Chapter Twenty-Seven

Adele

As I reach him, Dante puts his coffee mug away, pushes off the counter, grabs my waist, and lifts me onto the counter. Then he spreads my thighs and steps between them.

All I see are his eyes, stormy pools of desire ringed by a darker rim of gray. "Dante." I suck my bottom lip between my teeth as undeniable excitement streaks through me. "Everyone can see us."

He smiles wickedly. "Yes, and we don't give a fuck." He wraps one hand around my jaw and another on my thigh, and every last shred of my resistance dissolves.

"So, you wanted to know how I take my coffee?" He starts to nibble softly on my lips.

I nod, unable to resist kissing him back.

"You tell me." His mouth covers mine and he kisses me fully. His tongue slides between my lips, and the bittersweet taste of mocha explodes in my mouth. It might be the best thing I've ever tasted. It's so intoxicating that I start to suck on his tongue as a throaty moan escapes me. My hands trail up his chest and into his silky hair, pulling tight. I feel his answering groan all the way into my toes.

The kiss goes on and on until my legs wrap around his waist, and I'm silently begging for more, but Dante only nibbles a path along my jaw, then finishes with an open-mouthed kiss on the sensitive skin below my ear.

"Do you know how I take my coffee now?"

The fog of arousal clears instantly, replaced by a dawning horror. My eyes snap open and I push against his chest. I look over at the empty table sporting half-eaten, abandoned food, then drop my head onto his shoulder.

"Oh God, Dante, that was so bad. Just take me back to the basement already."

Dante chuckles. "Trust me, we're good. Nico and Sophie are worse."

"You're joking!" My cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and excitement.

"Afraid not."

"What kind of people are you?"

Dante's lips curl into a devilish smirk. "Sometimes we don't always use words to get our points across."

"And what was the point here?" I ask, tilting my head to the side, my slightly-damp curls cascading over my shoulder.

"That they needed to quit with the sham breakfast, get lost, and let me talk to my woman alone," he replies, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my thighs while his other hand trails up my neck until his fingers spear into my hair, massaging my scalp gently. I suppress the purr working its way up my throat.

"Well, I'm here now, so use your words," I say, throwing his words from last night back at him.

His grin is a flash of white teeth and dimpled cheeks. "It's so fucking hot when you do that, you know? "Anyway," Dante's gaze drops to the bruises closest to my core, his fingers ghosting over the tender skin. "Do I need to apologize?"

"No," I admit, my breath catching. "I–ah. I liked it. Is that the worst . . ." I trail off, struggling to find the words. "Is there more where that came from?"

Dante's eyebrows arch in surprise. "You want more?"

I shrug. "I dunno. Maybe?"

Now his eyes are popping, his jaw slackening in disbelief. I notice how his nostrils are flaring, too, and the very slight flush staining his neck.

"Do you enjoy being hurt?"

"It didn't hurt, Dante—" I start, but he cuts me off, his grip on my thighs tightening.

"It fucking will if you want more."

"I mean, yes, it hurt a little in the moment, but there was so much—" I try to explain, but words fail me.

"Reward?" he finishes. His pupils dilate, the rim of irises around them becoming lighter than their usual stormy gray. I feel the tremor in the hand he has on my thigh and the way his chest rises and falls with each ragged breath.

My core tightens, need shooting through me again. I nod, my eyes locked on his. "Yes, it's . . . very rewarding."

"Addy." His hand comes up to cup my face, his touch gentle, a stark contrast to the fingers tightening on my thigh. "You like pain."

"No, Dante. I like this." I take his shaking hand in mine and raise it between us, my eyes never leaving his. "I like you. Trembling. Uncontrolled. I like the way you get overcome with what you're feeling. Your raw emotions . . . they're intoxicating. And I feel like I don't see them enough."

"Addy, you saw me two years ago in that restaurant and ran away," he reminds me, his voice rough with emotion, his eyes searching mine.

"I didn't understand what I felt back then. You were always so controlled, and you suddenly transformed, and I was shocked and horrified. But mostly, I was sickened by the fact that I wanted you more in that moment than ever." The words tumble from my lips in a rush, my heart laid bare before him.

A low, humorless chuckle rumbles in Dante's chest and the sound vibrates through me. He takes a couple of steps away from me and turns around, his fingers running through his head and grabbing hold. The muscles of his back tense under his shirt. "Christ, I am so fucked."

He takes a deep breath, holds it for a few seconds, then his shoulders sag with the release of air. He does this a few more times while I watch in fascination. By the time he returns to me, his hands have stopped shaking, his eyes are clear and focused, the storm within him temporarily quelled.

"Alright, Addy. Duly noted," he says in a steady, almost brusque tone. "Now, about this morning with Mother and Sophie . . ."

It dawns on me as he changes the subject that, for some reason, Dante needs to be in control of his emotions, to erect a fortress against the turmoil within. "What about them?" I reply.

"Were you uncomfortable?"

I love the way he's checking that I'm okay. I raise my hand and pinch my thumb and index finger together. "A little. It was . . . unexpected. First Aydin found me, and then there was George, who scared the living shit out of me—"

"Oh, you've met Sophie and Nico's spoilt brat, then—" he interjects.

"Oh my God, he's theirs!" The thought of Nico having such a ridiculous pet is unbelievable.

"Unfortunately, yes," Dante huffs, "which makes George immune to any kind of neck wringing, and the bird knows it. Anyway, what happened after Aydin found you?"

"She practically dragged me out, dressed in nothing but your T-shirt, through the maze of gothic underground corridors with cold stone walls, to this modern marble and glass paradise, to face hugs and kisses and finally being devoured alive by you in a roomful of people while your brother scowls at me like a bug he'd very much like to squash and—"

Dante laughs, the sound rich and warm, filling the kitchen with its melody. "Nico likes you, Addy. He just has the weight of the world on his shoulders. A weight I put there by claiming you."

I rear back in surprise, my eyes widening. "Claiming me?"

His smile disappears. "What the hell did you think this was all about?"

"I'm not a thing that can be claimed, Dante," I snap.

"Wrong word choice, maybe. But the facts of the matter remain." He places a hand low on my belly, his touch possessive, the heat of his skin seeping through the thin fabric of my shirt. "You're mine, remember?"

I raise an eyebrow, a flicker of defiance in my eyes, but my heart is pounding with excitement. "So what am I now, your prisoner?"

Dante's gaze flares with an intensity that steals my breath away. His finger traces the bruises on my thighs, raising goosebumps on my skin and making my nipples tighten beneath the thin fabric of my shirt. "If I wanted to hold you captive, you'd be in my house and tied to my bed right now. So no, you're not my prisoner."

Tied to his bed. Slave to his pleasure. I know firsthand how Dante. Doesn't. Stop. The memories alone are enough to make me chase the delicious ache between my legs as moisture seeps out of my core.

His wandering hand, a delicious distraction, makes my body quiver and threatens to derail my thoughts. I catch his hand and intertwine my fingers with his, trying to halt his slow seduction so I can concentrate.

Sophie's words echo in my mind, a reminder of the real reason I'm here. I take a deep breath and then ask, "Dante, what did you mean last night when you told Sal I'm to be off-grid?"

He hesitates for a beat, then speaks, his voice matter-of-fact, the words falling like a hammer blow. "It means you're dead."

My heart stutters, a cold dread seeping into my veins. "What do you mean, dead?"

Dante's grip on my hand tightens, but the stroke of his thumb over my knuckles is gentle. "Adele O'Shea ceases to exist. Date of death, obituary, gravestone, the whole works."

The room starts to spin, the marble countertop beneath me seeming to tilt and sway. It feels like I'm falling into a bottomless pit and the walls are closing in around me. "No. Hell no."

Dante's free hand comes up to cup my cheek, and his eyes bore into mine. "Addy, whoever tried to kill you needs to believe they succeeded; otherwise, you will be dead for real."

Panic rises in my throat, and my breath comes in short, sharp gasps. "But . . . I can't be dead. I have to work. And my dad. I'm all he's got. All he's ever had. I couldn't do that to him."

Something flashes in Dante's eyes, and he raises a single eyebrow. "Benjamin O'Shea lied to you."

"I know. But he's still all the family I've got."

Death is so . . . final. It means I'll never be able to return. Was that what he meant by ‘owning' me? Did I make a mistake telling him about the baby? "And what about Kira—"

"It's done, Addy," Dante says with a note of finality. He steps away from me and reaches for his coffee mug. I watch as he takes an unhurried sip, the casual action a stark contrast to the storm swirling inside me. His jaw clenches as he swallows, and then he takes a deep breath and says, "Don't worry about Kira; she knows the truth. And for Benjamin O'Shea, the cops will be notifying him of your death today."