Chapter Twelve: The Breaking Point
417 Words
Sleep was impossible now.
Elena’s heart still pounded as she slipped back into her room, locking the door behind her. Not that a lock would stop Dante.
She leaned against the door, inhaling deeply.
Her body was betraying her.
The way her skin burned from just being near him. The way her pulse quickened at the way he watched her like he was waiting for her to crack.
She hated him.
Didn’t she?
A sharp knock echoed against the wood.
Elena stiffened.
She knew who it was before he even spoke.
"Open the door, Elena."
His voice was smooth, controlled—too controlled.
She should ignore him.
Should pretend she was asleep.
But they both knew she wouldn’t.
With a shaky breath, she turned the lock and stepped back.
The door swung open, and there he was.
Tall. Shirtless. A storm brewing in his emerald eyes.
Elena swallowed hard.
"What do you want?" she asked, hating how breathless she sounded.
Dante stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
"You."
The word hung heavy in the air, sending heat flooding through her veins.
She shook her head, forcing herself to breathe past the tension wrapping around them.
"This—whatever this is—it’s a mistake," she whispered.
Dante took a slow step forward. Then another.
Elena backed up until the edge of the bed hit the back of her knees.
"Is it?" he murmured, tilting his head. "Then why haven’t you told me to leave?"
Her lips parted, but no words came.
Because she didn’t want him to leave.
And he knew it.
Dante reached out, fingers brushing against her wrist, just a ghost of a touch, but enough to send shivers up her spine.
"You’re fighting this." His voice was low, dangerous. "But we both know how this ends."
Elena’s breath hitched.
"Tell me to stop."
It was a command, but beneath it, there was something else. A plea.
She should push him away.
She should run.
But instead, her fingers curled into the fabric of his waistband, and Dante sucked in a sharp breath.
And just like that, the dam broke.
He was on her in an instant, crushing his lips against hers, stealing the breath from her lungs.
And God help her—she let him.
She kissed him back like she’d been starving for this, because maybe she had.
Because despite everything—despite the danger, the warnings, the consequences—
Dante Moretti was the one sin she was willing to burn for.
- Writer
