If someone had told me this morning that I’d be ending the day wearing Dante Moretti’s shirt, I’d have told them they were high. If they’d told me I would have chosen to keep the damn thing on after he forced me to wear it, then I’d have told them they were batshit crazy.
Staring at the ceiling, I press my cheek against the soft collar and remember slipping it on a short while earlier, and how easily the expensive material glided over my skin. A shiver runs along my spine as I recall the cotton still infused with his body heat and how the warmth and the scent of him blanketing my bare skin sent unexpected shivers of comfort and pleasure rippling through my body.
It smells of him still, of fresh air and cool mint and his cologne. I can’t believe he took my favorite t-shirt and tossed it into the trash. Forced me to take it off in front of him too. It should have been embarrassing, so why did it feel empowering? I saw the way his eyes drifted over my body and the steely look on his face when he’s trying to control his emotions.
But why the hell am I still wearing his clothes? True, I didn’t bring much with me from my house and that t-shirt was one of the few things I have to sleep in. My pajamas are dirty and in the laundry hamper, but I could find something else. Except that his shirt feels so nice. Obviously because it’s so incredibly expensive and not because it still smells and feels like him.
And I’m too tired and comfortable right now to leave this bed and change. Tomorrow, I will do the laundry and give the devil his super luxurious and comfortable shirt back. But tonight, I will sleep in the warmth of it and try not to think about how the smell of him and the thought of wearing his clothes is anything but abhorrent to me.
To my relief, I barely saw Dante today. I know he was in the house because I saw a fleeting glimpse of him in the hallway when he was heading to his gym this morning, and I heard him talking to Maximo as I passed the kitchen, but I didn’t have to spend any time in his company at all. Having spent the night in his shirt and after he saw my boobs, I’m not sure I could have looked him in the eye without blushing.
Last night, none of what happened seemed so bad, but in the daylight, it feels like what it was. Dante Moretti saw me almost naked. I need a few hours for my brain to process this information and find a way to be around him without melting into puddle of shame.
In an attempt to avoid him for the rest of the evening too, I make myself some noodles for dinner and head to my room. As soon as I’m inside, I notice the small pile of neatly folded white material on the end of the bed. Assuming Sophia has left some new linen or towels, I place my noodles onto the dresser and walk to the bed to put whatever it is away. It’s only as I get closer that I see they are white t-shirts, with a folded piece of paper sitting on top. Frowning in confusion, I pick it up and open it.
As you’re so fond of wandering around the house in men’s t-shirts, you might be needing these.
I drop the note and pick up the shirt. It’s a plain white cotton tee with tags still on — tags that tell me this is the most expensive piece of clothing I’ve ever owned. They must be from Dante. He bought me t-shirts to wear for bed? I don’t know if I’m pissed at him or grateful. But neither of those things account for the butterflies currently swirling in my stomach.
Looking down, I count another four in the pile.
He bought me t-shirts to wander around the house in? To sleep in?
I shake my head in frustration. One small act of kindness does not erase the fact that he is a devil.
He kidnapped me, for God’s sake!
I need to stop thinking he is anything other than the ruthless criminal he is.
It’s been two hours since I ate my noodles and I’m beginning to regret not eating any of the delicious dinner that Sophia was preparing because I’m still hungry. I guess, I could go to the kitchen and grab a snack. I glance at the clock. Dante won’t be in there at this time. He’ll be in his study with Maximo or out cutting off heads or something.
I glance at the new white t-shirt I put on earlier and frown. Maybe taking his gift was a mistake. But they are new and so comfortable.
Jumping up off the bed, I look down at my attire. I’m covered up to my mid thigh. I’m not wearing a bra but the material is thick enough that nothing is visible. This is perfectly acceptable clothing to walk around the house in, even if I bump into a guard – or God forbid, lecherous Lenny. Not that I think he would try anything after the look Dante gave him when he found us in the kitchen together yesterday.
I make my way to the kitchen, relieved to see it empty when I pop my head inside. The light is on though. It always is. For some reason, that soothes me. My mom always told me that the kitchen is the heart of any home.
I sigh as I step inside. When did my life become so small and dark and meaningless that I take comfort in the most trivial things? I open the refrigerator and peer inside, hoping for some leftovers.
“I see you got my gift?” His voice sends a shudder up my spine.
Closing the refrigerator door, I turn to face him. He’s dressed in black suit pants and a crisp white shirt. It’s open at the collar, and his shirt sleeves are rolled up, displaying a few dark tattoos on his skin.
“Well, seeing as you threw away my other t-shirt, it seems like more of a replacement than a gift,” I say, refusing to thank him or show any gratitude at all. Because he doesn’t deserve it.
He laughs softly as he makes his way across the room in a few long strides. And before I can think about getting out of his way, he’s towering over me.
“You’re a difficult woman to please, Katerina,” he says, his voice so deep and smooth it washes over me and settles in my bones.
“Not really.” I force a smile. “All I want is to go home. Then I would be the happiest woman in the world.” Liar!
He narrows his eyes at me and scrubs a hand through his thick beard. “Hmm?”
“Hmm what?” I snap.
“I don’t think you were happy in that little house of yours. I don’t think you were anything close to happy.”
“And you think I am here?” I scoff even as my skin bristles with energy at being so close to him.
“I don’t think you’re miserable here, even though you’re trying your best to be.”
“I hate it here.”
“Maybe sometimes. But last night when you were fixing Lenny’s wound, I saw…” He narrows his eyes again, searching mine as though he wants to see the truths I hide deep inside me.
“Saw what?” I ask with a scowl.
“The light in you. You were happy doing that.”
I was happy. I love nursing. Loved nursing. But I can never go back to it. “I like helping people,” I whisper.
He licks his lower lip, and my insides contract as unbidden thoughts of the things I’d like him to do with that mouth force a fleeting path through my consciousness. My otherwise rational, logical brain is being corrupted by my entire groin area.
He inches closer. We’re not touching, but I still feel him all over me. My body tingles with electric anticipation. He is fire, and my skin burns with the heat. “So you don’t hate it here at all?”
My breathing is ragged, and my heart is racing, making my blood pound in my ears. I squeeze my thighs together to stem the throbbing that is building between them, but it does nothing. It has been so long since anyone has elicited this kind of reaction from my body, and the sensations are overwhelming. I have to take some control back before I lose it all.
I stare into Dante’s eyes. “No, but I do hate you.”
I don’t know why I expected those words to have any impact on him at all, but I thought they might make him back off a little. Not Dante Moretti. Instead, he smirks and edges a little closer until there is only a sliver of light between us. Then he bends his head, his mouth so close to my ear that his warm breath skates over my skin and makes me shiver.
“You might hate me, Kat, but I bet if I slide my hand into your panties, you’d be wet for me,” he growls, and the sound resonates through my body and heads straight to my needy pussy.
Well, damn! “I would not.”
“Really?” His lips dust the shell of my ear now, and the briefest contact between us makes my breath catch in my throat.
“You’ll never know,” I say, a smile of triumph on my face as he lifts his head and stares into my eyes.
But my triumph is short-lived.
Without any warning, he slides his huge hand into my panties until I’m pressed back against the refrigerator. I should try to run or scratch his face, but his fingers slip between my thighs, rubbing over the sensitive flesh and making me feel things that I don’t want to stop feeling.
“What the hell are you doing?” I moan the words even though I meant to yell them.
“Fuck, you’re not just wet, kitten, you’re soaking,” he says in a deep, husky groan as he goes on staring into my eyes. “Is this all for me?”
He rubs the pads of his fingers over my clit, and shockwaves of pleasure pulse through my core. “F-fuck you,” I stammer.
“Soon, kitten,” he laughs darkly, his eyes blazing with fire as they hold mine captive.
Meanwhile, all I can do is press my back and my palms flat against the fridge door as I try to keep myself from crumpling into a heap on the floor.
Dante stares at me while he massages his fingers between my folds. Even though I’m thinking about telling him to stop, I can’t bring myself to find the words. I thought a man would never make me feel like this again.
“You might hate me, Kat,” he growls, “but your sweet cunt?” He pushes one thick finger inside me, and I whimper desperately. “You hear how she weeps for me?”
Of course I do, because the sound of my arousal coating him as he drives slowly in and out of me is so loud it’s inescapable. More wetness rushes between my thighs as he pushes a little deeper.
Then just as quickly as he started, he pulls his hand from my panties and I’m left needy and wanting and gasping for breath as I stare up at him. He has a wicked grin on his face. Bastard!
Placing his pointer and middle fingers into his mouth, he sucks them clean while maintaining a level of eye contact that feels too intimate for whatever this is between us. When he releases them with a wet pop, I almost pass out. “Such a sweet little kitten,” he says with a wink before he turns around and walks out of the kitchen.
I remain with my back pressed against the cool refrigerator door. Panting for breath. My head spinning and my pussy aching for some more of what he just offered while my brain is screaming at me for being such a slut for tattoos and muscles.
Dante Moretti is an asshole. I mean I knew that already, but now I am one hundred percent sure that man has no redeeming qualities whatsoever. I’m hornier than a mountain goat and still hungry too. My stomach growls. My poor neglected pussy throbs.
Which one do I satisfy first? Getting myself off would require me to walk back through the house and to my bedroom, and if Dante saw me, he would know exactly what I was going to do. Arrogant asshole would love that. And I wouldn’t even be thinking about him while I do either. I’d picture Henry Cavill or Chris Hemsworth. I would most definitely not picture Dante’s hard chest or chiseled abs, all covered in that beautiful dark ink as he holds himself over me and fucks me. Definitely not think of those thick forearms as he finishes what he started a few minutes earlier.
Nope. No way.
My stomach growls loudly and I turn back to the refrigerator with a heavy sigh.
