Page 86

“Are you jealous, baby?” he asks softly, tilting his head. “Scared I’ll give her special treatment like I did with you last night?”

That does it. My hand grabs the nearest champagne bottle from the tray beside the entrance. The glass explodes against the steel table with a sharp crack, champagne spraying across the surface and shards scattering across the floor like glittering teeth.

One piece remains in my hand, and I plan to stick the shard in his fucking neck. Yet, instead, I just stand there, frozen in place like a fucking statue, eyes of my admirer growing darker by the second.

He did this just to provoke me, and frankly, I’m done. I’m done with all of it.

Dante’s face drops as his eyes flick down to the piece of glass I hold in my hand. “Grip that any tighter and your hand might fall off.”

His words don’t quite reach me as I lunge forward, ready to slice him open, but the fucker doesn’t move. He doesn’t pivot out of the way, and something in his sudden pessimistic stance makes me hold back, but not before he grabs my wrist and pushes my chest up against the wall.

“Let go of the glass,” he whispers in my ear, tone flat and unrecognizable. “You’re bleeding all over the floor.”

“Why the fuck do you care?” I grit out, trying to pull loose, but his grip only tightens as a hand slips down my arm, his fingers pushing through mine as he pries the glass shard out from my grip.

He tosses it to the side, and the sudden absence of it fills my hand with a sharp pain that makes me wince.

“Let go of me,” I say quietly, flexing my fingers as hot blood drips from the tips.

“You’re going to need stitches,” Dante says, and I still don’t fucking recognize his tone of voice. There’s no way this psycho actually cares that my hand is cut?

I jerk violently against his hold, trying to wrench free. He lets me, stepping away, and I thrash my body around, driving a knee up, foot knocking into his stomach as hard as I can.

The force sends him stumbling backward. He crashes into the edge of the black lounge, the impact knocking the breath out of him before his back collides with the steel-and-glass table behind it.

I don’t give him time to recover. I’m on him instantly.

My fist connects with his jaw with a sharp crack, snapping his head to the side. The blow drives him deeper into the cushions of the lounge, and I follow it with my body, climbing on top of him before he can even lift his arms.

My hands find his throat, and I squeeze. His back is pressed against the couch while the glass table digs into his side, trapping him in place. The purple light flickers across his face and even now, as I choke the living life out of him, he’s fucking smiling.

Dante’s fingers close around my wrists, but he doesn’t try to pry them off. Doesn’t try to shove me away. He just… lets me choke him.

“This fucking ends here,” I growl.

His chest jerks under me as he drags in a ragged breath. Then he laughs. It comes out rough and broken through the pressure on his throat. “Then do it,” he rasps. “Finish it, Adrian. Kill me here, and you’ll never have to deal with me again.”

My teeth grind together. “I fucking hate you.”

Dante exhales a hoarse laugh, his voice scraping against my hands. “God,” he murmurs, breath thin yet eyes bright, “you’re so fucking beautiful like this.”

I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill him. I’m going to fucking kill him.

Then why can’t I?

My hands feel weak from restraint, and I loosen my grip just enough for air to reach his lungs again. He drags in a breath, his chest rising and falling beneath me.

My mouth crashes into his before I can even think to stop it. My fingers are still wrapped around his throat when my lips take his. The taste of him hits sharper than the shards of glass piercing beneath us.

I hate him.

Is all I can think about as I suffer from temptation, drinking in the intoxicating and dangerous taste of his mouth. And I don’t fucking stop. I deepen the kiss like I’m trying to swallow the last word he said.

Dante inhales hard against my lips before forcing his tongue past my teeth.

His hands slip down, fingers coiling in the loops of my jeans, and he pulls me flush against him. It should be impossible, but he drives his tongue deeper, licking over my back molars and coaxing a rough moan from my throat. And he must like the reaction as I feel him smile into the kiss. Although he’s more lapping at my mouth like a dog than kissing.

But it’s good. So fucking good, in fact, that I reward him with a string of moans. He chuckles deeply, smug and dangerous.