Dante clenches his jaw and homes in on my nipples as they harden almost painfully against the sudden exposure.
“What are you doing?” I’m almost yelling. “You must be fucking stupid if you think I’m going to let you fuck me again after that!”
My rage gives him pause, but it doesn’t last as that cocky, irritating smirk claims his lips again. “I’d rather stick my dick into a beehive than back into a shrew bitch like you.”
With a light shove, he strides over to the bathroom, where he grabs something behind the door. Crossing my arms over my chest, I barely have time to react as he launches a bathrobe at me the same way I’d thrown his coat at him. I scramble into it, pulling the tie much too tightly around my waist.
He disappears into the bathroom again and comes back with a towel. This time I’m prepared when he tosses it. “Dry your fucking hair. You look like a wet dog.”
My jaw drops. “Well you look like a wet rat! And it has nothing to do with the rain.”
Not my best comeback, but it will have to do.
He looks sharply past me and I follow his gaze over to the bed. It’s piled high with a mound of shopping bags and boxes, all the purchases I made today. How the hell did those get in here? Donovan must have put them there when he got back earlier. Or wait, does this place have some kind of butler? I’ve seen plenty of staff around the house.
Dante makes a disgusted sound and storms from the room before I can ask. Blotting my hair with the towel, I find myself following him. I’m not done. Hell, I haven’t even started.
“Excuse me, but we are not done here.”
He doesn’t break his stride. “Yes, we are.”
“Dante.”
He continues down the hall, uncaring one bit that I’m on his heels.
“We need some ground rules,” I insist. “I did not consent to what just happened again.”
That’s enough to stop him dead in his tracks, and he turns to face me, looking incredulous. Anger creeps up my neck to my face and makes my hairline tingle.
“Are you implying that I raped you?”
I falter, because my brain and my emotions are tumbling over each other. I don’t like his cold, callous fucking. How easily he just takes what he wants while I don’t even attempt to shut it down. What does that say about me?
“No,” I blurt. “But it wasn’t…I was…”
Dante waves me off as he throws open a door, revealing another lavish bedroom that I assume must be his. “I don’t have time for this. I have to get to an important meeting.”
I trail after him into the room. “We need to talk about what happened.”
He ignores me and begins to whip off his wet clothes, shrugging out of his shirt and unfastening his pants. Each dusky inch of his body slowly revealed as the fabric disappears. He kicks free of his pants, standing there in his tight undies, the impressive outline of his cock visible through the damp fabric. I force myself to look past him, just so I can focus.
“I’m meeting Jessica in ten minutes,” he says flatly. “Just go.”
Right. He has an “important meeting.” With Jessica. My ass.
He’s watching me, waiting for me to react to his comment about her. But I bypass that for now.It’s a fight for another day.
I try again. “I need to know that you’re going to respect my boundaries, Dante.”
“Did you ever once say no? Did a single word come out of your mouth to tell me you didn’t want me, Francesca?”
My nostrils flare, my fingers clench. “Moving forward—”
He steps into his huge walk-in, not even listening. I focus on my breathing instead of berating him because honestly, I’m not sure where I’m even going with this conversation. I’m angry at myself for loving how he controls my body and the boundaries are more for me than him. The sounds of him dressing command my attention, almost making me forget what I was going to say. Why is this man so damn distracting?
He comes back out, fastening his cufflinks, long fingers working the link, twisting the backing, and pulling the sleeve. His button-down is light blue, a perfect complement to his dark coloring, the collar neatly buttoned at the tips, the top undone enough to reveal he’s not wearing an undershirt beneath. Threads of dark, curling hair peek from the undone buttons as he makes a slight turn, the fabric pulling hard against his muscular torso. I give myself a mental shake.
Does he have to look so damned put together after fucking in the rain?
