Page 19

Inside, displayed with the meticulous care of a collector, lie instruments designed for both torment and ecstasy. Glass and metal dildos in graduated sizes, vibrators ranging from elegant to intimidating, silicone plugs, and sleek paddles with leather surfaces.

All of it arranged with the precision of a surgeons tools, waiting for their master's hand.

"Welcome to my private sanctuary," Dante explains, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that makes my nipples tighten. "Where I attend to... more intimate matters."

I struggle to maintain my composure, swallowing down against the sudden dryness in my throat. My gaze lingers on leather cuffs hanging from the bedposts, imagining how they might feel against my wrists.

"Dante. The tour is over. I'd like to return to my room now."

His laugh is soft but without warmth. "Not quite. It's been twenty-four hours since I marked you, princess. I need to inspect my work."

My hand instinctively moves to cover my thigh, the tattoo beneath my dress suddenly burning with awareness. "That's not necessary. It's fi—"

"It wasn't a request." He circles behind me, his breath hot against my neck, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. "Poor aftercare of tattoos can lead to infection. And as we've established, your health is very much my concern."

His fingers trace the neckline of my dress, barely skimming my collarbone. "Remove it."

"Excuse me?"

"The dress, Francesca. Remove it so I can inspect what's mine."

I remain frozen, weighing my options. Defiance will only lead to him removing it himself which would be an even greater humiliation.

With trembling fingers that I despise, I reach for the zipper at my back. The soft rasp of metal teeth parting fills the silent room. The silk falls away, pooling at my feet.

I stand before him in nothing but black lace underwear, my skin prickling with goosebumps. His gray eyes darken as they travel over my body, lingering on my breasts, the dip of my waist, the flare of my hips. His gaze feels physical… like hands tracing every curve, every hollow.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, circling me like a wolf assessing its prey. "Now the rest."

"The tattoo is on my thigh," I reply, hating how unsteady my voice sounds. "You don't need me naked to examine it."

His hand shoots out, gripping my jaw. "Another lesson, princess. When I give an order, I expect it followed completely, not negotiated with."

He releases my face, stepping back.

"Now, shall we try again? Remove everything."

My cheeks burn as I unhook my bra, letting it fall away. I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my panties, sliding them down with as much dignity as I can muster.

The air feels cool against my bare skin, my nipples hardening traitorously. A warmth spreads through my lower belly that I refuse to acknowledge.

Dante's eyes drink in every inch of me, his expression hungry and possessive. He doesn't try to hide his growing arousal, visible beneath his tailored trousers.

"On the bed. Lie back."

I move to the edge of the massive bed, perching there rather than surrendering completely to its depths. "This is unnecessary. The tattoo is healing fine."

"Lie. Back."

I recline slowly, the silk sheets cool against my heated skin. Dante approaches, loosening his tie while maintaining eye contact that makes my stomach twist.

"Good girl. Now spread your legs."

I hesitate, instinctively pressing my thighs together. The impatience of this man has his hand landing firmly on my knee.

"Spread. Your. Legs." Each word is accompanied by increased pressure. "Or I'll spread them for you."

I comply, face burning with shame even as something molten and unwelcome pools in my lower belly. My traitorous body responding to his command in ways my mind refuses to accept. Dante steps between my parted thighs, his fully clothed body the complete opposite to my nakedness.