Chapter 16: A Night of Passion
The DeLuca Ball had ended, but its echoes remained in Isla's mind. The glimmering chandeliers, the hushed whispers of the powerful, the heat of Dante's touch at the small of her back—all of it still lingered on her skin.
She should have left. She should have retreated to the safety of her room at the estate, locked the door, and buried herself under the sheets, reminding herself of her mission. But she didn't.
Instead, she stood in the dimly lit hallway of the DeLuca estate, her breath coming too fast, her body too aware of the man standing just a few feet away.
Dante.
His tie was loose now, the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt undone, revealing a glimpse of his tanned skin. His dark eyes were hooded, intense, burning into her like fire licking at dry wood.
She should have walked away. But she didn't.
Instead, she took a step closer.
"So, Bella," he murmured, his voice rough from the whiskey he had been drinking earlier. "Did you enjoy the ball?"
Isla swallowed, her throat tight. She wanted to pretend none of this mattered, that the jealousy curling inside her at the sight of him with Elena was meaningless. But it wasn't.
She had spent the night playing the role of his companion, his date. But she wasn't his. And that realization unsettled her.
"It was... enlightening," she said smoothly, trying to sound unaffected.
Dante tilted his head, his eyes darkening with something dangerous. "Enlightening?"
She lifted her chin. "Yes."
Dante took a slow step forward, closing the space between them. Isla's breath hitched as his fingers brushed against her wrist, then slowly trailed up her bare arm. Her skin erupted in goosebumps at his touch.
"You're lying," he murmured.
She exhaled sharply. "And what makes you think that?"
Dante didn't answer. Instead, his hand moved to her waist, his grip firm yet teasing, as if testing her reaction. Isla should have pushed him away. She should have walked away from this.
But she didn't.
"Tell me, bella," he murmured, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. "Did it bother you?"
Her stomach twisted. "Did what bother me?"
Dante's fingers tightened at her waist as he pressed her against the wall. "Seeing me with Elena."
Isla stiffened, her pulse hammering in her throat. He was toying with her. Testing her.
And she hated that it was working.
"I don't care who you kiss," she whispered, though her voice betrayed her.
Dante chuckled, the sound low and dark. "Liar."
Isla opened her mouth to argue, but before she could, his lips crashed against hers.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't soft.
It was raw. Carnal. Desperate.
Dante kissed her like he had been starving for her, like the fire that had been simmering between them for weeks had finally reached its breaking point. His hands slid up her body, gripping her hips, pulling her flush against him.
Isla gasped against his mouth, her fingers curling into his shirt, her nails digging into his chest as heat coiled low in her belly.
She should stop this.
She couldn't stop this.
Dante growled low in his throat, his hands tangling in her hair as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping against hers, demanding and possessive.
She had kissed men before. She had played this game of seduction countless times.
But this was different.
This wasn't a game.
This was something dangerous. Something real.
Dante lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her through the dimly lit hallway, kicking open the door to his bedroom.
The moment they were inside, he pinned her against the wall again, his lips trailing down her neck, his teeth grazing her skin.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured against her throat.
Isla's breath came in short gasps. "I can't."
Dante groaned, his grip tightening on her hips as he carried her to the bed, laying her down beneath him.
His body pressed against hers, solid and hot.
Isla's fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt, pushing the fabric aside, revealing the hard planes of his chest. Her lips trailed along his skin, tasting the salt, the heat of him.
Dante growled, his hands moving to the zipper of her dress, slowly dragging it down, inch by inch. His lips followed the path of exposed skin, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to her collarbone, her chest, her stomach.
Isla arched beneath him, her body aching for more.
"Dante..." she breathed.
He looked up at her, his eyes dark and wild. "Say my name again."
She shivered. "Dante."
A wicked smirk curled his lips before he dipped his head lower, his tongue teasing along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.
Isla gasped, her back arching off the bed as his mouth worked her body, pushing her higher and higher until she was nothing but heat and need.
And then—
Bliss.
Her hands fisted in the sheets, her body trembling as pleasure crashed over her in waves.
Dante wasn't finished.
He moved over her again, his lips capturing hers as he aligned their bodies, teasing her with slow, deliberate movements.
"Look at me," he commanded.
Isla's eyes fluttered open, meeting his.
And then he thrust into her.
A gasp escaped her lips as he filled her, stretched her, claimed her.
Dante groaned, his forehead pressing against hers. "You feel like fucking heaven, bella."
Isla's nails raked down his back as he moved, each thrust sending pleasure spiraling through her. Their bodies moved together in a perfect rhythm, raw and consuming.
The room was filled with the sound of their ragged breaths, the soft creak of the bed, the heat of their bodies entwined.
Dante's hand gripped her thigh, hitching her leg higher as he drove into her harder, deeper.
Isla clung to him, her heart pounding, her mind lost in the overwhelming pleasure of him.
She had never felt like this before.
So lost. So consumed.
So his.
Their bodies reached the peak together, pleasure crashing over them in waves, leaving them both breathless, tangled in each other.
Dante collapsed beside her, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then, he turned to her, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her bare skin.
"You're mine now, bella," he murmured.
Isla's heart clenched.
She knew she should deny it.
She knew she should push him away.
But instead, she whispered, "I know."
And that terrified her more than anything.