by Katee Robert
He chose not to admit the main reason he allowed the call was so she’d stop worrying that her family thought she was dead. He didn’t want Rose distracted. He wanted her focused on him entirely. If he told the truth about his motivations, Rose wouldn’t believe him, so he didn’t bother.
He followed her down the stairs. Dante slipped his hands into his pockets and watched Rose look around, horror slowly dawning on her pretty face. She usually had a relatively decent poker face, but it was nowhere in evidence now.
Now, she’d realize how foolish it was to continue to defy him.
They stood on a tiny runway in the middle of some cleared space with tall grass and weeds. A field, he supposed. There was space in case a landing plane couldn’t make it with the limited runway involved. It would be a rough ride when they ran out of pavement, though. He’d never personally experienced it—his people were the best—but it paid to have contingency plans. A forest bordered the field, trees thick enough to create the illusion of a green wall, lush and thick.
Rose turned to him, hazel eyes wide. “Where are we?”
“It doesn’t matter.” The space was intentionally generic, and he highly doubted Rose Romanov could identify the trees to narrow down the location. If it weren’t for potential cell tracking, he wouldn’t bother to keep the phone from her. As it was, the plane needed to get back in the air. He had several stops to make, each lingering just long enough to cloud the issue should someone—namely Cillian O’Malley—attempt to track their location.
Eventually, they’d find this place, but by the time they managed, this whole thing would be over.
Checkmate.
He watched the knowledge settle through Rose. She ran her fingers through her hair and gave a hoarse laugh. “Wow, you really went all out with this. I’d be impressed if I didn’t want to wring your neck.”
“Always violence with you, Rosa.” He jerked his chin to the east. “Let’s go.”
When they reached the edge of the asphalt, Rose balked. “Dante, I’m barefoot. You can’t honestly expect me to—what the fuck?”
He scooped her into his arms and kept going without missing a beat. She lifted her hand threateningly, and he stopped her with a glare. “A shower and a hot meal.”
“You are such a bastard.”
“Si. We’ve already covered this.”
She held herself stiff in his arms as he made his way through the field to the tree line. Behind them, the plane’s engines roared, and it shot down the runway and into the air. Right on schedule.
Dante wasn’t one to admit mistakes often, but it took all of fifteen minutes before he realized he should have chosen better shoes. And holding a tense Rose wasn’t exactly easy. If she’d just relax… He knew better than to order it, though. She might decide she wanted to run, and this area was filled with brambles and thorns. She’d rip her legs to shreds, and he’d still catch her. Better for them both to suffer through this short trip as they were.
By the time the house came into view, Dante was sweating, in pain, and fucking furious. He didn’t bother to gauge Rose’s reaction to the cabin. He just marched up to the front door, set her on her feet, and grabbed her arm. “Do. Not. Run.” When she jerked against his hold, he gave her a little shake. “I mean it, Rosa. I’m in a foul mood, and you’ll only get hurt.”
“I didn’t ask you to carry me.”
“Hush.” He maneuvered himself between her and the door and used his free hand to key in the code to unlock it. Then he shoved her in ahead of him. The first slap of air-conditioning after that hike was both painful and welcome. Dante kicked the door shut behind him, barely pausing to ensure it locked properly, and then headed for the bedroom. He registered Rose trying to dig in her heels, but it hardly made a difference. He was stronger and she had to know hat. Stubborn woman. “Shower,” he barked.
“I can walk without you dragging me behind you.”
He needed to get out of these filthy clothes and scrub himself down. Dante didn’t mind sweating, but he had no desire to linger in that state longer than strictly necessary. He wouldn’t be able to focus properly until he got cleaned up.
“Dante!”
He moved down the hall to the single bedroom and through it into the massive bathroom. The walk-in shower looked absolutely heavenly. He pushed Rose in that direction, already intent on unbuttoning his shirt before she took the first step. “Turn on the water and strip.”
“What is this? Some kind of peep show?” She moved into the shower, eyes going wide as he finished unbuttoning his shirt. “What are you doing?”
“I’m sweaty and tired, Rosa. Do not test me. Turn on the water.”
She muttered under her breath in Russian, but she turned on the water. There were half a dozen showerheads at varying heights, giving it the feel of a human car wash, but Dante didn’t give a fuck how ridiculous it seemed. It would do the trick. He shrugged out of his shirt and undid the front of his pants. “Take off your clothes.”
“I hate you.” But she unbuttoned the shirt with quick movements and let it drop to the floor. He waited, and with another curse, she shucked off her panties and kicked them away.
He studied her body as she stepped into the shower and moved to the trio of shower heads farthest from him. He’d had his mouth and hands all over her many times in the months they dated, and he’d spent the past three months rewriting those encounters to how they would have gone if he hadn’t been playing that asshole Jackson Smith. She looked different. He narrowed his eyes. She still had that bitable ass, but… “You lost weight,” he accused.
“It’s called stress. You’d be familiar if you weren’t a fucking asshole who didn’t care about anyone else.” She ducked beneath the spray.
Dante paused to eject the clip from his gun and toss it in a drawer before he set the gun itself on the counter. He’d secure them properly later, but he didn’t need her trying to shoot him and make a run for it. Even if she managed to get to the gun, she wouldn’t be able to load it before he got to her.
He finished stripping and stepped into the shower. The second the hot water hit his skin, he sighed in relief. Yeah, this was exactly what he needed. He grabbed the soap and scrubbed himself down quickly, erasing the gritty feeling of sweat drying against his skin. It only took a few minutes, but he could feel Rose’s attention on him the whole time. Studying for weakness? Waiting for an opportunity to attack?
Neither, apparently.
He turned to face her, letting the water pour over him, only to find her staring at his cock. The feeling of her gaze on him had his body responding, his cock hardening even as she watched. “See something you like?”
“I see something mediocre.”
“Rosa.” He injected enough censure into his tone to make her glare. “Let’s not retread this ground.”
She opened her mouth but seemed to reconsider what she’d been about to say. Finally, she shrugged. “You’ve got to be the most arrogant motherfucker I’ve ever met.”
“How so?”
“You’re in the shower with a woman who wants to do violence to you—a woman whose scars you wear.” She flicked her fingers at his shoulder and side, both sporting fresh scars from the bullet wounds. “And yet you’re naked and unconcerned. That’s arrogant by any definition of the word.”
He bit back a grin, curious to see what she’d do if he prodded her. The fact he truly didn’t know delighted him. “I’m bigger and stronger. What could you possibly do?”
“Oh, Dante.” Her lips quirked, and she moved toward him slowly. Her voice went low and seductive. “I can do so much.”
He held perfectly still and let her approach. Dante had been half-mast more or less consistently since arriving at the plane, but the moment Rose walked into the shower, his cock was so hard, he had a difficult time thinking past it.
She stopped a bare inch away and trailed her fingers over his length. His breath caught in his chest. Was it really going to be this easy? No. Surely not. But he couldn
’t think properly with her touching him. “Rosa.” His voice came our raspy.
“Da.” The only warning he got was a slight tensing in her shoulders, and then she grabbed his balls in a viselike grip. His back hit the tiled wall, and she followed him, pressing her body to his even as she tightened her fingers. “Is something wrong, baby? Don’t tell me you don’t like to play rough.”
Fury surged, lust surging alongside it. He grabbed her wrist. Too hard, but it felt like she was going to rip his balls clean off his body. He hit her pressure points, forcing her hand open. It wasn’t enough, though. Not with pain beating through him with every thump of his heart. Dante used his hold to spin her around, turning in the same move to pin her against the wall, him at her back. She cursed and tried to buck, but he got a hand around her throat, holding her away from the tile so she wouldn’t bust her face open. “That’s enough.”
“Let me go.”
“No, Rosa.” He pressed against her back, letting the feeling of her slippery skin against his soothe him. “Turnabout is fair play.”
“What?”
He released her wrist and shoved his hand between her thighs to cup her pussy. He wanted nothing more than to sink two fingers into her silken heat, but Dante managed to restrain himself…mostly. He dragged his middle finger up her slit, rubbing the length against her clit. “Tell me yes, Rosa.”
Her only answer was her harsh breathing and the slightest widening of her thighs.
“Not good enough.” He made himself still his hand. A battle he quickly became in danger of losing as her desire drenched his fingers. “Tell me yes,” he repeated. “Tell me you want this. Tell me to make you come.”
She pressed her hands to the tile wall and let herself lean forward a little, resting her throat more firmly against his palm. “I won’t tell you yes, Dante. Don’t ask me to.”
He tried to think through the desire thrumming through his blood, to parse out her words. What she had said. What she hadn’t. Finally, he said, “Then tell me no, Rosa. Tell me no and I’ll stop.”
He held perfectly still as he counted off the seconds internally. Ten. Fifteen. Thirty. At sixty, she still hadn’t said a single fucking word. He smiled against her temple. You’re mine, Rosa. You know it, and I know it. “Very well.”
Chapter 8
Rose should tell him no. That’s what Dante asked for. That’s what the smart thing to do was. She hadn’t exactly had a plan when she’d hurt him, other than wanting to punish him for putting her in this position. Now, though? She couldn’t pretend she wasn’t turned on by the rough handling. She was practically panting against his hold on her throat, and no doubt he could feel evidence of her lust where his fingers gripped her pussy.
She should tell him no…
But she didn’t.
More, she didn’t want to.
Dante moved slowly. Testing her. He resumed his slow stroking, his middle finger dragging up her center and rubbing against her clit in a way that had her fighting back a moan. God, she’d missed him. She hated herself for it, but it was the truth. Even if, as Jackson, he’d never given her the rough fucking part of her craved, he had given her this. She’d forced herself to forget what it felt like to have the entirety of this man’s attention focused on her pleasure.
More, it felt right to have his hand bracketing her throat.
She spread her legs wider, giving him better access, and he rewarded her by pressing two fingers into her. They both exhaled in unison at the intrusion. He encompassed her with his body, cradling her even as he overpowered her nonexistent resistance. He explored her slowly, thoroughly, as if this were the first time all over again, finally landing on her G-spot with a muttered statement in Italian that sounded extremely satisfied. He rubbed his fingertips against it, kissing her temple when her knees went weak. The sweetness perfectly contrasted the way his other hand pulsed against her throat. Claiming her in a way she never would have allowed outside the bedroom.
His tone changed, but she still couldn’t understand the words. In the end, it didn’t matter because he released her throat and skated that hand down her stomach to stroke her clit. Having both his hands on—in—her pussy, his breathing harsh on her neck, his cock pressed against her ass…
God, she was going to come. And soon.
She couldn’t pretend she didn’t want this. He’d given her an out. Two? Three? All she had to do is say no, and she firmly believed he would have stopped.
Because apparently Dante Verducci actually planned on marrying her, and while he wasn’t above kidnapping or dragging her around like some secondhand toy, he drew the line at forcing her. She shouldn’t like that. She hadn’t chosen to be here in the house, in this shower, and yet in that moment, it was everything she could do not to beg him to fuck her.
He didn’t pick up his pace, didn’t try to rush her through her orgasm. No, he seemed perfectly content to keep finger fucking her for time unknowable, and that only made her need spike higher. So high, she almost missed that he’d switched back to English. His words were tinged with an accent for the first time since she’d met him, low and rough and somehow still musical. “Do you like that, la mia fidanzata?” He kissed her neck. “You don’t have to tell me with words. I can feel your pussy fluttering around my fingers. You’re close.”
“Dante,” she gasped.
“I like it when you say my name. My real name. No more masks between us, amata.” He edged her closer and closer to the point of no return. He was almost entirely holding her up by his hold on her pussy at this point. “I could leave you like this, Rosa. Leave you on the edge and make you beg for it.”
“Don’t!”
She felt him grin against her skin. “My stubborn girl finally tells the truth.” And then there was no more space for talking because she was too busy coming. She cried out, and Dante cursed. He didn’t stop, though. He kept her orgasm going, wave after wave, until she had to press her forehead to the tile to keep herself upright. She barely noticed him shifting one hand away from her pussy until she felt his knuckles brush her ass.
Rose tensed, but Dante wasn’t trying to fuck her. She roused herself enough to look over her shoulder as he jacked himself, his fingers slick from her coming. He picked up his pace as she watched, almost as if driven by her eyes on him.
Then he came across her ass and lower back in great spurts.
She should be pissed about that. She maybe she would be in a moment. But right now, she just stood there, leaning hard on the wall, and let him rub his come into her skin, still crooning in Italian. She dragged in a breath. “This doesn’t mean anything.” It couldn’t mean anything. She wasn’t even sure how they’d gotten to this place to begin with, how her determination to give him pain was flipped and reversed into him giving her pleasure.
“Liar.” He said it almost fondly. “It means everything.”
“No.” A word she should have said earlier. Why didn’t she say it? She couldn’t pretend he’d forced or even coerced her. She wanted this… She just didn’t want the consequences.
Rose concentrated on tensing her body—quite the trick when her bones felt like liquid—and put as much ice into her tone as she could. “Let me go.”
Dante, the bastard, chuckled. “You sure? It would be a shame if your dramatic exit was ruined by your legs giving out.”
I know he did not just say that.
This time, she didn’t have to try as hard to sound cold. “Get your hands off me. Now.”
For a moment, she thought he might ignore her. But he finally sighed as if she were the one being ridiculous and eased his hands from her body. He took a single step away and, for one horrible pause, she thought her body might make a liar out of her.
Her knees held.
Thank god.
She took thirty seconds to wash the mess off her ass and then moved past him. Every muscle in her body quivered, but she ignored the weakness as best she could. A stack of surprisingly fluffy towels sat next to the sink, and she too
k advantage of two of them. Twisting her hair into one and wrapping the other around her body. Behind her, the water shut off, but she ignored it just like she ignored Dante. More or less.
He might be the most interesting thing in the room to look at, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of watching him dry off. Instead, she turned and surveyed the bathroom properly for the first time.
When they’d landed on that isolated air strip and then hiked through the fucking forest to get here, she’d honestly expected a cabin out of a horror movie. Something infested with spiders and mice and possessing an inch of grime on every surface. A building that was possibly even haunted, as all murder-cabins must be.
Then this place came into view, and she’d had to readjust her expectations. It was a cabin, sure, but a rich person’s cabin. It didn’t mean it wasn’t a murder-cabin, though. That lock that appeared to function for both interior and exterior meant only Dante could come and go as he pleased. He was capable of torture and murder; she didn’t doubt that for a second. That said, she highly doubted he planned either after everything he’d said and what just happened in the shower.
Focus on something else. Literally anything else.
This bathroom was easily larger than the one she had at home, and the tiled-in shower was… Well, best not to think too hard about it now. But the whole thing screamed forest-chic, with dark-green walls, exposed beams overhead in a vaulted ceiling, and the gray tiled floors and shower. The sink was all marble and more exposed beams. It was…nice. The kind of place where she could easily imagine escaping to for a weekend to get away from city life and her responsibilities for a bit.
If only she weren’t trapped here.
She moved past Dante and out of the bathroom. The bedroom was more of the same, luxury in a vaguely cabin sort of way. The bed itself looked like heaven, but she wasn’t ready to think about that yet.