Playing with fire
643 Words
The penthouse felt different with Leo gone. It felt smaller, the air charged with an electric current that made the fine hairs on my arms stand up. Dante was in the kitchen, the sound of a knife hitting a cutting board echoing through the hallway. He was cooking for me—another "loyal best friend" chore that I knew was killing him.
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the door I had intentionally left ajar.
"Elena? Dinner is ready," his voice called out. It was rougher than usual, strained.
"I'm just changing, Dante! I'll be out in a second," I called back, my heart thumping a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
I stood up, wincing slightly as I balanced on my good foot. I reached for the hem of my silk robe and let it slide slowly off my shoulders. I was wearing nothing but a pair of lace panties—a far cry from the "vanilla" girl he claimed to see.
I heard the footsteps stop right outside my door. The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating.
"Elena, the door is..." He trailed off.
I looked into the full-length mirror, catching his reflection in the gap of the door. Dante was standing there, a tray in his hands, his eyes locked onto the curve of my back and the swell of my hips. His face was a mask of pure, unadulterated shock, which quickly twisted into a dark, burning hunger.
He didn't look away. He couldn't.
I turned slowly, pretending to be surprised. "Oh! I thought I closed that."
Dante’s gaze raked over me, from my messy hair down to my bare toes. I saw his throat bob as he swallowed hard. The tray in his hands tilted dangerously. Beneath his dark trousers, his staggering length was a rigid, pulsing mountain of desire, threatening to tear through the fabric.
"Get dressed," he rasped, his voice sounding like it was being torn from his chest.
"Why, Dante? Do I look like a 'brat' now?" I stepped closer, my pulse leaping. "Do I still smell like textbooks?"
Dante slammed the tray down on the hallway table and stepped into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. He moved like a predator, lunging forward until I was backed against the vanity. He didn't touch me, but his heat was everywhere.
"You have no idea what you're doing," he growled, his face inches from mine. His scent—sandalwood and pure, masculine aggression—clouded my senses. "You're playing a game you aren't prepared to lose, Elena."
"Maybe I want to lose," I whispered, reaching out to touch the hard plane of his chest.
Dante grabbed my wrists, pinning them to the marble surface behind me. His breathing was a ragged, broken mess. He looked at my lips with a loathing that was actually a deep, agonizing love.
He leaned in, his nose brushing against mine. He wanted to devour me. He wanted to bury the unyielding thickness of his need inside me until we both forgot Leo's name.
"If I touch you," he whispered against my mouth, "there is no going back. I won't just be your brother's friend anymore. I'll be the man who broke you."
"Then break me," I challenged.
His grip tightened, his knuckles white. For a heartbeat, I thought he was finally going to snap. But then, with a low, guttural curse, he released me and backed away.
"Dress yourself," he ordered, his voice shaking. "If you come out of this room again without clothes on, I’m leaving this house and I’m never coming back. Choose wisely, Elena."
He vanished into the hallway, leaving me trembling and more obsessed with him than ever. He was at his breaking point, and I knew it was only a matter of time before the "Beast" took what it wanted.
- Writer
