Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
“You are infuriating.” Her lips part, soft and full, inviting me in. Her hands go to my chest. Instead of pushing me away, they rest there instead. Her fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt, securing her to me. “You think you can just command me? You think you own me because you put a ring on my finger?”
“I don’t think, Alexandria,” I growl, my hand moving from the wall to cup her jaw, my thumb tracing the plump curve of her bottom lip. “I know. Look at me.” She does as I ask, her gaze locking onto mine. “You belong to me,” I tell her, my voice raw, rough, and entirely possessive. “You woke up wearing my diamond, as my wife. And I keep what’s mine.”
“Dante...” I don’t let her finish. I lean down, and my mouth cuts off her protest with a fierce, demanding kiss. For a half a second, she stays rigid against the door. A tiny whimper of protest catches in the back of her throat. But when I deepen the kiss, taking complete control, my hand sliding down her throat to wrap securely around the back of her neck, tilting her head to give me access…
She doesn’t fight me.
She surrenders on a soft sigh, melting into me. Her arms slither over my broad shoulders, fingers twisting tightly into my dark hair. She parts her lips, welcoming my tongue, returning the kiss with a desperate, fiery hunger that matches my own, stroke for stroke. I pull her flush against my body, one hand gripping her waist tightly before slipping lower, until the palm of my hand cups her ass, lifting her slightly off her feet until she’s on my level. The kiss went from a punishment to hot, wet, and completely consuming.
“Still want that annulment, wife?” I pull away for a fraction of a second. Her lips are swollen from our kiss. Alexandria’s hands clutch my shoulders for support, and when I lift her higher, she wraps her legs around my waist. She opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out, and before she can think better of it, I swallow any protest she can make.
CHAPTER THREE
alexandria
My logical reasoning didn’t just leave the building—it disintegrated into a million tiny pieces the second my feet left the marble floor. Before I can draw another ragged breath, Dante’s hands are under my thighs and behind my back, sweeping me into his arms with an effortlessness as if I weigh nothing at all.
“Dante.” I let out a sharp gasp. My hands lock around his neck. He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to. His mouth returns to mine, destroying every lingering thread of resistance I have left. He carries me through his tower in the sky, his long, steady strides powerful and purposeful. Each step he takes jars our bodies together, making my core slide against his hard length. My biker shorts and his pants do nothing to hide our mutual desire. Every press of his lips draws a needy whimper from the back of my throat.
I’m drowning in Dante Lombardi, and I don’t want to come up for air, not yet at least. He smells like raw, masculine power. Bright mandarine cuts through the space, and a soft undertone of lavender settles against my senses, and undeniably him. Then comes pine, deep, smooth, and rugged enough to have me imagining his broad shoulders, expensive cuff links, and hands that look just as good wrapped around a crystal glass as they do around my waist.
We burst through the double doors of his master bedroom, dark, luxurious, and dominated by a massive bed that looks like it’s floating from the wall. Dante sets me down, barely able to contain himself and me to keep my footing as he tears at my clothes.
“Dante...” His name is torn from my chest as his fingers hook in the collar of my jean jacket, stripping it down my arms and letting it fall to the floor.
“Hush, wife,” he growls against my lips. His hands move with a desperate speed that matches the wild cadence of my rapidly beating heart. “I think you’ve done enough talking today.” Buttons pop as he tears open my button-down shirt. And beneath is a cropped tank top, exposing me to the cool air of the room.
I don’t care.
I couldn’t care.
My own hands work just as frantically, clawing at his shirt, shoving the fabric off his broad shoulders with his help. For someone who doesn’t remember the last time we were together, I do this as easily as if I’ve done it a million times before.
I need him to touch me. I need to feel his skin beneath the palms of my hands, to confirm that the hard, sculpted planes of his chest are real and not just a fragment of a champagne-fueled dream. Dante makes short work of the rest—my shorts hit the floor, followed immediately by my top, and I have just enough time to kick off my sandals before his intense gaze blazes a path along my whole body.