​Bound by Blood and Border

CHAPTER FIVE

The morning sun didn’t rise over the sss; it bled through the dense canopy, heavy, humid, and blindingly bright.

I woke up with my face pressed against the silk pillows, my body stiff and aching in ways I had never experienced in all my twenty-four years. When I tried to sit up, a sharp, throbbing ache flared through my lower back and hips, making me gasp and sink right back into the mattress. My entire lower body was deeply sore, a blunt, burning reminder of the raw, unyielding force Dante had used against the sofa the night before.

Every tiny movement made me hyper-aware of the dull ache centered in my lower body. The intense friction had left my skin tender, and the unfamiliar soreness made even shifting under the heavy sheets a breathless chore. I lay there in the quiet of the master suite, the physical aftermath of his possessive hunger pulling me entirely out of the peaceful, disciplined mind I had spent a lifetime building. I was an ordinary girl who had lived by rigid, holy rules—now, my own body was a map of a mercenary's absolute claim.

The heavy wooden door pushed open, and Dante walked in.

He had already showered, his dark hair damp, wearing a clean black tactical shirt that clung to his broad chest. He looked completely refreshed, radiating the cold, effortless energy of a predator who slept perfectly after a hunt. He carried a silver tray with a bowl of fresh fruit, a cup of strong black coffee, and a small, unmarked bottle of oil from his medical supplies.

His silver-flecked eyes swept over the bed, tracking the way I winced as I pulled the sheets tightly up to my chin. A slow, knowing smirk played at the corner of his lips—that familiar, flirty arrogance that made my pulse race despite how much my body resented him right now.

"Morning, Little Bird," Dante murmured, his gravelly voice smooth as he set the tray down on the nightstand. He sat on the edge of the mattress, his massive weight causing the bed to dip, bringing his intimidating heat entirely too close. "You look like you're about to curse my name."

"I... I can barely move, Dante," I whispered, my voice thick with a mix of exhaustion and lingering embarrassment. I kept my eyes fixed on the linen sheets, refusing to look at the broad shoulders I had gripped so wildly in the dark. "You broke every single rule of the contract."

Dante let out a low, rough chuckle, leaning forward until his shadow completely covered me. He reached out, his large, calloused fingers gently catching my jaw and forcing me to look into his fierce, burning gaze.

"The contract was a shield against the cartel, Valentina, not a promise that I wouldn't take what’s mine," he said softly, his thumb tracing the swollen line of my lower lip. His tone dropped, becoming thick with a dark, possessive intensity. "Your body belongs to this marriage now. It belongs to me. If it's sore, it's because you learned what it means to be held by a man who isn't going to let you hide behind a veil anymore."

He picked up the small bottle of soothing oil from the tray, setting it closer to me. "Apply this. It’ll take the sting away."

"I shouldn't have let you," I murmured, a tear slipping down my cheek as the crushing weight of my broken vows returned. "It was wrong. I am supposed to be a woman of God..."

Dante’s flirty smile vanished, his expression turning unyielding and grim as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear. "Out here on the border, there is no church, Little Saint. There’s only the wilderness, the enemies hunting us, and the husband keeping you alive. Get dressed. The soreness will fade, but the cartel won't wait for you to heal."

He stood up, his towering frame casting one last long look over my trembling form before he turned toward the door. "We move out in twenty minutes. Don't make me come back in here and dress you myself."