His Dirty Little Secret
Too real.
And then I saw him.
Dante.
Stretched out beside me, one arm draped over his eyes to block the light, the other possessively slung across the empty space where I’d been moments ago. His chest rose and fell in slow, rhythmic breaths, tattoos curling over his skin like shadows come to life—intricate designs of thorns, flames, and symbols I didn’t recognize, all etched into a body that screamed power and precision. In sleep, he looked almost boyish, vulnerable, with that faint scar under his eye catching the morning glow, his dark hair tousled from my fingers running through it all night. But even relaxed, he radiated danger, like a predator at rest.
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