Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Still, I took it slow.
He didn’t unbutton my blouse until another few months later. Even as his hands were steady on my nipples, his fingers exploring with confidence, his self-control was a beautiful thing to admire, a dangerous and savage beast chained in a cage.
The day he dipped his fingers in my panties and I didn’t catch his wrist to stop him, he started making plans. I would’ve been happy to have done it like all my friends of my age, on a blanket in a hidden spot near the beach or on the backseat of his car. But not Dante. He made a big deal out of taking my V-card, going as far as renting a fancy guesthouse on the top floor of a skyscraper in Manhattan.
The self-catering apartment had a Jacuzzi in the bathroom and a pool on the rooftop. He said he didn’t want to take me to a hotel room and make me feel cheap. He was sharing an apartment with a couple of enforcers at the time, so he couldn’t take me there. And doing it in my parents’ condo was out of the question.
He went the whole nine yards with bouquets of flowers—white, of course—so abundant their sweet perfume could be smelled in every room. In contrast, blood-red, velvety rose petals were scattered over the king-size bed.
How’s that for a metaphor?
I never knew Dante could be so symbolic.
Fat, vanilla-scented candles burned on every surface. Champagne to relax me was chilling in an ice bucket, and lavender bubble bath to soak in afterward and relieve the aches he was going to inflict was waiting on the edge of the tub. He even thought about buying a lubricating gel to make it easier for me, as painless as possible.
Before all of that, a private chef cooked us a dinner of seared scallops and baby spinach with a spiced pomegranate glaze that we ate on the deck next to the pool even though I was too nervous to have an appetite. Dante hired the chef, a French native, because he had a reputation for making the best crème brûlée in New York City, my favorite dessert.
The chef left after tidying the kitchen, discreetly and with a finality that suddenly made me panic. But Dante knew me well enough to know how to make me feel safe in his arms. He served me strawberries and chocolates… soft kisses and tender hugs. He made sure every second was perfect.
And then he pulled the rug out from under my feet, making everything he did on the night, how he whispered he’d never let me go as he buried his cock in my body and rocked into me with a steady, careful pace, all the more painful. He made sure I couldn’t think about the night he took my V-card without being ripped apart by the most devastating pain and the deepest betrayal, the memories cruelly sweet. I can never go back to how it was that night, not now that I know it was only part of a clever seduction strategy, a war plan designed by a callous and dangerous man. Returning to the past would only hurt more, serving to remind me how naïve I’d been.
Shaking off those painful memories, I finish my shower and get dressed. The marks on my neck are turning an ugly shade of green, so I hide them with the scarf again. I don’t want to explain them to Noah, and I’m not going to lie to him about how I got those bruises. I’ll tell a white lie if it’s to save him unnecessary anguish, just as I often tell him I’m fine when it’s the furthest thing from the truth, but not about this.
I’m making my way through the lounge when I hear male voices. My instinct goes on high alert. I rush into the lobby, almost crashing into Reino and one of Dante’s guards.
“Morning.” Reino smiles. “I hope we didn’t wake you. We tried to be quiet.”
I glance at Noah’s door that stands open, trepidation sinking like a stone in my stomach. “Where’s Noah?”
Reino raises his hands. “Before you get stressed out, Noah is safe. He’s in the kitchen with Dante.”
“Kitchen?” I look around as if one will magically appear in the suite. “What kitchen?”
“The hotel kitchen.” The man with the beard who always dresses like a biker folds his hands in front of him. “Dante asked me to get you some breakfast. What would you like?”
“Wait.” I look between them, my anxiety rising. “What is Dante doing in the kitchen with my son?”
“Breakfast,” they say in unison.
“Take me to them.” My spine snaps into a rigid line. “Now.”
“Sure.” The man with the beard motions toward the door. “After you.”
I glance at the closed door of Jazz’s room.
Reino follows my gaze. “She’s not awake yet.” He phrases his words like a request and not a command. “Let her sleep. She’s been through a lot.” When I don’t move, he adds, “The boss will have my head on a platter if I touch her.”