CHAPTER 2: TOUCHES IN THE DARK
"No!"
"No... Dante, stop!" I screamed, my voice cracking with panic.
The darkness in this room felt like a solid substance clogging my throat. I couldn't see anything, but I could feel the predator above me, his hard chest muscles pressing against my breasts, making it difficult to breathe. When his rough fingers tore through the lace of my underwear, my survival instinct suddenly kicked in.
"Dante, I said stop! Stop!" I shouted again, but the man ignored me, continuing to kiss the hollow of my neck.
"You are insane!" I cursed.
I begin to struggle. My trembling hands try to push his broad shoulders, but it feels like trying to tear down a concrete wall. I hit his chest, scratched at anything I could reach, but he didn't even flinch. The brutality of his strength made me realize how small and fragile I was under his control.
However, that big hand covered my mouth again roughly. His calloused palm pressed against my lips until I could only let out a muffled groan.
He didn't give me room to breathe, let alone speak. His lips immediately attacked my neck again. It wasn't a sweet kiss, but a demanding bite. I closed my eyes tightly, tears streaming down my face and soaking the pillow. I felt like a hunted animal that had been caught and was just waiting to be skinned.
However, amid the brutality, there was something strange.
When his other hand touched my waist again, he did not attack immediately. His fingers moved slowly, as if he were mapping every curve of my body in the darkness. There was a touch that felt... possessive yet full of adoration. A tenderness that was very foreign to the Dante I knew at church that afternoon.
My heart was torn. My fear began to mix with suffocating confusion. Was this Dante? Did my husband, who was as cold as a corpse, actually have such a great fire behind his expensive suit? My mind was in turmoil. I hated the fact that my body, which had been stiff with fear, was slowly betraying me again. His hot body temperature began to creep onto my skin, burning away the cold that had enveloped me.
"Who are you really?" I whispered softly, my breath catching between sobs that began to subside into soft moans.
The man didn't answer with words. Instead, he buried his face in the crook of my neck again and again, inhaling my scent with deep, hungry breaths. I felt his hot lips land there, leaving traces of ownership that were painful yet intoxicating. At this point, my logic began to surrender.
My thoughts drift back to Dante standing beside me at the church altar earlier that afternoon. That Dante was stiff, sharp-tongued, and had an icy stare. But the man who is holding me captive now... this man has fire. He has a hidden tenderness tucked away behind his brutality. A contradiction that made me wonder: Is this the real Dante? Is my husband just pretending to be cold in public so he can unleash this monster side only for me in this room?
That belief began to grow like a misleading root in my heart. I began to respond to his touch. My trembling hands moved up, caressing his broad, muscular back. I could feel every taut muscle in his back as I gripped his skin. He was so athletic, his body felt functional and powerful, far stronger than I could have imagined from a CEO who usually just sat behind a desk.
As he brought me to a peak of sensation I had never felt before, my inner world was in turmoil. I felt as if my world, which had collapsed because of my father's debts, had suddenly stopped spinning. For a moment, I forgot that I was collateral. I felt like I was the center of the universe for this mysterious man. The heat of his body was now one with mine.
This intimacy felt so deep, so intense, that I felt as if our souls were being exchanged in the darkness. No words were spoken, only the sound of rapid breathing and the pounding of hearts beneath the messy blanket. I was swept away by the delusion that this man was my savior, that there was a forbidden passion waiting for me.
The night passed in a fog of exhausting passion. Until finally, overwhelming fatigue dragged me into a dark, dreamless sleep.
The sunlight seeping through the window slit pierced my eyes. I woke up with pain all over my body, a stark reminder of last night's brutality. I reached out to the side of the bed next to me. But it was empty and cold.
I struggled to get up, wrapping the blanket around my body covered in red marks—silent witnesses to last night's betrayal or devotion. I was still sure it was Dante. I wanted to see him, to see his face in the bright light, to make sure that last night's tenderness belonged to him.
But just as I was about to step toward the door to return to my own room, it suddenly opened from the outside.
Click.
I froze. My heart seemed to stop beating.
Standing in the doorway was not Dante. It was another man. He wore only a white towel wrapped around his muscular waist, revealing his broad chest and six-pack abs covered in dark tattoos that looked wild and dangerous. His slightly messy hair and the lingering scent of tobacco that I recognized from last night immediately hit my senses.
It was Jax. My brother-in-law, the Mafia.
Jax looked me up and down, his gaze hungry and triumphant. The corners of his lips lifted, forming a grin that was both mischievous and terrifying.
"Good morning, brother-in-law."
The greeting froze when the exact same voice that had accompanied my long nights greeted my ears again.
"How was your sleep in my room? Enjoyable, wasn't it?"