DANTE’S POV
The moment the door swung open, every coherent thought in my head evaporated.
Gianna lay sprawled across the bed, legs spread apart, one hand between her thighs. Her dress had ridden up, exposing everything. Her pussy glistened, wet and swollen, spread open for me to see. Her other hand held the vibrator, halfway out of her body, slick with her arousal.
Holy hell.
Desire slammed into me with the force of a bullet. My cock, already hard from grinding against her on that dance floor, throbbed so painfully against my zipper that I could barely breathe.
Heat flooded every nerve ending in my body, primal and consuming. I wanted to cross the room, tear that dress off her completely, and bury myself so deep inside her she would forget her own name.
The image of her trembling against me on the dance floor flashed through my mind. The way she had clenched around that vibrator. The sounds she had made. The wetness I had felt soaking through her
dress as she came.
My mouth went dry.
But underneath the aching desire burned anger.
She had disobeyed me. Again.
My eyes grew darker as I took in the sight, feasting on her exposed flesh, on the evidence of her defiance. Her chest heaved with each breath. And that damn vibrator was still in her hand instead of
inside her where I had commanded it to stay.
She had enjoyed breaking my rules. She had gotten off on it.
I began walking toward her, my eyes never leaving her wet core. Each step felt heavy with intent. I wanted to punish her. I wanted to worship her. I wanted to make her scream my name until she understood exactly who owned this body.
She scrambled up, slamming her thighs shut, kneeling on the bed. Her face flushed crimson, embarrassment and defiance warring in her expression.
Then she flung the vibrator at me. 1
It hit my chest and clattered to the floor.
“I wanted to get this out of me!” Her voice shook with emotion, anger and shame mixing together.
I stared at her, my control hanging by a thread. My cock strained against my pants. My hands itched to grab her, to pin her down, to show her exactly what happened when she defied me.
“Gianna.” My voice came out low, rough with barely restrained desire. “What the hell. I warned you not to
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take it out.”
“Too bad I took it out.” No remorse in her tone, just pure defiance.
God help me, it excited me. My cock pulsed, and I had to fight the urge to cross the room and take her right now, consequences be damned. But it also infuriated me. She needed to learn. She needed to understand that I did not give orders for the fun of it.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” I said, my voice dropping to a growl. “This wasn’t your call to make. This is me teaching you that actions have consequences. That when I give you an order, you follow it.”
“To hell with you.” She glared at me, her whole body trembling. “To hell with consequences. I’m done playing your stupid games.”
“This isn’t a game.”
“You made me come in front of everyone!” Her voice cracked. “Do you understand that? They all watched. They all knew what was happening. They think the worst of me now. That I’m some… some woman who gets off in public.”
The pain in her voice cut through my anger instantly.
“No.” The word came out firm, absolute. I took a step toward her. “No one would ever see you that way. The men, the families, everyone in this world will see you as my wife, their Mafia queen. They will respect you. They will obey you. And anyone who doesn’t will answer to me.”
“Maybe.” She shook her head, wiping at her tears. “But it isn’t just about that.”
She blurted out, her voice rising with each word. “It’s also about the fact that you controlled my body like it was yours to command. Like I’m some instrument you can play whenever you want.”
Tears streamed down her face now. “You use my body however you want. You decide when I feel pleasure, where I feel it, how much I can take. You control all of me. But I? I have no control over you. Over your desires. Over your body. Over who you sleep with.”
“That’s not.”
“Yes it is!” She was shouting now, her hands balled into fists at her sides. “You get to decide when I come, where I come. Who touches me. What I wear. How I behave. But I get no say in who touches you. In who shares your bed. In where you put your mouth, your hands, your…”
Her voice broke. “I have no power over you at all, and it’s not fair.”
My chest tightened, an ache settling deep in my ribs. Something wasn’t right. This wasn’t about the dance floor or the vibrator. It was about how small she felt in this arrangement, and it hurt me to see her like this.
“But you do,” I said, taking a step closer. My voice dropped, rough with honesty I rarely showed anyone. You have all the control, Gianna. And you know it.”
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“I don’t.”
I held her gaze, letting her see the truth in my eyes. “You think I don’t feel it? Every time you look at me with those eyes, every time you say my name in that breathy voice, every time you tremble against me like you can’t help yourself? You have more control over me than any woman has had in years.”
Her breath caught, eyes widening.
“You want to know the real reason I made you come on that dance floor?” I continued, my voice rough with need. “Because watching Niccolo touch you made me lose control. Because I needed to prove to myself and everyone there that your body responds to me and only me. Because the thought of you finding pleasure with anyone else makes me want to commit murder.”
“That’s not control,” she whispered. “That’s possession.”
“It’s both.” I moved closer still, close enough to smell her arousal clinging to the air between us. “You possess me just as much as I possess you. You think I enjoyed watching you struggle not to moan?”
I paused. “You think it didn’t kill me to feel how wet you were, how tight you were clenching around that vibrator, and not be able to bury myself inside you right there?”
“Then why?”
“Because you needed to learn.” My hands flexed at my sides, aching to touch her. “You needed to understand what happens when you disobey me. When you let another man put his hands on what’s
mine.”
She let out a bitter laugh. “You’re just proving my point. All I am to you is something to control, isn’t that
it?”
“Gianna.” The word came out harder than I intended. “You’re more than that. You’re…”
I stopped myself. I couldn’t say it. Couldn’t admit what she was becoming to me.
Her eyes searched mine, looking for something I wasn’t ready to give.
“Tell me,” she pressed. “Tell me exactly what I mean to you.”
The simple words squeezed my chest. My throat closed up. I looked away, staring at the wall behind her, anywhere but those eyes demanding honesty I couldn’t give.
The silence stretched between us.
“That’s what I thought,” she scoffed. “This entire arrangement is just to show how untouchable and undefeated you are, while I’m the one everyone watches fall apart.”
“They all think I’m weak now,” she whispered. “Pathetic. The girl who comes apart at the slightest touch.”
“They think you’re powerful,” I countered, forcing myself to meet her eyes again. “They think you have the Mafia King wrapped around your finger. And they’re right.”
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“Stop lying to me.”
“I’m not lying.”
“You are!” Her voice rose again. “You’re trying to manipulate me. To make me feel better about what you did. But it doesn’t change anything. You humiliated me. And what’s worse is that you’ll do it again because that’s who you are.”
My jaw clenched. She was right about one thing. I would do it again. I would make her come in front of a thousand people if it meant reminding everyone who she belonged to.
But the pain in her eyes made my chest ache.
“Gianna.”
“I’m done.” The words came out exhausted, defeated. “I’m done with all of this. Everything. I’m done.”
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
