The villa felt impossibly quiet after the storm of emotions that had consumed them hours before. Ishani stood in the middle of the room, hands pressed to her cheeks, cheeks burning from the kiss that had stolen her breath and left her mind spinning. Her pulse still raced, a furious drumbeat she couldn't control, her body betraying her every instinct to stay rational.
Dante, of course, knew exactly what he was doing. He leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes dark with satisfaction, a slow smirk curving his lips. "You're unusually quiet," he murmured, voice low and velvet. "I thought you'd be yelling, cursing, screaming at me by now."
"I… I'm not," she spat, heat radiating from her face as fury collided with something else, something she refused to name. "And even if I were, what would it change? You'd just… just stand there, smug, enjoying it."
Dante's smirk deepened, amusement curling in his eyes. "I don't just enjoy it, bella. I live for it. Every glance, every shiver, every heartbeat that betrays your defiance—it's intoxicating."
Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "You… you can't just… I'm not yours!" Her voice wavered despite her determination. She tried to regain control, to focus on her lawyer mind, anything to resist the heat of his presence.
He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, closing the gap until her back brushed the polished floorboards, his chest practically against hers. One hand slid along her waist with a teasing, almost gentle pressure, the other brushing lightly through the strands of hair that had fallen into her face. Each touch, calculated and slow, made her stomach coil tight, a wildfire she couldn't contain.
"You fight beautifully," he whispered, lips brushing the shell of her ear, sending shivers down her spine. "Like a cat, like someone who refuses to belong to anyone. And yet, here you are… trembling under my hands."
"I… I'm not trembling!" she snapped, though her breath hitched anyway. She twisted, shoving at him, nails grazing his chest, fighting for space, fighting for control. "I'm… I'm… furious!"
"Good," he murmured, thumb brushing lightly over her jaw, ghosting along the corner of her lips. "I like fire. It's intoxicating. It keeps you… alive."
Her pulse hammered in response to his near-touch, near-kiss, near-possession. She forced herself to take a step back, but he anticipated her move, catching her wrists gently, holding her near. "You can't run," he said softly. "Not from me. Not from this tension. Not from what we are, bella."
She twisted, elbowing him in defiance, teeth bared in fury, but he leaned in, deliberately pressing closer, chest warm and unyielding against hers. "I see your fight," he whispered, voice low and husky. "I feel it. Every word you fight with, every defiance you muster… it only proves how perfect you are for me."
Ishani's mind raced, trying to reclaim control with logic, words, anything. "You—this is illegal. Unethical. Immoral! You… you…" She jabbed her finger at him, words tumbling like a courtroom argument she had rehearsed mentally hundreds of times. "You can't force me into this, Dante! I will resist! I—"
He silenced her with a slow brush of his fingers over her lips. Not a kiss. Not yet. But the deliberate touch stole her breath. "And yet," he murmured, eyes dark and intent, "here we are. You can argue, resist, scream… but you feel it, don't you?"
Ishani's body betrayed her. Heat surged, pulse racing, a tremor she couldn't hide. Her jaw tightened, fists balled, but she couldn't ignore the electricity of his nearness. She jabbed at his chest again, claws grazing the fabric of his shirt. "I… I won't… I'm not—"
Dante leaned closer, so close that her lips nearly brushed his. "Not yet," he whispered. "But every defiance, every struggle, every word of yours… draws me closer."
Her heart raced. She knew she had to fight, knew she had to maintain her independence, but the calculated closeness, the lingering touches, the teasing near-kisses… made it impossible. Her body burned, betrayed, alive with the storm he created around her.
Finally, with a breathless growl, he pressed his forehead to hers, holding her tightly, deliberately, possessively. "You belong to me," he murmured, soft but iron in tone. "Not in surrender, not in force… but in the inevitability of what we are."
Her chest heaved, lips trembling, pulse hammering. She glared, furious and aroused, teeth bared. "I… I… hate you," she hissed.
"And yet," Dante murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face, fingers grazing her lips, "you crave me anyway."
The room vibrated with unspoken tension—physical, emotional, psychological. The storm of heat, defiance, words, and touches created a closeness that neither could deny. And in that charged, lingering moment, the slow-burn between them flared, unstoppable.
Ishani fought, hissed, clawed, and argued. Dante held, whispered, teased, and claimed the space between them. And both knew—this was far from over. The fire between them had only grown hotter.