C112 Her Lie, His Truth

Annabelle’s skin prickled with a coldness that seeped deeper than the air around her.

His voice was sharp and unyielding.

Each word was cutting her down and leaving her chilled inside.

The sheer cruelty in his tone made her want to shrink away.

To swallow every word she had spoken earlier.

She fleetingly wished she had not acted so recklessly.

Still, she knew it was necessary.

This was how she could take charge of her wayward heart and accept what he was willing to give without acting the fool.

Her earlier tirade echoed in her mind,

And for a fleeting moment, she thought she had seen pain flicker across his face when she spoke about transactions and meaningless exchanges.

But the glimmer was gone so quickly.

It was immediately replaced by an icy mask of detachment, that she convinced herself it had been a trick of the light.

Now, he stood before her, towering and imperious, his expression unreadable except for the hardness in his eyes.

"Strip," he commanded in that low, brutal voice.

The word landed like a slap.

Her heart jolted, and for a moment, she wanted to recoil.

She wanted to shield herself from what he was asking of her.

Or rather, demanding.

But no.

This was her choice.

She couldn’t back down now.

Not after everything she had said.

Not after drawing this line in the sand.

She would not let him see her cower now.

If Dante wanted her body, then fine.

He could have it.

But she’d make sure her heart stayed locked away where it belonged.

Free of silly fantasies about tenderness or anything as absurd as love.

She set the book she didn’t realise she was still clutching aside with a deliberate motion.

Her fingers trembled slightly before she steeled herself.

Keeping her gaze firmly locked on his, she reached for the thin straps of her dress and slid them down her shoulders.

The fabric pooled at her feet, leaving her in her bra and panties.

She saw it then.

A faint tick in his jaw.

A twitch of tension as he stood perfectly still with his dark gaze reluctantly sweeping over her. Annabelle didn’t hesitate, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her falter.

She reached behind her and unhooked her bra, letting it fall away.

Finally, she slid her panties down her legs.

And then she was standing before him.

Utterly exposed.

The heat of his gaze was almost unbearable as it roamed over her body.

She felt scorched under his scrutiny, and humiliation burned through her.

The intensity in his expression wasn’t lust.

It was something darker and sharper.

And that something made her stomach twist into knots.

He looked at her like she was a specimen under a magnifying glass, assessing her with such detached intensity that she felt like a stranger in her own skin.

She instinctively locked her knees together as she fought the urge to cover herself with her hands.

No.

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her crumble.

She’d made her choice.

This was her power now.

She would give him exactly what he wanted and take from him exactly what she needed.

But her resolve wavered as his stillness broke.

One moment he was standing there, rigid and unmoving.

And the next he was on her, knocking her backwards onto the bed.

She barely felt the impact on her back as the sheer force of his presence above her made her breath catch.

His hands bracketed her head, his body taut and quivering with something she couldn’t name.

His glare was ferocious, his chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths.

“Is this what you wanted?” he growled through gritted teeth.

The words weren’t a question.

They were an accusation.

Annabelle’s throat tightened, but she forced herself to meet his gaze.

Her voice was barely a whisper as she answered, “Yes.”

It was a lie.

Her treacherous heart had made her want more.

But then she knew it was his truth, and she gave him the answer without looking away from his burning gaze.

Dante’s hand wrapped around her throat.

Her pulse jumped when she felt his palm warm against her skin.

A dark memory of Tad’s hand on her throat when she had dared to mutter the word no came to her mind.

She had to remind herself that this was Dante.

And he was not squeezing.

At least not enough to hurt.

Her breath hitched.

And still, for a terrifying second, she thought he might actually lose control.

But then he leaned down and captured her lips in a brutal kiss.

It wasn’t tender.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was punishing and consuming.

Leaving her lips aching and raw.

And yet, despite the roughness of it, she couldn’t deny the pull of heat low in her belly.

Her body betrayed her, igniting under his touch even as her mind screamed at her to push him away.

She didn’t push him away.

That would only show him she was afraid of him or going back on their agreement.

Her hands moved of their own accord.

Clutching at his shoulders, his back, desperate to anchor herself against the storm that was him.

The kiss deepened, and his tongue claimed hers in a way that felt like possession.

Her head swam with her chest heaving against his.

She felt the scrape of his stubble against her skin.

The intoxicating press of his body above hers.

And she couldn’t think.

She couldn’t breathe.

She couldn’t do anything but drown in him.

And then it was over.

He ripped himself away from her with a sharp curse.

Leaving her gasping and dazed.

She watched, stunned, as he shot to his feet, running a hand through his dishevelled hair.

His broad chest heaved as he stared down at her.

His expression was a volatile mix of fury and frustration.

Yet she didn’t feel threatened by his anger even as she lay there exposed to him.

“Damn you,” he spat, his voice low and seething.

The words hit her like a punch to the gut.

And before she could respond, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room.

The door slammed shut behind him.

The sharp crack echoed through the space like the final blow of a gavel.

Annabelle lay there, naked and trembling, staring at the ceiling as silence enveloped her.

She had wanted this to be a clean break.

A transaction without mess or entanglement.

But as she lay there, she knew with painful clarity that nothing about Dante would ever be clean.

Nor simple.

Still, she had won this round.

Right?