A brunette near the deli counter actually waggles her brows.
Even the cashier—a girl who can't be older than nineteen—blushes and stutters when we check out.
Each time, I want to bare my teeth and growl.
I have no right to it. He's not mine. He hasn't even kissed me.
When the cashier giggles at something he says, I actually step closer, my shoulder brushing his arm possessively.
Dante notices. Of course he does.
His lips curve into a slow, wicked grin. "Jealous, baby?"
My face burns. "No," I lie.
"You are." He leans down, his mouth close to my ear. "And it's fucking cute."
I want to die. Or kiss him. Maybe both.
We load the groceries into the back of his sleek black SUV, and drive home in silence.
Well. Silence except for the roaring in my ears.
I can't stop thinking about losing my virginity to him.
About what it would feel like to have his hands on my body. His mouth on my skin. His weight pressing me into the mattress.
Would he be gentle? Rough? Both?
Would he make me beg? Scream?
The thought sends a bolt of heat straight to my core, and I squeeze my legs together, biting back a whimper.
Dante's hand flexes on the steering wheel.
Can he sense what I'm thinking?
God, I hope not.
Except...part of me wants him to pull the car over, drag me into his lap, and show me exactly what I've been missing.
We're almost home when he speaks.
"Polina."
"Yes?"
His jaw tightens. "We need to talk." His voice is careful. Controlled. "There's something I'm going to require you to do. You might not like it, but it's necessary."
And there it is. That damn other shoe.
Dante
I pull the SUV into the circular drive and cut the engine. Neither of us moves.
The silence stretches taut between us, and I can feel the tension radiating from her.
I hate that I have to do this to her.
