He kissed her then—a brutal, claiming collision that tasted of scotch and desperation. It was a sadistic drama played out in the hollow of her mouth, a war for dominance where every gasp was a white flag. Ivy didn't fight him. She met his aggression with a desperate hunger of her own, her hands tearing at his shirt, wanting to feel the raw, scarred reality of him.He stripped her with a frantic, possessive energy, the silk of her dress fluttering to the stone floor like a discarded skin. The eroticism was heavy, flavored by the ancient, holy air of the monastery and the unholy intent in Dante’s eyes.He spent hours marking her, his mouth a searing brand on her shoulders, her breasts, the inner curve of her thighs. He wanted to erase the "Architect’s" claim and replace it with his own. He wanted to make her forget the message on the photograph with the sheer, overwhelming weight of his touch."You're mine," he panted, his forehead resting against hers as he moved within her, his rhythm
Last Updated : 2026-01-18 Read more