Page 80 of Savage Vows
He doesn’t quite meet my eyes. “Not really,” he says, voice low but polite.
I nod, but move toward the kitchen anyway, needing something to fill the space between us. “I’ll make you a sandwich,” I offer, already pulling open the fridge.
He hesitates. “You don’t have to.”
“I know,” I say softly, pulling out bread and cheese. “But I want to.”
For a moment, neither of us says anything. I work in the quiet, slicing tomatoes, keeping my hands busy so he won’t see how shaky they are. He stands by the counter, watching me with that same reserved distance. Something in his posture tells me there’s more he wants to say, but neither of us reaches for it.
I try to keep my voice light as I slice through the bread. “So Maksim was telling me about Portello, his club. Is it as good as he says?”
Dante doesn’t look up, just shrugs. “Never been there.”
I pause, knife hovering above the cutting board, that answer sinking into the quiet. A chill prickles up my arms. I remember Maksim’s words, said so casually a few minutes ago—Your husband would know better than me. He’s known Remik longer than I have. In fact, Dante introduced us.
I stare at Dante, searching his face for any flicker of truth, but he keeps his gaze on the counter, jaw set.
Why would he lie about something so small? He’s not the type to fumble details. He could have brushed it off, changed the subject, but instead he chose a flat denial. Something’s wrong. The questions I’ve been collecting—about Samie, about the missing girls, about the club—all knot tighter inside me.
I go back to chopping, hands suddenly unsteady, the conversation stalling out between us. All I can think is:What else isn’t he telling me?
22
DANTE
The water runs hot,steam blurring the mirror as I brace my hands against the tile. I let it scald my back, hoping it will wash away the restlessness, the frustration that’s been building for days. My shoulders ache. My jaw feels tight. Everything in this apartment is too clean, too quiet, too careful.
I haven’t touched Adriana in almost a week. I know she felt it when I told her I couldn’t love her. She closed off, shrank into herself, stopped looking for me at night. I thought I wanted the space—told myself it was better this way. No expectations. No complications. Just two people waiting out a sentence our families wrote for us.
But every day it gets harder. I catch myself staring when she isn’t looking—at the way her hair falls down her back, the way she moves through the kitchen in the mornings, always quiet, always guarded. I see her hunched over her laptop at the table, lost in thought, pen tapping against her lips. Even now, the memory of her mouth, her thighs, the sound she makes when she comes—fuck, it’s enough to make me hard in the shower, even when I try not to think about her.
I clench my fists, resting my forehead against the tile. She was never supposed to mean anything. The only reason I married her was because my father wanted it. Adriana Petrova was supposed to be part of his twisted revenge, his way of settling old debts and humiliating her family. I agreed because it was expected.
But somewhere along the way, the obligation faded. I don’t want her to pay for things she never did. I don’t want to keep playing my father’s game.
My cock throbs, aching with want, but I force myself to breathe slow, to let the water beat down on me until the edge of hunger softens, until I can trust myself not to lose control.
I turn at the sudden sound of the door opening, to find Adriana standing there, her eyes roaming up and down my naked body. At first, neither of us moves, and her breath starts to come faster, chest rising and falling as she stands just inside the door, frozen. Steam curls around us, heavy and hot.
Then I step out of the shower, water running down my skin. I barely give her a chance to step back—I just reach for her, hands finding her waist, and pull her against me. She gasps, startled, but doesn’t resist. Her eyes are wide, lips parted, cheeks flushed deep pink.
“Dante,” she whispers.
I can see the pulse beating fast in her throat, feel the electricity in the air as I lean in. I brush my lips over hers, slow at first, waiting for any sign of hesitation. She doesn’t pull away.
I kiss her deeply, tasting her surprise and her hunger. Her hands tangle in my wet hair, holding me there. I break away only to drag her shirt up, over her arms and head, baring her to the humid air. Her bra is thin, already damp from the steam, hernipples peaked against the lace. I remove it too, then bend my head and take a nipple into my mouth, letting my tongue circle the sensitive skin until she arches into me. Her fingers dig into my shoulders.
I slip my hands lower, sliding her leggings and panties down in one smooth movement, leaving her bare. She steps out, her eyes never leaving mine. I take a second to look at her—how perfect she is, the flush on her skin, the way her breath trembles between parted lips.
I lift her, her legs coming around my waist as naturally as breathing. She clings to me, trusting, her lips finding my jaw, then my mouth. I carry her into the shower, pressing her back gently to the warm, wet tiles. The spray hits my shoulders, water running down both our bodies.
I kiss her again, deeper this time, one hand braced above her head, the other exploring every inch of her. My fingers skim her ribs, her sides, then slide between her thighs. She’s slick and hot, hips bucking into my touch as I rub slow circles over her clit. She moans, quiet and desperate, muffling the sound against my mouth.
“You feel so good,” I murmur, my voice low and raw. Her hands roam my chest, my neck, hungry and searching.
I take my time, stroking her, watching her fall apart in my arms. The steam rises around us, every sense heightened. When I slide two fingers inside her, she gasps, head falling back against the tiles. I watch her face, every flicker of pleasure, every little shiver. She tightens around me, legs trembling, toes curling at my back.
When she’s close, I slow down, savoring the way she arches into my touch, the way her mouth finds my shoulder, teeth grazing my skin. I want her to come apart for me, right here, lost in the water and the heat.
