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“Me and the men, especially when I was younger. It’s a game. Take a knife, stab the spots between your fingers. See how fast you can go.”
“Until you stab yourself?”
“It was a challenge. Who had the most balls. Also, it was a way for me to prove myself with men who inevitably would see me as less because I didn’t have to prove myself to be in this family.”
“That is so fucking stupid.” He smiles wide.
“Told you. Dumb guy shit. I have a lot of evidence of dumb guy shit. Lots of men with lots of testosterone trying to rise up the power ladder. Shit happens.” I grab the hand not holding the bandage and press my lips to one of the worse-looking ones.
“I want to kiss them all.” He smiles at me, using both hands to add the bandage to my eyebrow before grabbing my face.
“When we get home, you can,” he says, dipping his head and kissing my neck. “But only if I can do the same.” A shiver runs down my spine.
“Can I make up scars?” My voice has gone husky as a smile grows on his lips. I can’t see it, but I can feel it on my skin.
“Wherever you point, I’ll kiss.”
“We have at least an hour . . . ,” I say, moving my hands to untuck his shirt from his pants, running my nails up his back.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I whisper as he moves, pulling me closer to the edge of the desk until I can feel his already hardening cock pressed between my legs, the short skirt of my pretty white dress leaving little to nothing between us.
And then his phone rings.
One of his phones, I should say. In Dante’s line of work—or, our line of work—he needs many phones.
But the one in question is buzzing next to me, my least favorite name blaring on the screen.
“Talk about a buzzkill,” I murmur, seeing "Angela Sigano” on the screen.
A small part of me smiles because I know that even on his public phone, my name is just “Lilah.”
On his private phone, it says "Wife."
On his burner phone, it doesn’t say anything, but he has all of my numbers memorized, so it doesn’t really matter at the end of the day.
But his “girlfriend” needs her full name, as if using just her first wouldn’t give him enough details.
It might be petty, but I really like that.
“I’ll ignore it,” he says, reaching for the phone.
“No. Answer,” I say, and I’ve got a smile on my lips. A smile Dante knows well as I lean back on his desk into my hands.
“Delilah.”
“And put her on speaker.”
“Delilah—"
“Put her on speaker, Dante. I won’t talk. I just wanna hear this.” I smile my sweetest, most innocent smile and bat my lashes. “Consider it a wedding gift.” Dante rolls his eyes at me, but he does as I ask because I’m pretty sure he genuinely would find a way to give me the moon if I ask for it. He presses the green button to answer and then the speaker button.
He really, really loves me.
“Angela.”
“She punched me in the face, Dante.” I smile.
