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New message. No name. Just a symbol. A chess knight.
I’ve been watching you.
You don’t know what you’re looking for. But I do.
When you’re ready to stop pretending, come find me.
A three-second video of blood-red leather gloves, fingers linked. Resting on a dark surface. Waiting. For me.
My heart stutters.Who are you?
No response. I dig, because of course I do.
There’s no profile attached. No contact info. No reply button. I check the back end. Nothing. It’s clean. Too clean.
Someone built a fingerprint trap—snared my click, traced my pattern. Saw through the encryption.
I should be furious.
I should be scared.
But I’m wet.
And I don’t even understand why.
CHAPTER 6
Dahlia
Present Day
The restraints are gone.
I sit in a velvet chair near the tall windows of his bedroom, trying not to show how badly my legs are shaking.
The penthouse is quieter now. A little too still. I’m learning that Dante operates in stillness. Eerily so.
The walls are warm-toned steel and black stone, and everything about this room whispers dominance. No softness. No apologies.
And the bed?—
God.
The bed is massive. Four posts and dark sheets. Heavy, masculine scent already coiled in the air like cologne and sin. A king’s altar for every fantasy I never should’ve had. Never should’ve listed on The Club app on a stupid whim.
Dante emerges from the bathroom shirtless, suit pants swapped for expensive-looking lounge bottoms, toweling his hair. Sculpted. Fluid. Bronzed skin. Unfairly fucking beautiful.Like he was born from wrath and lust and filthy sin in equal measure.
He doesn’t look at me as he speaks. “Take off your clothes.”
I freeze. “What?”
He meets my eyes. Calm. Serious. “I want you naked when you get in my bed.”
I want to throw something. Make demands. Plead for time. Instead, I stand—slowly. Like if I move too fast, I’ll shatter with the force of the alien need moving through me.
He watches.
My fingers tremble as I strip. First the boots. Then the jacket. The clingy top. The cargo pants. Sports bra. My underwear last.