Page 6 of The Dante
Her knees wobbled. “I don’t know what to think.”
He laughed softly, the sound rich with amusement. “Then let me make it clear.”
And thenhe kissedher.
It was nothing like their first. That kiss had been an agreement, asealing of a deal. This was a possession. Aslow, devastating claim that unraveled her piece by piece. His lips moved against hers with deliberate precision, coaxing, demanding, until she parted for him, her body arching into his as his tongue swept inside.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was a claiming, an overwhelming possession that left her breathless. Heat flared, consuming, and she melted into him, lost in the sensation of being wanted so completely.
Her fingers gripped into his shirt, holding on as he took over, taking and giving in equal measure, pulling her into a kiss so deep she forgot to breathe. Forgot to think. All she knew was him—the blazing heat, the authority, the absolute certainty in the way he devouredher.
By the time he pulled back, she was trembling.
“Still uncertain?” His voice was rough, his eyes darkwith intent.
She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything but shake herhead.
“Good.” He brushed his lips over her temple, aghost of a touch. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”
Not done? She was reeling from the intensity of his kiss. But as he reached for the remaining fabric of her dress, instinct had her hands flying up to stop him, fingers clutching the sagging bodice as if it were the last barrier betweenthem.
“Titus, wait—”
His hand closed gently over hers, stopping her. “Let me do this, Jazz.” His voice was deep, unwavering, carrying a burden she didn’t fully understand. “You were put in this dress for them—for the world, for appearances, to pay a debt your father ran up.” He slowly pried her fingers away, his grip strong yet patient. “But now? Now, Iundress you because this moment belongs to us. Not Sam and the debt, not for appearances, not for any other person—just you and me.”
Her breath hitched, her heart hammering so loudly sheswore he could hear it. Was it fear? Anticipation? The slow, insidious burn of longing swirling low in her belly? He wasn’t just stripping her of fabric. He was stripping her of doubt, of pretense, of every carefully laid defense she’d built to protect herself from what this marriage truly meant.
He resumed his work, dragging the gown down the curves of her body with devastating slowness, his knuckles brushing against her bare skin with every measured movement.
“I want you to feel it,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, his lips warm against her exposed skin. “To know that tonight, there’s no one watching. No cameras, no expectations. Just you. And me.”
The last of the fabric slid away, softly gathering at her knees in a wide, tumbled pile of lace and silk and tulle. It left her in only the lace undergarments that suddenly felt far too delicate beneath hisgaze.
She swallowed hard. “And aftertonight?”
He met her eyes, his dark stare holding her captive. “After tonight, you’ll know exactly where you stand.” His voice was smooth, unreadable.
Her breath hitched when his fingers traced down her bare arm, the touch deceptively light, yet leaving heat in its wake. The air between them thickened, charged with something she didn’t understand, something she was afraid to name. His confidence unnerved her, that unshakable certainty in his every movement, every word, as if he had planned not just the wedding, but this moment, this night, long before she had even realized she would belong tohim.
Jazz struggled to steady herself. “Right now our marriage feels like a business transaction.”
He nodded, as if he had expected that answer. “That’s what it was.”
The words sent a strange pang through her chest. She knew this was an arrangement. She had accepted that from the start. So why did it hurt to hear him confirmit so easily?
Something inside her twisted. “Then why bother with the reception? The spectacle?”
Titus’s fingers drifted from her shoulder upward, grazing the curve of her neck, his touch slow and deliberate, each movement designed to unravel her inch by inch. “Because it was necessary. People needed to see it. Believe in it.”
She sucked in a breath, her skin tightening beneath his fingertips. “Believe in what?”
“That this is real.” His gaze was unwavering, dark as night. “That you’re mine.”
Her pulse stuttered. His voice had dropped, the low timbre curling through her like smoke, wrapping around her limbs, pulling her deeper into something she wasn’t preparedfor.
A shiver ran through her. “Even though we both know why we did this?”
His hand cupped her throat—not tight, not restraining, but possessive. His thumb brushed her jaw, tilting her head just enough that she had no choice but to look at him. The airbetween them grew thick, charged with something unspoken, something undeniable. “Reasons don’t change what’s happening between us right now.”
