Chapter Nine

Emily

I wake up groggy, feeling like I’ve been pulled from the depths of a restless dream. My body feels heavy, worn out from everything that’s happened, and the sheets feel cool against my skin. For a moment, I just lie there, trying to gather my thoughts, but then I hear footsteps approaching, and my heart skips a beat.

It’s Dante.

When he walks in, I feel relieved. I don’t know how to describe the mix of emotions swirling inside me. Part of me is so glad he’s back, safe, and here with me. But there’s also the weight of everything that’s happened. The kidnapping, the cameras, my uncle’s betrayal—it's like a storm cloud that hasn’t fully passed. And yet, when I see him, it’s like the eye of that storm. Calm. Steady. Dangerous.

“Principessa,” he says, his voice soft but with that rough edge I’ve come to know so well. His eyes meet mine, and there’s something there that I can’t quite figure out. Guilt? Regret? I don’t know.

“I’m sorry for everything,” he says, coming closer to the bed. His words hang in the air between us, heavy and raw. He sits down beside me and gently leans in, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. The warmth of his lips sends a flicker of comfort through me, but there’s still so much unsaid. I nod, my throat too tight to speak. I want to ask him so many things. Why does he have the cameras? Why did he let me walk into that mess? Why do I still trust him, even after everything? But I can’t bring myself to ask any of these questions right now.

Dante reaches out, taking my hand in his, and the feel of his warm, rough skin against mine is grounding. “No one will ever touch you again,” he says, his voice low and firm, each word carrying a promise that feels like more than just words. “Not while I’m alive.”

There’s something in the way he says it that sends a shiver down my spine. It’s possessive, yes, but it’s more than that. It’s a declaration. A vow. And somehow, in this moment, I believe him. I believe that he would burn the world to ashes before letting anyone hurt me again.

I squeeze his hand, holding onto that promise. Because even though I don’t fully understand him or his world, I know that I’m safe with him. And maybe, for now, that’s enough.

We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of everything still pressing down on me. But then, without a word, Dante stands up, pulling me with him. He doesn’t speak, but I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to make things right in the only way he knows how—by taking care of me.

He starts unbuttoning my dress, his movements slow, deliberate. I don’t resist, letting him undress me. I feel vulnerable, and exposed, but not in a bad way. His hands are gentle as they move over my skin, and when I look up at him, I see that same softness in his eyes that I saw earlier. He’s careful, like he’s afraid of breaking me.

Once he is done, he undresses himself, and for a moment, we just stand there, naked and raw, with nothing between us.

Without saying a word, Dante leads me to the shower. The water is warm as it washes over my skin, and for a moment, I just let it wash away everything—the fear, the exhaustion, the confusion. I close my eyes and tilt my head back, feeling the water run down my face, my body. And then I feel Dante’s hands on me again.

He’s gentle as he scrubs my body, his touch light. His hands move over my shoulders, down my arms, over my chest. But the longer he touches me, the more I feel something stirring inside. It’s like every brush of his fingers sets off little sparks of heat, and before long, that heat starts to pool low in my belly.

Dante’s hands move lower, and as he washes me, his fingers graze my nipples. The contact is brief, but it’s enough to make me gasp. I bite my lip, trying to keep myself from reacting too much, but it’s no use. Every time he touches me, it’s like my body responds without permission, wanting more, needing more.

I open my eyes and look at him, and I can see the shift in his expression. His eyes darken, and his hands slow down, lingering on my skin as if he’s feeling it too—the same pull, the same need.

He leans in, his lips brushing against my neck, and I can’t help the soft moan that escapes my lips. His hands move back to my breasts, and this time, he doesn’t hold back. He rubs my nipples between his fingers, and the sensation is almost too much. My whole body feels like it’s on fire, and I press myself closer to him, needing the contact, craving it.

“Dante,” I whisper, my voice shaky, barely audible over the sound of the water.

He doesn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes tells me everything. He wants me, just as much as I want him. And in this moment, nothing else matters. Not the cameras, not the danger, not my uncle’s betrayal. It’s just us, here, now.

Dante’s lips find mine, and the kiss is hard, demanding. It’s like he’s claiming me all over again, and I let him. I want him to. His hands roam over my body, exploring, teasing, until I’m practically trembling with need.

He pushes me against the shower wall, hot water running over us. He moves down to my neck and then up to my ear.

"I love it when you moan for me." He whispers. "God, you sound so sexy moaning my name." He spins me around suddenly and pushes me against the wall. His hands go to the insides of my thighs and push my legs apart. "I want to make you moan louder." He says, kissing my shoulder blade. I can feel him rub the tip of his hard cock against my entrance. He teases me by rubbing it against my clit, then down to the entrance, and back up to the clit again.

"Please, Dante," I say, begging.

"Please what, Princess?" He groans. I can tell that he's clenching his jaw and speaking through his teeth. The water is scorching my skin, but I don't care. Dante runs his hand up my spine until his fingers find my hair. He grabs as much as he can and pulls, forcing my back to arch and a gasp to escape my mouth.

"Please fuck me, Dante." I don't have to say anything else. He presses the sensitive head of his cock against my entrance and shoves himself inside. He goes in on the first thrust, forcing a moan from me. He grabs my hip roughly with his free hand and thrusts hard into me, the sound of our skin slapping together coming with every thrust. I moan loudly as he begins to pound into me, pulling out almost all the way only to shove himself in again. The muscles in the pit of my stomach begin to contract as he hits that special spot that makes me lose it. I'm almost yelling now, saying all kinds of profanities. "Oh fuck, Dante. Oh god. Right there." I moan, gasping between almost every word. He starts thrusting harder and faster until I push myself off of the wall involuntarily and start shaking. My breathing is fast and shallow as my orgasm rips through my body.

The contractions in my lower half bring Dante close to the edge of his pleasure almost simultaneously. He pulls himself out of me and spins me around. Instinctively, I fall to my knees in the middle of the shower floor and put my mouth around his head. I lick the slit as he runs his hand up and down the shaft roughly. He moans my name loudly, causing more shivers pleasure to shoot down my spine. Pretty soon, warm, salty liquid shoots down the back of my throat. I swallow every drop. Dante drops to his knees in front of me, his hand gripping my shoulder hard as he recovers from his orgasm. He sits down and pulls me into his lap, holding me against him. The water is no longer hot, but I can barely feel it against my blazing skin. Dante kisses my forehead, and we sit there until the water runs cold.