The Golden cage
526 Words
The doctor’s orders were clear: strict bed rest for at least three days.
"I can’t believe Leo talked you into this," I muttered, watching Dante carry a tray of food into my bedroom.
"He didn't talk me into anything," Dante replied, his voice a low rumble. He set the tray on my nightstand, careful not to look at the way my silk nightgown had slipped off one shoulder. "He’s my best friend. If he asks me to make sure his sister doesn't break her neck while he’s in Dubai, I do it."
"You hate being here," I said, leaning back against the pillows. "You’d rather be at a club with another one of your 'distractions.'"
Dante’s hand stilled on the edge of the tray. He finally looked at me, and the intensity in his eyes made my breath catch. "You have no idea where I’d rather be, Elena."
The silence in the room was heavy, thick with the things we weren't saying.
"I need to get to the bathroom," I said, trying to break the tension. I moved to sit up, but a sharp wince escaped my lips as I put pressure on my ankle.
Before I could protest, Dante was there. He swept me into his arms, his touch as firm and possessive as it had been at the warehouse. This time, there was no crowd, no music—just the sound of our synchronized breathing.
As he carried me, my head rested against the crook of his neck. He smelled of woodsmoke and a dark, expensive cologne that made my head swim. I felt his heart racing against my arm—fast, erratic, and betraying the calm mask he wore.
He set me down gently on the marble vanity in the bathroom. His hands stayed on my waist for a second too long, his fingers digging slightly into the soft fabric of my robe.
"Dante," I whispered, my voice trembling.
He looked down, and I saw the exact moment his control began to fray. His gaze dropped to my lips, then lower, to where my robe had parted. Beneath his trousers, the staggering length of his desire was impossible to ignore, a hard, unyielding shadow that told me exactly how much he was suffering.
He reached out, his hand cupping my cheek. His thumb traced my lower lip, pulling it down just enough to reveal the pink flesh beneath. I leaned into him, my eyes fluttering shut, waiting for the kiss that had been years in the making.
"You’re going to be the death of me," he rasped against my skin.
But just as his lips brushed mine, his phone buzzed in his pocket. The caller ID flashed: LEO.
Dante jerked back as if he’d been burned. He wiped a hand across his face, his expression hardening back into ice.
"Call me when you're done," he said, his voice cold and distant once more. "I'll be in the living room."
He walked out, leaving me shivering on the cold marble. He was a man divided—torn between the brother he loved and the woman he was beginning to realize he couldn't live without
- Writer
