Page 118 of Made for Saints

“You’re mine, Emilia,” he said, his voice rough and possessive. “Don’t forget it.”

The words lingered in the space between us, heavy and undeniable.You’re mine.They echoed in my mind, sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the cool air of the VIP lounge. Dante’s dark eyes burned into mine, his hand still resting on my thigh, his grip firm and unyielding. My heart raced, each beat pounding against my ribs like a drum, and I couldn’t look away from him. Couldn’t even breathe properly.

“Prove it,” I whispered, my voice trembling but steady enough to carry the challenge. My chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, and I could feel the heat of him, the tension coiling tighter between us like a spring ready to snap.

Dante’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smirk, the kind that made my stomach flip and my knees weak. “Careful what you wish for, princess,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, like gravel wrapped in silk. “You might just get it.”

Before I could respond, his hand slid from my thigh to my waist, his fingers brushing against the bare skin where my silk top had ridden up. The touch was light, almost teasing, but it sent a jolt of electricity through me that made my breath hitch. The air between us felt charged, thick with unsaid words, and I could feel his gaze burning into me even before he leaned in closer.

His lips brushed against my ear, his voice low enough to send a shiver down my spine. “Stand up.”

The command was simple, but the authority in his tone left no room for argument. My pulse quickened, and I swallowed hard, my body moving before my mind could catch up. I rose from the plush sofa, my legs trembling slightly as Istood before him.

Dante followed suit, his tall frame towering over me. For a moment, he didn’t speak, didn’t move—he just watched me, his dark eyes tracing every inch of me with an intensity that made my skin prickle and my heart pound. Then, almost imperceptibly, his hand slipped into mine, his fingers curling around mine with a possessiveness that sent a thrill through me.

He guided me toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, the glass cold beneath my fingertips as I instinctively reached out to steady myself. Below us, the club pulsed with life—the writhing bodies on the dance floor, the bartenders moving with practiced ease, the glow of neon lights casting the room in shades of blue and red.

But none of it mattered. Not compared to the man standing behind me, so close I could feel the heat of him against my back.

“Look,” he murmured, his voice a low, velvet rasp that wrapped around me like a silken leash. His hands settled on my hips, firm and unyielding. “All this is mine—every inch of it.”

My breath caught, his words anchoring me in place. His hands tightened on my hips, pulling me back until there was no space between us, until I could feel the solid weight of him pressed against me.

“And you,” he continued, his tone dropping lower, darker, “every inch of you is mine too.”

I swallowed hard, my hands gripping the edge of the glass as I tried to process what he was saying, what he was doing to me. The weight of his words pressed into me, suffocating and thrilling all at once. His breath ghosted over my neck, his lips brushing so close to my skin that it made my knees weak.

“Do you know what that means?” His voice was a growl now, dark and full of something almost dangerous.

I couldn’t answer. Not with my heart racing like this, not with my body trembling under the weight of his words and his touch.

He slid his hands up my sides, his fingers brushing against the silk of my top before settling on my waist. With a gentle but firm grip, he turned me just enough so I could see his reflection in the glass. His dark eyes burned with an intensity that made my pulse stutter, and his expression—so predatory, so maddeningly calm—held me captive.

“Say it,” he demanded, his voice a low, commanding growl. “I want to hear you say it.”

I swallowed hard, my lips parting as I tried to find my voice. “I’m yours,” I whispered, the words barely audible over the pounding music below. “I’m yours, Dante.”

His smirk widened, and I felt his hands slide lower, his fingers brushing against the waistband of my leather leggings. “Good girl,” he murmured, his lips pressing against the curve of my neck in a kiss that sent a shiver down my spine. “Now let me show you what that means.”

Before I could process his words, his hand slipped beneath the waistband of my leggings, his fingers finding the bare skin beneath. My breath hitched, my hands gripping the glass in front of me as his touch ignited a fire that burned through every nerve in my body.

“Dante,” I gasped, my voice trembling as his fingers teased me, his touch deliberate and maddeningly slow.

“Shh,” he murmured against my neck, his lips trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses along my skin. “Let me take care

My breath hitched, and I felt my knees threaten to buckle as his fingers dipped lower, teasing the sensitive skin just above where I needed him most. The cool glass pressed against my palms was the only thing keeping me upright, grounding me as the world blurred and narrowed to just his touch, his voice, his presence.

“Dante—” I gasped, my voice trembling as his fingers brushed against the thin lace of my underwear. The sensation was electric, a jolt that shot straight through me and left me trembling.

“Do you trust me, Emilia?” he asked, his voice low andrough, the words rumbling against my neck as his lips continued their slow, torturous exploration.

“Yes,” I whispered, the word slipping out before I could second-guess it. And I did. Despite the chaos, despite the danger, I trusted him in a way that scared me. He was the storm, and I was willingly stepping into its center.

“Good,” he murmured, his tone laced with satisfaction. “Then let go. Stop thinking. Just feel.”

His fingers slipped beneath the lace, and I let out a soft cry, my forehead pressing against the glass as he touched me in a way that made my entire body ignite. Every movement was measured, intentional, his fingers exploring with a confidence that left no room for hesitation. He knew exactly what he was doing, exactly how to unravel me, and I was powerless to stop him—not that I wanted to.

“Look at them,” he said, his voice a dark whisper in my ear. “All of them down there, oblivious. They have no idea how gorgeous you look right now, pressed against this glass, falling apart for me.”

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