is positioned perfectly near the glass window overlooking the lake here, and the penthouse has all of my potted plants thriving in the natural light that shines through.
And then came boxes and garment bags.
Earlier this week, I mentioned I needed to do a little weekend shopping for a few essentials.
In true Dante Lombardi fashion, he took that as a personal challenge.
An entire rack of designer clothes, beautiful shoes, and luxury purses are neatly arranged in the penthouse apartment, all in my sizes and favorite colors.
I don’t even want to go upstairs yet; I can only imagine the damage he did yet again for this home. He’s insane, intense, and wildly over the top in a loving, possessive, stalker-alpha way. He also made sure I had zero reason to leave him this week or step foot back in my old place.
I drop my work bag and purse on the kitchen island and spot a piece of heavy cream cardstock stationary. Resting next to it is a glass of chilled champagne. I pick up the handwritten note, instantly recognizing Dante’s sharp, slanted penmanship.
Wife,
I’m cashing in on my demand for the weekend in Medina. The one where clothing isn’t an option. Drop everything and meet me in the pool.
—Dante
“Oh, boy,” I mutter half-heartedly to the empty kitchen.
The bag I left in the car won’t be needed after all.
I walk toward the back patio, stripping off my clothes piece by piece.
My silk blouse, pencil skirt, lace bra, and panties are all dropped into a heap on the floor near the sliding glass door.
The warm summer evening air hits my heated flesh, but it’s the man in the pool who really sets me on fire.
Dante’s resting his broad arms along the tiled edge, completely naked, water lapping at his wide chest and sculpted shoulders. His amber eyes lock on me the second I step through the door, tracking every inch of my bare body with an intense, hunger-filled gaze.
“Took you long enough.” His voice is low, raspy over the sound of the jets in the water.
“Take that up with your friend,” I say, stepping down the shallow steps of the pool. The water washes over my skin. The temperature is perfect to soothe every tired muscle in my body. “And don’t think I didn’t see the boxes in your living room.”
“Our living room,” Dante corrects me. I don’t even want to know what he’s spoiling me with now.
The only good part is, there were only two compared to the plethora he had sent to the penthouse.
Once I’m in reaching distance, his arms wrap around my waist under the water and pull me straight onto his lap.
The head of his cock nudges at my entrance, and I slide down.
“Dante.” My eyes close, and I rest my hands on his shoulders, feeling his hard muscles beneath my palms. He smooths his hand up my back, his eyes searching mine with a fierce intensity.
“You’re not wearing clothes for the next forty-eight hours, Alexandria. I’m going to make good use of your body.” I tilt my head to look down at him. My pussy flutters around his cock. A thought has been lingering in the back of my mind since we finally became an us.
“You know,” I mutter, my fingers combing through the damp ends of his hair, “we haven’t been using birth control, and I never got the Plan B pill.
Not in Vegas, not this week, and you keep coming inside me every single time.
” Dante doesn’t blink. His grip on my hips fold firm, his thumb dragging dangerously close to my clit.
“And?” he asks. A spark takes hold in his amber eyes. “Told you before and I’ll tell you again. Don’t want you on birth control. You get pregnant, I’m all for it.”
“Dante,” I breathe out his name. A slow satisfied smirk spreads across his handsome face.
“I’m not bothered by it at all, wife.” He leans in, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear as he speaks in that smooth, uncompromising tone.
“And obviously, you aren’t either, or you would have made a doctor’s appointment by now.
” His warm breath sends shivers down my spine.
My jaw drops open. I pull back, glaring at him, and while I’m annoyed, this movement also makes me purr in the back of my throat.
His cock pulses inside me. I’m rolling my hips, and my clit throbs, demanding more.
“Shut up,” I snap, attempting to sound stern. There’s zero heat behind it, and all my husband does is laugh—a low, deep sound that vibrates through my body as he brings me closer, lips going to my skin before he bites the curve of my neck where it meets my shoulder.
God, why does he have to be right all the fucking time?
I think to myself, burying my hands in his dark hair.
I never made an appointment. I never looked up birth control plans again.
And honestly, deep down, the thought of carrying his child, of being tied to this incredible, maddening man forever, stopped terrifying me. It actually thrills me now.
“Make me, wife,” he growls against my skin.
Except Dante being Dante, he doesn’t give me a chance to answer.
In one swift, powerful motion, he lifts me slightly, making sure not take his cock away from me, and shifts us toward the wall of the pool.
He pins me, and my legs wrap higher around his hips.
I let out a breathless gasp as he pistons his hips in and out of my slick center. Each thrust is agonizingly perfect.
“Fuck, Alexandria,” he rumbles. My core clenches at how he says my name. His forehead rests against mine as he buries himself deeper and deeper with every shove of his hips. “You feel like heaven.”
“Yes, Dante. God, yes,” I whimper, my hips arching, hands clinging to his wet shoulders, nails digging into his skin.
The slick friction of our bodies, the weightlessness of the water, and the possessive look in Dante’s eyes completely undo me. He hammers into me, keeping a tight hold of me against the wall of the pool and driving every lingering thought from my mind until all that’s left is him.
His touch.
His voice.
And the reality that I’m irrevocably his.