Page 59 of Gilded Princess

It’s almost like I’m watching it for the first time again. I enjoy seeing it through his perspective. He has a lot to say about the Starks, and I can’t wait to see what he thinks about the last couple seasons.

Rounding the corner to the kitchen, I’m not surprised to see Dante at the stove, stirring the popcorn maker. The noise is loud and the smell is delicious. What’s surprising is he’s not wearing a shirt. Outside of the first time we met, he’s been casual in athletic shorts and sweatpants and tees.

I feel my mouth part as I take in the wide expanse of his back. Tattooed designs swirl and cascade over his muscles, telling a story with each stroke of ink.

I don’t realize I’m moving until I’m right behind him, a hand hovering over his back. Desperation to touch him bounces around inside me, the feeling both foreign and right.

I hesitate for a moment, giving both of us time to move or speak, but when neither one of us does, I reach forward, my fingertips trailing down his back. He doesn’t flinch, instead, staying perfectly still. I get the feeling he’s letting me explore.

I follow the ink with my fingertips, staring in fascination at the goosebumps they leave in their wake.

We’ve grown close over these last few days, outside of a few innocent things. I think that’s bound to happen when you spend nearly every waking moment together.

I take another step closer, and the fabric of my tank top brushes against his back. I’m more aware of what I’m wearing—and not wearing—than I’ve ever been.

And I can’t decide if I’m delighted or distraught that I’m only wearing a loose, lightweight blue tank top with a cute dark-blue bralette and a flirty white skirt that hits mid-thigh.

My exploration stalls on a beautiful detailing of a rose. The pads of my fingers brush against the inked petals. The details are so lifelike that wonder clogs my throat. I wonder what it would take for a guy like Dante, whose body tells a story of turmoil and dark days, to get a beautiful, almost dainty flower on his back. The rose wraps around his ribs, the stem leading into his shorts.

I’m so lost in my exploration that I don’t realize the popcorn stopped popping. He turns the burner off, the soft click loud in the quiet kitchen.

Slivers of soft sunshine cut across the room from the nearly closed blinds, creating a shadowed pattern in the kitchen.

My heart pounds in my ears, and nervousness climbs up my throat as I slowly bring my other hand to his back. When he doesn’t protest, I smooth both palms up his back, my touch light on his warm skin. Pricks of electricity spark in the space where our skin touches, and I gasp at the feeling.

“What are you doing?” His voice is low and warm like freshly spun caramel, smooth and rich.

I lick my lips and trail both hands around his ribs. “Exploring.”

“I’m not a map, Maddie.” His voice is low, my name rolling off his tongue like he’s been saying it for years, not days.

My fingers tingle with anticipation as I take the final step forward, my front now pressed against his back. I lean forward and place my lips on the edge of one tattoo.

He sucks in a breath, letting it out in a hiss. I skim my lips over his skin and place another kiss, and like a rubber band snapping, he springs into motion.

In one second, he spins around to face me, his hands clasped around my wrists suspended midair. His grip is gentle and firm as he walks me backward until my back hits the island. But I’m honestly not even paying attention because his chest is in my face.

It’s like I’ve died and gone to heaven. Holy . . . I didn’t even know abs could look like that. I swear to god, I lose a few moments in time where I’m just zoned out on his incredible body.

Intricate inked designs take up most of the space on his chest and abs. He has small areas of blank space, and I want to know what he’s planning to put there. A guy like Dante doesn’t leave space like that unless he has plans for it.

My view cuts off when he steps closer. Holding my wrists loosely, he lowers them to the island behind me, and my back arches with the new position. My nipples tighten, my body flushes with desire.

His scent invades my senses—something woodsy like vetiver. He’s all around me right now, warming me up in more ways than one. I bite my lip to keep myself from doing something bold, like pushing onto my toes and sealing my lips against his.

That’d be crazy though, right?

I mean, it wouldn’t be that crazy. He wouldn’t be standing this close if he wasn’t interested, a voice reasons. It sounds a lot like Lainey, and since she’s the brainiac of our little trio, I decide to trust her judgment.

Without a word, he lowers his head and sinks his teeth into my bottom lip with just enough pressure for me to take notice.

And believe me, I freaking notice.

My breath hitches at the feel of his lips so close to mine. My mouth parts on an exhale, and he slowly releases his hold on my lip. I curl my fingers over the edge of the counter to keep them still. Eagerness thrums in my veins.

His teeth ghost over my lip again, gently scraping, and I feel the pressure in my clit. It feels a lot like a promise—one I intend to keep.

“You shouldn’t bite your lip like that,” he says against my mouth, his lips just barely brushing along mine.

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