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“We’ll see how you feel in another few hours.”

“Few hours? That’s a bit cocky.”

“The fact that you even believe that makes me sad for you.”

“Oh, shut up,” I say, attempting to push him off me, but he kicks my feet apart with his own and presses his body against mine, completely immobilizing me.

His mouth quirks up. So arrogant. “Yeah? You think you’re in charge? I bet you do, huh? All day, you’re the boss. You’re the one making decisions, telling people what to do. What would happen if you stopped? Just for the night? Let me be in charge.”

I don’t answer because I don’t want to tell him he’s correct. That’s exactly what I am. I like being the one in power. I want to be the one making decisions, partly because I know what it feels like to be powerless, but also, I know I won’t fuck it up.

Except spread out and pinned against the wall under a man bigger than me, I understand he is the one in charge. And I’mokay with it. Especially because I know I could say no, and he would stop immediately.

He kisses me, sucking my bottom lip between his, letting it go with a nip. “Can you do that, beautiful? Let me take care of you for the night?”

I inhale sharply when he leans in to suck on the sensitive skin below my ear, and my nipples harden to tight, almost painful peaks. I nod, needing relief.

The jackass lifts his head, smirking. “Did you say something? I missed it.”

I grit my teeth. “I said yes.”

“Yes, what?”

I squint, contemplating if it’s worth it, but then he takes both of my wrists in his right hand and skates his left hand under my shirt, roughly squeezing my breast over my bra cup before gently rubbing his thumb back and forth across my hard nipple. Even through the layers of cotton, I feel it. Feel how it would be if I gave myself to him.

I moan. “Yes, you can be in charge tonight.” I feel him smile against my throat and add, “Just this once.”

“Mm? So you’re saying there’s a chance for more than once?”

“No.” I close my eyes when he bites the tender flesh at the slope of my neck.

“We’ll see.”

“No.”

His responding chuckle is soft, barely a puff of air, as he backs away, releasing my wrists to sit on the edge of my bed, appearing wholly out of place on my threadbare quilt and the lacy curtains billowing in the breeze from my open windows behind him. With his messy hair, richly tanned skin, and dark clothes, he has a roguish vibe about him. I can’t put my finger on it—if it’s the smarmy, I’m-gonna-fuck-you-raw smile orthe overall arrogance that makes him seem too big for his britches—but whatever it is, I’m a fucking sucker for it.

And I hate myself for it. Especially when he says, “Take your shirt off for me.”

“Not with the lights on.”

He heaves a sigh then reaches over for the small night-light and turns it on. I then flip the switch to turn off the overhead lights.

“Better?” he asks, and I nod. “Strip.”

I don’t even hesitate. I work each button apart, letting the shirt fall from my arms. I hadn’t planned on coming home with anyone tonight, and I wore my favorite but trusty beige bra with a wire that has perfectly formed to my shape. My tits are nothing special, a little worn like socks full of nickels from breastfeeding two babies, but in this bra, they at least have some oomph under them.

“Bra off too,” Dante orders, and I pause, which earns me a playful raise of his brows.

“I don’t want to.”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. You said I get to be in charge tonight, and how am I going to lick your pretty little nipples with your bra on?”

“How do you know my nipples are pretty?”

“I have a feeling,” he says, lounging back on his elbows as if he’s paid for a private room at a strip club, and while I don’t feel confident about myself in front of a man who is a little too good-looking to be real, I remind myself this is what he wanted. If he weren’t attracted to me, he wouldn’t be here, so…

I unsnap the clasp at the back and let it hit the floor too.