Page 80 of Of Lies and Shadows

I take what my mother always called an “everything shower” and scrub, shave, wax, and pluck until I’m polished and perfect. Until I look like the kind of woman she said a man might want to keep.

An acceptable bride. An illusion.

My heart hammers as I slip into a robe and tiptoe down the hall. My knuckles rap against his door, sharp and quick, but I don’t wait for permission. I push it open and step inside.

I’ve never been in his bedroom before.

It’s him, in every way—masculine, cold, restrained. Deep mossy greens and dark browns, with clean lines and no clutter. His cologne lingers in the air like a shadow I can’t shake. Something in my chest tightens. I should turn around and leave before he sees me.

But it’s too late.

The bathroom door opens, and Dante steps out, towel slung low on his hips, skin still damp from the shower. And sweet Mother of all saints, I die.

He’s all muscle and menace.

Not the suit-clad capo the world sees, but something more primal. More powerful. Thighs like steel, a chest carved from stone, and lower… I swallow hard.

There’s a reason I still felt him for days after our wedding night, even though I’d dissociated through most of it. And that reason is staring at me now with water dripping down his abs.

And for one terrifying, electrifying second, I wonder if I made a mistake coming here.

He freezes when he sees me, brow furrowing just enough to give me pause.

“Is something wrong?” he asks, his voice rougher than usual. It’s not cold—not yet. Just wary. Curious.

Shit.

Suddenly, I feel ridiculous. All that scrubbing and prepping, all that nervous energy building in my chest, and now I’m standing in the doorway of a man’s bedroom, tongue-tied and barefoot in a silk robe.

“No,” I manage, shaking my head. “I-I’m sorry. Ishouldn’t have come. I’ll just go.”

I turn quickly, hand reaching for the door handle, desperate to salvage my pride.

But I never make it.

Before I can twist the knob, his palm slaps flat against the wood, halting me cold. His chest presses into my back, hot, solid, and unmistakably close. His cock is already hard against my ass, the heat of it searing through the thin silk.

“What are you doing here, Francesca?” he murmurs with restraint. Or hunger. Or both.

I swallow hard, my lips parting, but no words come. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I only know I couldn’t stay away.

He dips his head, his lips brushing my temple, then trailing lower. “Say it,” he growls, his mouth tracing the curve of my ear. “Tell me why you came.”

“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I just… needed?—”

His fingers slip under my robe, gripping my hips. “You needed me.”

Before I can answer, he spins me to face him and kisses me like he wants to devour every breath, all heat and teeth and hunger. His hands grip the backs of my thighs, lifting me as if I weigh nothing, walking me backward until my spine hits the wall.

The robe falls open, and his groan is pure sin when he sees I have nothing on underneath.

“Fucking beautiful,” he mutters, trailing his mouth down my throat, over my collarbone, to the swell of my breasts. “You came to me like this? No panties, no shame?”

“I didn’t know what I was doing,” I pant out.

He looksup from between my breasts, his eyes wild. “You knew exactly what you were doing.” He lowers me back to the ground and drops to his knees, and my breath stutters.

His mouth finds my pussy like he’s starved for it, and I cry out, legs trembling as his tongue strokes long and slow, then fast and devastating. His hands hold my thighs apart as he buries his face between them, groaning into me like he needs my pleasure to breathe.

---