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Chapter 92: I own you
Dante’s POV
I sat in my study, a half–empty glass of scotch in my hand, watching the amber liquid swirl as if the motion could drown out her voice in my head. But it didn’t. Her words kept echoing, haunting me.
I’ve started to care about you.
Was it true? Or was it just another game? Another well–rehearsed line from a Giovanni, born and bred to deceive, to manipulate, to twist truth into a weapon.
But her eyes… that look. The way they trembled between fear and honesty, it had felt too raw, too human to be
an act.
“Fuck,” I muttered, downing the drink in a harsh gulp that burned down my throat.
As much as I wanted to reject it, to dismiss her confession as another ploy to make me lower my guard, to make me… feel, I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. Not when every cell in my body reacted to her the way it did.
I had feelings for her too. Real, dangerous, inconvenient feelings that threatened everything I’d built, everything I was fighting for.
She wasn’t supposed to matter. She was the leverage I intended to use against her father. But somewhere between her defiance and her surrender, she’d gotten under my skin.
I gripped the glass tightly, forcing myself to remember the betrayal. Her lies. The stunt she pulled that nearly cost me everything.
Focus.
My eyes drifted to the monitor on my desk, one of several screens showing different areas of the mansion. The punishment room. I’d had cameras installed in every room she had access to, though she didn’t know it.
She lay sprawled on the bed where I’d left her, restless. Even through the feed, I could see the tension in her body, the way her legs shifted, the frustration in every movement.
Good. Let her feel it. Let her remember who held control here.
But as I watched, that satisfaction started to twist into something else.
She moved. A subtle shift at first. Her hands clutched the sheets, then one slid down over her stomach.
My body went rigid.
“Don’t,” I muttered to the empty room, even though she couldn’t hear me.
But she did it anyway. Her hand disappeared between her thighs. Even without sound, I could see the breath hitch in her chest, her lips parting in a silent moan.
Heat surged through me, hard and fast. My cock throbbed, pressing against my pants.
Her back arched off the bed. Her other hand moved to her breast, fingers teasing her nipple. The movements became more urgent, more desperate.
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Chapter 92 Fown you
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“Fuck, Gianna,” I growled.
I adjusted myself in my chair, unable to look away as her fingers stroked between her folds, circling, dipping inside. Her thighs fell open wider, giving herself better access. Her head tipped back against the pillow, lips parted.
She was thinking of me. I knew it. Knew she was remembering my hands on her body. She needed my mouth between her legs, my cock driving into her.
She was disobeying me. Touching herself after I told her not to.
And yet all I could think about was how badly I wanted to be the one touching her.
Every instinct screamed at me to go to her, to stop her, to punish her for this blatant disobedience.
Or to finish what I’d started.
I slammed the glass on the desk and got up fast, storming out of the study. Each step down the hall made the ache between my legs worse, the anger and need pushing me harder.
When I reached the punishment room, I didn’t bother knocking. I threw the door open.
Gianna’s eyes snapped to mine, wide and startled. Her hand was still between her legs, her thighs parted, her skin flushed and glistening.
She looked beautiful. Reckless. Guilty.
And utterly perfect.
“Dante, I…”
“I gave you one simple instruction before I left,” I said as I stepped inside and shut the door behind me. “What was it, Gianna?”
“…To get some rest,” she whispered, as she withdrew her hands from between her thighs.
“And?” I took another step closer, my eyes fixed on hers.
“Not to touch myself.” Her voice trembled, but I caught the hint of defiance hiding beneath it.
“Exactly.” I stopped at the foot of the bed, staring down at her. “And yet here you are, fingers deep in your pussy after I told you not to.” (1)
She bit her lip, and I watched the conflict play across her beautiful face, shame, desire, and that spark of rebellion that I both hated and admired.
“I’m sorry,” she said, but there was no real contrition in her tone.
“No, you’re not.” I shook my head. “You did exactly what you wanted to do, consequences be damned.”
“You left me like that!” The words burst out of her, anger replacing the guilt. “You wound me up, bring me to the edge over and over, and then just walk away and expect me to lie here suffering? That’s not fair!” \
“Fair?” A low, dark laugh escaped me. “You think any of this is about fairness? You think you get to decide when
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your punishment ends?”
She sat up slightly, her dark hair falling over her shoulders, her chest rising and falling with every breath “What do you want from me, Dante?” she asked, her voice breaking with frustration and a deeper emotion. “You make me feel things I don’t understand You touch me, punish me, deny me, and then…”
“I expect you to obey my instructions,” I cut her off, my voice hand as steel “Every Single One Of Them When I tell you not to touch yourself, you don’t fucking touch yourself. When I tell you to rest, you rest. Your body answers to me now, Glanna. Only me.”
She looked at me with those dann eyes that saw too much, challenged too much. “And now I’ve discharged.” There was that defiance again, testing me, pushing me “So what will you do? Put me back on that thing?
Torture me some more?”
I stared at her, my fists clenching at my sides. She had no idea what the was doing to me. No idea how close I was to breaking every rule I’d set for myself
“Spread your legs, I ordered, my voice low and rough
Her eyes widened “What?”
“You heard me. Spread Your Legs. Show me what’s mine”
Her cheeks flushed a deep shade of red, but she didn’t look away. Slowly, she leaned back against the bed, ber movements untere at first, then her thighs parted just a few inches at first, barely enough
A tremor ran through her body, but she obeyed. Her legs spread further apart, exposing herself to my hungry
Faz
And fuck, the sight nearly undid me
I could see the glistening evidence of her arousal, of what she’d done to herself. Her pussy was pink and swollen, her inner thighs wet. She was soaked, desperate, and completely at my mercy.
“Look at you,” my voice rough with desire and authority. “So wet. So needy.”
My eyes never left the beautiful mess between her legs.
“Did you cur?”
She shook her head, her expression almost innocent despite the compromising position she was in “No.”
Good. At least she hadn’t given herself that final pleasure. At least she’d stopped before crossing that line completely.
But it didn’t excuse what she’d done.
*And you’re still aching for it, aren’t you?”
I leaned over her, bracing one hand on the bed beside her hip. “Still dying to curn by my hands.”
Her breath hitched. “Yes.”
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Chapter 92 Lown you
I tilted my head. “Yes, what?”
She swallowed hard. “Yes… Don Dante.”
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The title on her lips, spoken in that breathy, submissive tone, sent a surge of possessive heat through me.
“From now on,” I grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head, “these hands don’t touch what’s mine without permission. This body…” my eyes dragged down her trembling form “…I own every inch of it. Every gasp, every moan, every orgasm. Mine. Do you understand?”
“I… yes…”
>>
“Say it,” I demanded, my face inches from hers, lips lightly brushing hers. “Say I own you.”
“You own me,” she whispered, breathless.
I let
go of her wrists and stepped back, my patience snapping. My hands went to the buttons of my shirt, tearing through them one by one until the fabric gave way. I shrugged it off, letting it fall to the floor.
Her gaze followed every movement, hungry and intent. Her eyes darkened, almost vicious in their focus as they slid down my chest to the bulge straining against my pants, pointed directly at her.
“I’m going to make you come so hard you forget your own name.”
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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.
