Page 44 of Shadows of Steel

Applause swells around us as we make our way down the aisle, past rows of powerful men and their watchful wives. Outside, the sun is blinding, and the moment we step through the grand doors, confetti rains down, white and gold fluttering through the air like ashes from a fire.

The waiting car gleams under the light, its presence as inevitable as the man beside me. A bodyguard moves ahead, opening the door for us. Dante’s hand finds the small of my back once more, firm, guiding, a silent command.

I step inside. The door shuts behind us with a quiet finality. The air in the car shifts instantly, dense, thick like the moment before a storm. Dante presses a button, and the privacy partition glides up, sealing us in, cutting off the outside world.

I settle into the seat, fingers tightening around my bouquet as I stare ahead, willing to get myself under control.

“Where’s Mattia?” I ask, breaking the silence first.

Dante’s gaze drags over me, assessing. “He and Mario will be joining us at the reception.” His tone is smooth, but there’s something in the way he says it, a quiet amusement, as if he knows I’m grasping at anything to keep this moment from unravelling into something I can’t control.

I nod, exhaling slowly, but the air remains charged, thick with the weight of what just transpired.

Dante shifts beside me, his presence overpowering even in the silence. Then, his voice drops. “You seem tense, wife.”

My chin tilts upward. “Should I have a reason to be?”

His smirk is slow, predatory, the kind that sets fire to the space between us. “That depends.” His fingers skim the edge of my jaw, trailing slowly before he tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Are you afraid of what happens next?”

I don’t flinch, don’t let him see the flicker of unease twisting low in my stomach, not unease, exactly. Something far more dangerous. Something I refuse to acknowledge.

Instead, I meet his gaze with defiance. “Nothing will happen next. This is an arrangement. Remember?”

His jaw tightens, his fingers grazing my bare shoulder, an infuriatingly light touch against my exposed skin.

“An arrangement, you say?” His voice is rough. “How good it will feel to prove you wrong.”

My body betrays me, arousal slicking between my thighs, unwelcome yet undeniable, but I hold my ground.

Dante watches me patiently, like a man who already knows he’s won. Then, with quiet finality, he leans in, lips brushing the shell of my ear, voice a taunting murmur. “I’ve barely touched you, Harlow.” He pauses, the air between us crackling. “But Ibet your pussy is clenching with need. Is it dripping wet for me, leonessa?”

Heat floods my veins.

I clench my hands, refusing to react.

But the way he’s looking at me?

I might already be losing this battle.

“No.” I bite out, jaw tight.

His smirk is pure sin. He knows I’m full of shit.

“No?” He lifts a brow. “Should I check?” His fingers skim the hem of my dress. “Should I slip my hand under this pretty gown and find out myself?” His voice darkens, laced with wicked intent. “Push your panties aside and fuck you with my fingers until you can’t deny it anymore?”

My breath stutters.

Before I can shove him away, his hand is already beneath my dress, the rough pads of his fingers sliding against my inner tight. My stomach knots, anticipation coiling tight, my pussy clenches as desire sweeps over me, the space between us suffocating.

He brushes my lace aside with ease, his fingers gliding through my arousal with a possessive touch. I bite my lip, struggling to contain the moan rising in my throat, but Dante’s gaze is fixed there, on the soft flesh trapped between my teeth, his amusement sharpening, darkening. As if he wants to be the one biting it instead.

And then he is.

His other hand curls around the back of my neck. His lips claim mine, his teeth catching my lower lip, biting down just as his fingers push inside me, the sharp sting of pain blending with the sudden, overwhelming pleasure. A gasp slips free, swallowed by his mouth as he deepens the kiss, his fingers moving with devastating precision, unravelling me with every stroke.

A ragged moan slips from my lips, as he kisses me with abandon, his tongue meeting mine in slow, devastating strokes, perfectly in sync with the rhythm of his fingers working me open.

I can’t stop it.