Page 52 of Ruthless Desire

I cry out, the stretch bordering on pain but so, so good. He sets a slow, torturous pace, each thrust driving me higher, closer to the edge of oblivion.

With a broken cry, I shatter, my orgasm crashing over me in waves of white-hot pleasure. Dante follows soon after, his hips stuttering as he spills himself deep inside me.

For a long moment, we lay there, panting and intertwined. As the haze of pleasure fades, reality comes crashing back. What have I done? How have I let myself fall so completely under his spell?

But as Dante pulls me close, his lips pressing a surprisingly tender kiss to my forehead, I can't bring myself to regret it. Not yet, at least.

"Sleep, ," he murmurs, his arms a cage I'm no longer sure I want to escape. "Tomorrow, we have much to discuss."

As I drift off, exhaustion finally claiming me, one thought echoes through my mind: I've crossed a line I can never uncross. I'm not just Dante's captive anymore. I'm his partner, his confidante, his dark muse.

And God help me, I love every second of it.

Days bleed together, a fever dream of depravity and decadence. Dante takes me deeper into his world, peeling back layers of his criminal empire. I witness acts of staggering violence, see enemies tremble and underlings scurry at his command. A dark thrill unfurls in my chest - pride that it's my monster who inspires such fear and devotion.

One drizzly afternoon, we stroll arm-in-arm through Central Park. I'm a lamb in Chanel, led by a wolf in Armani. A flicker of movement catches my eye - a stray dog cowering behind a trash can, painfully thin and filthy.

Something in me cracks. Before I can stop myself, I'm pulling away from Dante, crouching down.

"Hey there," I murmur, extending a hand. "It's okay. I won't hurt you."

The dog inches forward, cold nose brushing my fingertips.

"Natalie." Dante's voice cracks like a whip. "Get away from that filthy beast."

I glance up, ready to comply, but the dog's pleading eyes stop me. I see myself reflected - broken, but clinging to hope.

"I can't just leave it," I say, voice rusty from disuse. "It needs help."

Dante's eyes narrow dangerously. "Don't test me, little raven. You know the price for defiance."

I do. But staring into those hopeless eyes, I find I no longer care. If I let him take this last scrap of compassion, I truly am lost.

Slowly, I rise. "I'm taking it to a shelter. Punish me later if you must, but I won't let an innocent creature suffer."

Surprise flickers in Dante's gaze before his mask slips back into place. "Fine," he bites out. "Have it your way. But don't say I didn't warn you."

As he stalks off, I feel something I haven't in ages - hope, and the stirrings of quiet strength.

The shelter workers are kind, their eyes soft with pity as they take in my designer dress and haunted eyes. They don't ask questions about the bruises peeking from beneath my sleeves. They simply take the dog, promising to give it the care it needs.

As I watch them lead it away, its tail giving a tentative wag, I feel a strange kinship. We're the same, this dog and I. Strays in a world of cruelty, but maybe we can find our way back to the light.

The ride back to the penthouse crackles with dark anticipation. Dante says nothing, his profile etched in stone as he stares out the window. But I can feel the barely leashed fury radiating off him in waves.

Let him do his worst, I think. Nothing can be more agonizing than the slow death of my soul.

When we arrive, Dante turns to me with violence in his eyes. I meet his gaze head-on. Unflinching, unafraid. Ready to face the monster and the lonely girl trapped in his thrall.

The door slams shut. There's no preamble, just Dante's hands on me, bruising and brutal, his lips a snarl against my throat.

"You defied me," he hisses, yanking my head back. "Have you forgotten who owns you?"

"I'm a person, with thoughts and feelings-" I manage, to choke out before the slap cracks across my cheek.

I taste blood.

"Liar," Dante seethes. "You are what I say you are. Nothing more."

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