Chapter 22
1519 Words
Isabella let out a sigh of boredom and fatigue. “Well, I’m done. Chloe ruined my buzz.”
She stood abruptly and stepped out of the tub, the water streaming off her magnificent, half-naked body.
Lisa followed immediately. They were both wearing only their black laced bottoms, completely unconcerned with their exposed breasts or the need for a towel.
Letty hesitated, feeling the potent mix of alcohol and raw exposure. She slowly stood, immediately clamping her hands over her chest, the cool air prickling her wet skin.
Isabella and Lisa moved across the patio and into the mansion, their wet footprints marking the marble floor. They barely broke stride as they headed toward the massive staircase.
As they reached the base of the stairs, Dylan and Marcus came into view, having heard the commotion.
They were immediately focused on the two naked women, but their eyes quickly jumped to Letty, who was desperately trying to cover herself. Her legs felt uneasy from the cumulative effect of the Margaritas, and she wobbled slightly.
Dylan’s eyes glazed over with interest. He licked his lips and was about to walk toward her, sensing her vulnerability, when the front door opened again.
Dante.
A staff member walked in with a stack of fresh towels. Isabella grabbed one immediately, and so did Lisa. Letty remained frozen, unable to move without fully exposing herself to Dylan and Marcus.
Dante’s eyes instantly scanned the scene—the predatory look on Dylan’s face, Letty’s visible panic, and her complete inability to grab a towel.
He moved past the others, his body a wall of warm air. He grabbed a towel, not for himself, but for her, and gently draped it over her shoulders. The material was soft and large, a final shield. He noticed the slight glaze in her eyes and the sudden sag in her posture. The alcohol was finally hitting her hard.
Without a word, without asking permission, Dante gently and effortlessly picked her up. He cradled her in his big, strong arms—one arm under her knees, the other supporting her back—lifting her completely off the ground as if she weighed nothing.
Letty gasped, the sudden movement overriding the alcohol. She clung to his wet, powerful neck, her cheek pressing into the smooth, hard muscle of his chest.
Dante didn't glance at anyone. He carried her straight to the massive staircase.
As they ascended the dark marble stairs, leaving the rest of the silent group below, Letty’s dazed mind struggled to place their destination. She tracked the path they were taking.
Isabella’s room was on the right wing of the second floor—the first door they would pass.
But Dante kept walking.
He moved past the main landing, past the turn that led to his sister’s wing. He continued to the opposite side of the staircase, heading toward the private, secluded area of the master suite.
Letty’s heart, already a frantic drum, stumbled. Her eyes fluttered shut, then snapped open, confirming the impossible reality.
He was carrying her to his room.
Letty, still cradled against his chest, her senses dulled by the alcohol, registered the warmth of his powerful arms and the clean, intoxicating scent of his skin. Her mind was a hazy fog, but a single, profound truth was clear: she was safe here, in the arms of the danger.
He pushed open a heavy, dark wood door with his shoulder and carried her across the threshold.
Dante’s bedroom was a stunning, aggressive manifestation of his control. The lighting was low and moody, a stark contrast to the mansion's white marble. The dominant color was black, accented sharply with geometric gold metallic lines that crisscrossed the walls and paneling. The effect was angular, masculine, and intensely modern. In the center sat a massive bed with a high, padded headboard, covered in deep gray and black linens. It was a luxurious, dark sanctuary built for a king.
Dante walked straight to the bed and gently laid Letty down onto the cool, crisp sheets.
She gasped softly as the warmth left his body, instantly feeling the exposed chill of her wet skin and scant clothing. She looked up at him, her eyes wide, the silent question—What now?—hanging heavy in the air.
Dante looked down at her, his chocolate eyes dark with intent. He ran a large hand through his wet hair, his chest still heaving slightly. He had her. But the chaotic environment and the alcohol had ruled out the conquest he craved. She was too exposed, too compromised. He wanted her lucid and willing when he finally took her.
He walked to his vast, mirrored closet, returning with a soft, dark gray T-shirt—the material looked and smelled like him.
He stood beside the bed. "Up," he commanded softly.
Dazed, Letty sat up, Dante quickly and gently removed the wet towel. Letty was fully exposed in her wet black boxers, her bare skin glistening. He quickly dried her small body with a fresh towel and then pulled the oversized T-shirt over her head. It was so large it fell well past her hips.
He pulled back the heavy comforter and gently guided her beneath the covers. He tucked her in, his eyes lingering on her flushed face.
Letty’s eyes were already struggling to stay open, fluttering closed due to the potent mix of alcohol and the overwhelming softness of Dante’s bed.
He leaned in close, his lips brushing her forehead in a soft, protective gesture.
“Sleep, my little one,” he whispered, his voice a low, possessive murmur. “You have a long day tomorrow.”
Dante stood, his body thick with frustrated arousal.
His mind screamed for the release he had earned, but he stared at the small, vulnerable figure in his bed. He knew if this were any other girl, he would take what he wanted without a second thought. But with Letty, it was different. He walked quickly to the attached bathroom, closing the door behind him.
He turned the shower knob, needing the shock of the freezing water. He didn't want to take advantage of her; he needed to regain control of the explosive desire she provoked.
Letty closed her eyes, the warmth of the comforter and the low, drumming sound of the cold shower from the bathroom serving as the final, absolute confirmation of her safe surrender. She was entirely his, and she was already asleep.
Dante stood in the shower, the frigid spray hitting his powerful muscles, forcing the heat of arousal out of his blood. He rested his forehead against the cold tile, letting the water cool down his body and regain the control Letty so easily threatened.
He turned off the water, grabbed a thick towel, and quickly dried off. He threw on a pair of black sweatpants, his body still rigid with unspent tension.
He opened the bathroom door, drying his hair as he looked at the bed. The small body of Letty occupied a startlingly small space in the center of his massive mattress. Her breathing was deep and even, a little bit of drool glistening on the silk pillow. She was out cold.
Dante simply smiled—a genuine, unguarded expression. He loved how beautiful she looked, how natural she was, how real.
He tossed the towel aside, walked to the bed, and gently climbed under the covers. He laid on his side, propped up on his elbow, just watching her sleep.
He took in every detail of her vulnerable, sleeping face: her long, natural, thick lashes resting against her cheeks, the light dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks, and her full, plump lips that he so craved to taste.
A sharp jolt of jealousy hit him—a raw, territorial spike he’d never experienced. The thought of Lisa getting to taste her before him was illogical, yet infuriating.
He listened to her steady breathing when suddenly, the rhythm broke. She began to breathe quick and heavy, soft, whimpering noises escaping her throat.
Her brow furrowed, and her face scrunched slightly in distress—the silent echo of her childhood trauma surfacing.
Instinct took over, overriding his discipline. He gently caressed her face with his thumb, his voice a low, protective rumble.
“Sshh, it’s okay. You’re safe, little one. I’m here.”
The instant she heard his voice, the trauma receded.
Her breathing evened, and her features relaxed.
Instinctively, she shifted closer to him, nestling herself against Dante’s chest and tucking her head beneath his chin. She took a deep, shuddering breath, filling her lungs with his scent. She sighed contently, snuggling into the massive, protective warmth of his body.
Dante chuckled, the sound deep in his chest. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close as if he could physically shield her from the bad dreams. He breathed in the scent of her hair, kissing the top of her head lightly.
“Goodnight, my little one,” he muttered.
Dante slowly drifted off to sleep, the frantic rhythm of her heart syncing with his own slow, steady heartbeat.
- Writer
