Page 59 of Savage Vows

I don’t give him the pleasure of a response. I make my way toward the main entrance, but before I can slip out, my father’s chair blocks my path. His aide stands nearby, watching for any sign of trouble.

“You’re leaving early?” he says quietly, just the faintest edge in his voice. “Your wife can’t handle the evening?”

I keep my tone neutral. “She wasn’t feeling well.”

He lifts an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You’re not a boy anymore, Dante. She’s your responsibility. Duty is not a coat you take off when it gets uncomfortable.”

“I know,” I say, sharper than I mean to.

He fixes me with a look that’s part warning, part plea. “Don’t forget why you’re here. The family comes first. Your marriage is not just about you.”

I nod, jaw tight. “I won’t forget.”

He gestures toward the party, the lights, the music, as if all of it means something deeper. “Go home, then. Make sure she knows where she stands.”

For a second, it almost sounds like advice. But I know exactly what it means. The way he kept my mom in line, his words always a threat.

I don’t even know how I get home. The car practically drives itself. I tell myself I just need space, but the truth is simpler and far more dangerous—I need to see her.

Oleg looks startled when I walk through the door, like he wasn’t expecting me back tonight. I keep my voice low. “Where’s Adriana?”

He hesitates, then points upstairs.

My boots are silent on the steps, but my pulse hammers in my ears. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to say to her, what excuse I’ll make for showing up like this. All I know is I can’t stay away.

I reach her door, turn the handle, and step inside.

She’s barefoot, hair mussed, cheeks flushed like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t. I lean against the frame, my gaze dragging over every detail—those bare feet, that loose strand of hair brushing her throat, the way her lips part when she sees me.

“What are you doing here?” she whispers.

I let my eyes linger, taking her in like I own her. My voice comes out low, rougher than I mean it to. “When else am I going to find this house empty, except for you?”

Heat flares between us, sharp and electric. I feel it in my chest, in my cock, in every breath I take.

I let the door fall shut behind me. The click is soft, but it feels like locking a cage.

For a moment, neither of us moves. The air is heavy, charged, the kind of silence that could break either way. I can see it in her—the defiance, the fear, the want. She looks at me like she knows I’m seconds from losing control, and for the first time all night, I don’t care if she catches me in it.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispers. Her voice shakes, betraying her.

I feel the corner of my mouth curve into a slow, hungry smile. “Convince me to leave.”

And God help me, I pray she doesn’t.

I push off the door and cross the room in three slow steps that feel like a free fall. She doesn’t move. Her breath stutters; that’s the only warning I get before I’m in her space, my hand at her jaw, my thumb skimming her lip.

“Last chance,” I murmur.

She tilts her chin up, eyes blazing. It’s a question and a challenge all at once.

I kiss her.

It detonates—hot, filthy, inevitable. Her mouth opens under mine and I take all of it, tongue sliding deep, the taste of her punching straight to my cock. I walk her backward until her hips bump the desk; a couple of books skid and thump to the floor. She fists my shirt and yanks, dragging me closer like I’m air and she’s drowning.

I palm her breast through the thin fabric of her dress, feel the nipple peak hard against my hand. She gasps into my mouth when I squeeze—yeah,there—and I roll it between my fingers until her spine arches and her chest presses into me like she’s begging.

I yank up her red dress and rip it open, practically tearing it apart to expose more of her skin. “My father might’ve meant to humiliate you,” I growl, “but I’ve been hard for you all night.”