Elena POV I woke up with Dante’s heavy arm wrapped around my waist, his body pressed tight against my back. Our legs were tangled together under the sheets, skin sticky with sweat and other things. For a moment, everything felt warm and heavy and almost safe. Then reality hit me like a slap. Last night. My father's death. The way Dante had fucked me so hard I still felt it hours later. The way I had clung to him, moaning, begging, completely lost in it while my father’s blood was probably still drying somewhere in this house. My stomach twisted. I stared at the wall, barely breathing. My thighs were sticky. There was a deep ache between my legs and faint bruises on my hips where his fingers had dug in. I should’ve felt disgusted with myself. Instead, I felt… alive. Wanted. Owned. Dante shifted behind me, pulling me tighter against his chest. His hand rested heavy on my stomach, fingers spread like he needed to feel I was still here. His breath was warm on the back of my neck.
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