Page 45 of Shadows of Steel
My body clenches around him, pleasure surging like wildfire, and I come undone, trembling, breathless, lost.
Dante pulls back, but not far. Our foreheads touch, his gaze burning through me. Slowly, he withdraws his fingers, fixing my panties back into place.
Then, still holding my gaze, he brings his fingers to his lips and sucks them clean. “Fucking delicious.”
I swallow hard.
Dante smirks as he pulls a folded handkerchief from his pocket, wiping away the last traces of my arousal with meticulous ease. His gaze lingers on me, dark and indulgent, as if savouring every second of my undoing.
“I nearly came in my fucking pants just from feeling you tighten around my fingers,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. “I can only imagine how fucking good it’ll be when I finally have you coming on my cock.”
I force myself to breathe, shaking off the post-orgasmic haze clouding my thoughts. “Keep dreaming,” I snap, ignoring the warmth still lingering between my legs. “It will never happen.”
His smirk only deepens.
“Oh, leonessa.” He tucks the handkerchief away, his eyes gleaming with certainty, dark with promise. “It won’t be long before you’re on your knees, desperate for my cock, pleading for me to ruin you. And when that moment comes, you’ll know, I don’t just fuck, I own.”
I huff, turning toward the window, willing the heat in my cheeks to fade.
What the hell just happened?
And why can’t I fucking ignore the way he makes me feel?
Chapter 15
Dante
As we sit in the car, heading toward the reception, my gaze keeps drifting to my wife.
My fucking wife.
The word tastes foreign. Sharp. Like poison laced with honey.
Harlow is breathtaking, and that’s a fucking problem. A liability. And I don’t do liabilities. Yet she just became my biggest one.
She’s mine now.
Legally.
Publicly.
Officially.
I can still taste her on my lips, and my cock is still rock-hard from making her come mere minutes ago. The memory alone threatens to undo the tight leash I keep on myself. I shouldn’t have touched her, I should’ve let her grapple with the unyielding reality of what this marriage entails. Instead, I indulged her, offered a fleeting taste of pleasure, a whisper of something she’ll soon be powerless to resist.
From the corner of my eye, I watch my wife. The elegant curve of her profile, the delicate slope of her neck, the faint flutter of her pulse beneath flawless skin. The scent of vanilla and peony lingers in the air, weaving its way into my lungs, into my blood, like a goddamn infection.
Fucking vanilla.
Sweet. Deceptive. It doesn’t belong here, in my world, among blood and shadows. And yet, it clings to her like a second skin, invading my senses, making it impossible to think straight.
I want to sink my teeth into her, right there, where her pulse thrums beneath delicate skin. Feel the shudder rippling through her body, the sharp intake of breath as I claim what’s mine.Not gently. Not kindly. Because there is nothing soft about what exists between us.
My jaw tightens, muscles coiled with restraint.
This is business. A contract sealed in blood and loyalty. An arrangement. Nothing more. I don’t need complications. I don’t need her. Yet, here I am, fucking married. Bound. With more enemies than I can count and a target that grows with every breath I take. The last thing I need is to fall for my wife. To love her.
Not that it should be a concern, I don’t believe I’m capable of such a thing.
