The Emperor (Dark Verse 3)

The new city was a stranger, made worse by the fact that she was completely alone.

She missed her mother, her best friend, her half-sister.

She missed the hills, the woods, the views.

She missed him.

She missed his kisses, his eyes, his voice. That little grin he gave her, that polished look on his face, that fire in his endless eyes. She missed the sculptures and conversations and books, the dances and the drives and the dreams.

After years of spending every day together, the separation felt more brutal. But she’d make it. She had to.

“Hi, I’m Daphne!”

The bright girl in her class came towards her. First week of school and it had been slightly overwhelming. The campus was beautiful and the classes were interesting.

Amara smiled. “Hi,” she whispered in her soft voice.

The girl frowned. “Why are you whispering?”

The smile stuttered.

“I don’t know how to connect with anyone,” Amara told her new therapist, a nice middle-aged black man with an office close to the university campus. “People always ask why I can’t speak normally and I can’t really tell them that I screamed too much now, can I? I don’t think torture is a part of the polite conversation!”

Dr. Nelson watched her quietly, letting her vent the acid out.

“I can’t go out without the bracelets or scarves because one time this boy saw my wrists and asked me what happened. Can people not see it’s something traumatic? Can they not be more sensitive? I miss being myself. I miss being able to just be myself without feeling that I’m broken.”

She stared at the ceiling, watching the fan move slowly, heart thundering after waking up from a nightmare. Her studio apartment was dark, and she was alone. Anyone could break-in. Anyone could take her from her bed. And she wouldn’t be able to even scream for help.

She watched the ceiling, wondering why she was even there, wondering how high the fan was from the floor, wondering if it could hold enough weight.

Then she flushed those thoughts out.

“Do you want me to come to visit you?” Nerea asked on the phone. “We can have a weekend of fun. You can show me around the city.”

“I’d love that, Nerea,” Amara whispered into her phone. “You’ll like the museum here.”

“Do I look like someone who’d enjoy a museum?” Nerea chuckled.

They made plans. Nerea came to see her and for a weekend, Amara felt amazing.

On Monday, loneliness encroached again.

She woke up, went to classes, came back to a dark apartment, studied, and slept.

Rinse and repeat.

Some nights she woke up shaking with nightmares, some she fell into an exhausted sleep. She always aimed for the latter, working and studying and tiring her mind.

A noise made her pause, her key in her door, her hand on the handle.

The noise came again, from behind the plant at the side of her door.

Amara bent down, hitching her bag higher on her shoulder, and placed the books in her hands on the floor, her bracelets jingling with the movement, and noise came again. A mewl.

She looked behind the plant to see a tiny little cream-colored kitten with the biggest olive green eyes mewling quietly.

Her heart melted. Picking her up carefully in her palm, Amara brought her up close to her face, a true smile on her lips after so long.

“You lost, baby?” she asked in a small baby voice. “How did you get here?”

The kitten blinked up at her, mewling again, before putting her head on her hand in a motion that made Amara a puddle.

She straightened, unlocked the door, and brought her companion in loneliness home.

“So, what do we call you, huh? Pixie?”

Stare.

“Pogo?”

Stare.

“Stardust?”

Stare.

“Lola?”

Stare.

“Lulu?

Meow.

“Lulu it is.”

Months passed.

It wasn’t easy living alone. It took her some time to get used to the idea. Having Lulu helped.

Amara hadn’t realized how safe living on the compound had made her feel. She missed her mother, missed her best friend, and even missed the bastard who had broken her heart. Though she still loved him for everything he had been through with her, she was glad to not see him since that day in the woods months ago. After the breakup of a relationship that had never been, Amara had swallowed the bitter pill, asked Vin to drive her to Dr. Das, and cried like a baby while the older woman had listened to her vent without any judgment.

‘You’re brave to open your heart to him after everything you have been through, Amara. While it is sad that he doesn’t reciprocate your affection, it could be a good thing. You’ll be able to explore more once you go to university.’

Yeah, the only problem with that? Amara couldn’t trust anyone for shit. She gave the men a wide berth, somehow always wary if one of them would pick her up and put her in a truck. The girls she didn’t know what to do with. There were a few who simply ignored her, and the few who had tried to talk to her Amara realized were normal girls. They hadn’t lived their whole lives on a mafia compound, with a best friend who was a mafia soldier, and an ex-something who was an underworld prince. Her normal and their normal did not match and Amara couldn’t find herself talking beyond a certain point with anyone.

The only good things about her new life were the accelerated classes that she really enjoyed, Dr. Nelson – the therapist in the city Dr. Das had recommended, and Lulu, the fluffy little thing who had immediately curled up against her with such trust, Amara had fallen in love.

Amara looked at Alex, her TA who kept asking her out until she said yes, as he danced against her. She had given him every excuse in the world, especially the fact that with her accelerated modules she had to finish in two years, she didn’t have time to date. He had been persistent.

The lights in the club he had brought her to flickered neon all around her, the music loud and throbbing and all wrong. Amara had thought he’d take her out to a restaurant or something for the date. Instead, he’d brought her to the hub of hedonism and it wasn’t her scene.

She swayed on her heels, not accepting any drinks from him no matter how much he tried, to the point she started getting annoyed. “Dance, Amara” he shouted over the music, stepping into her personal space. Amara involuntarily stepped back, hitting a wall, her nerves shot but pasted a smile on her face. 

He stepped closer to her, backing her into the wall, and her palms started to get clammy. She didn’t like this. “Step back, Alex,” she said but her voice got drowned in the music. He leaned closer to hear her, the scent of vodka strong on his body, and Amara’s gut churned.

She just wanted to go home to Lulu. 

“Gonna kiss you, yeah,” he said, caging her in.

“You’re not owed a kiss for a date,” she told him, inhaling deeply to keep her nerves at bay. “I said step back.” But it was fruitless. The music was too loud. She gave him a shove, clearly indicating her displeasure, hoping he’d give her space.

He didn’t. Evidently, entitled assholery afflicted men out in the normal world too.

Amara kneed him in the groin in a move Vin had taught her, pushing him off. Alex cupped his balls, gritting his teeth, his face turning red. “What the fuck!”

She ran to the side door, pushing bodies out of her way, and exited into a narrow, secluded side entrance of some kind. A red bulb hung over the wall, lighting the stairs that led up and out into the street hopefully.

Amara leaned against the wall, holding her stomach, trying to catch her breath. She didn’t have anyone she could call in the city, who would drop everything and pick her up and take her home. She was a big girl but she didn’t trust people. The cab she got into could drive off the path. The driver could be a psycho and take her somewhere else. Scenarios like that always ran through her head, making her anxious, and she needed to keep calm.

The side door opened, and Amara looked at it, suddenly alert, ready to run up the stairs if need be.

Only to feel her heart stop.

Dantes Maroni stood in the narrow corridor, making it seem smaller, dressed in a crisp dark shirt and dark pants, his dark eyes on hers, not saying a word.

Months.

She hadn’t seen him in months and he dared to stare at her with that possessive look in his eyes, had the fucking audacity to stand in front of her like no time had passed, to make the need in her heart so acute it hurt.

Amara glared at him, her chin starting to tremble as her eyes burned, rage enveloping her as she just looked at him.

She closed the space between them, her hands shoving his chest, all the pain and hurt and loneliness she’d kept inside herself for months bubbling to the surface. Red edged around her vision, her body quivering from the force of her emotions, and she shoved him again, her sight blurring with tears. She punched him in the chest, little sounds of aggression leaving her, almost feral, and he let her, not stopping her until she was spent.

“Get away from me,” she pushed him on his solid muscles that didn’t even move, glaring at him through her tears, her body shaking. Fuck, she was having an emotional breakdown.

“Amara,” he said softly, taking a hold of her wrists in his hands, his fingers going right over her bracelets that covered her scars.

“You didn’t fight for me,” her mouth trembled as she pulled but his grip didn’t loosen. “You didn’t fight for me, Dante!”

He tugged her close, until she tipped into his chest, holding both her wrists with one hand while cupping her face with the other, his eyes wild on hers. “I fight for you every fucking day, Amara.”

God, she hated him for meaning it. She loved him too, even after all this time.

A tear escaped her eye and Dante leaned in, kissing it from her cheek like he still had the right.

“You need to let me go,” she told him, her voice breaking, meaning more than her hands. “I can still feel you haunting me here. I can feel you and I can’t live like that. You need to stop. Please. Let me go. Please, let me go,” she started sobbing against him, not realizing when his arms came around her, holding her tight. “Let me go. Let me go. Please. Please,” she hiccupped.

He pressed his forehead against hers. “You’re in my blood, beating in my fucking heart. The only way you go is when the heart stops.”

God, he couldn’t say shit like that to her. Falling with him was so easy, so exhilarating. It was the crash that scared her.

Wiping her cheeks, Amara straightened, looking at his tie slightly askew because of her shoving. Taking hold of it, she set it straight, putting her hand over his heart, and looked him in the eyes. “I’m in love with you, Dante,” she confessed to him, although they both knew. “But I won’t let you waltz in and out of my life as you please. You say you’re fighting for me, and you might even win the battle, but you will lose me. End our suffering right now.”

Dante clenched his jaw. “Go to your apartment. I’ll come to talk in a few days.”

Amara nodded, took a deep breath, and stepped back from him, turning to go up the stairs.

A hand suddenly spun her around and his mouth lingering close to hers, inches from her, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath over her lips, the air between them hard, intense, electric, making her tingle from the root of her hair to the tips of her curling toes. She leaned into him, soaking up the tension, the magnetism, the physicality she had missed so much, a hello and a goodbye all at once, before pulling back and walking away.

He needed to make his choice.

Dante Maroni was an idiot and she was an even bigger idiot for goading him.

A week later, Amara opened the door to her little studio apartment, getting in and locking it behind her, throwing her wedges to the side.

“Is he a good kisser?” the voice from the darkness of her living room area startled her.

Amara shrieked, spinning on the spot to see the man she hadn’t seen in a week, the man who owned her every waking thought, sitting casually on her couch, sipping from the wine bottle she kept in her cabinet, Lulu curled around his feet.

Lulu, slightly bigger than when Amara had found her and even more adorable with the softest cream fur and the prettiest green eyes. She was also a traitor, napping against the man she had no idea what to do with. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked him quietly, turning on the lights in her small but cozy apartment, putting her clutch on the side table. She threw off her keys to the side, and padded barefoot to her bedroom, taking her earrings off, appearing casual even as her heart thundered in her chest. After a few days of waiting for Dante and him not showing up, Amara had gone out on another date with a guy from her Psychology of Art class. Had she half-hoped it would make him react? Yes, yes she had.

Lulu lifted her head at the sound of her voice, her flat face perking up at seeing her, and she prodded up to rub against her legs before going on her merry way. Lulu was a stray like her, alone in the big city, her baby now.

Amara dropped her earrings in the bowl on the dresser, her neck prickling with the presence that came to her back. She looked up at the mirror, seeing him behind her, his jaw clean-shaven, a bruise on his temple that hadn’t been there before, his tall, wide form eclipsing her own.

The butterflies that had been dead in her belly during her entire date fluttered to life just at the presence of this man who didn’t feel for her as she did for him.

“You didn’t answer me, Amara,” he murmured softly, his dark, chocolate eyes tracking her own body, from the red dress she’d worn to the little denim jacket and the scarf she’d paired it with. His eyes took in every inch of her, as though they had missed roving over her skin, and goosebumps broke out over her arms.

“It’s none of your business, Dante,” she rasped out quietly, watching as his eyes darkened in the reflection. He was at her back and while it usually triggered her, being able to see him in the mirror had her mind pausing from the knee-jerk reaction.

She saw his hand rise up in the reflection, coming around to her neck, a finger looping into the silk scarf, tugging it down. Her breathing hitched as she watched him expose her scar to their reflection slowly, his thumb brushing the horizontal mark, his face leaning down to brush his lips against her ear.

“Did he kiss you, Amara?”

Her nipples pebbled. Breathing heavily, her chest heaving, their gazes locked, something heady pulsing between them, Amara shook her head. Dante pressed his lips to her lobe again, the possessive fire in his eyes so familiar yet so foreign.

“Ask me to kiss you.”

Her lips tingled, the memory of the last time she’d asked him for a kiss throbbing between them. She knew if she asked this time, it would change things. They had gone for months without seeing each other, without speaking to each other, living their lives. He had no right to come barging into hers, only to walk away as he pleased. She wouldn’t let herself be a pushover, not for the whim of a man, even if he was the one for her.

Taking a step away from him, Amara threw off her jacket, her temperature too hot. “You don’t have the right to demand anything, Dante. I’m not yours. You gave me up, remember?”

He was in her space before she had spoken the last word, his hands spearing into her hair, tilting her face up, his mouth breaths away from hers.

“You and I, Amara, we will never be anyone else’s,” he murmured, his words ghosting over her lips. “We could fuck a hundred other people but this, this will never go away. Do you feel it pulsing between us?”

Her heart was thundering by the time he finished speaking, his chest an inch away from her heaving breasts. She did feel it, much stronger than it had ever been before. Amara looked up at his lips, the mouth she had tasted on hers in so many different ways, just a command away.

“Are you going to fight for us?” she whispered, the wound of his words still bleeding in her chest.

“I am, Amara,” he told her, his eyes burning, taking in her face. “But I can’t give you more than that right now. I tried staying away, letting you live your life. Fuck, I’ve tried-” he pressed his forehead to hers. “I can’t, Amara. You’re the beat to my fucking heart.”

And he was hers.

Amara felt her eyes burning, remembering the feeling of love and safety she’d felt him, the deep pain of loneliness that had become her constant over the last few months, her nose twitching.

She believed him. For whatever reason, her heart had known even when breaking that he’d not done it out of disregard. And watching him, the anguish on his face, she believed him.

But she didn’t know if this meant anything, or what tomorrow would bring. But she knew she wanted him, wanted everything with this man.

Swallowing down her nerves, her face still cupped in his large, warm palms, Amara stood up on her toes, her nose brushing hers, and spoke the words out.

“Kiss me.”

His lips crashed on hers before she had finished speaking, swallowing the last of her word.

Finally.

Her body trembled.

Amara stretched higher on her toes, the pressure of his mouth making a shiver run down her spine. He tilted her head to the side, slashing his lips more firmly across hers, and licked at the seams of her closed mouth, the taste of him – smoke and wine and him – filling the gnawing hunger inside her. She felt her lips part on a soft moan, and he took the invitation, swooping in, tangling his tongue with hers.

Dante’s kiss was fire through her veins, not the kind that burned her down to cinders and ashes, but the kind that warmed her from the inside out in places she hadn’t known she’d been cold and shivering. It lit up the corners in her being that had been shrouded in darkness, forcing everything malefic to the shadows as she basked in the warmth.

He guided her mouth and she followed, this dance of a different kind, one they’d danced so many times before.

He pulled back, and she opened her eyes, taking in his lips, painted the shade of hers, wet from her mouth. It sent a tendril of something possessive dispersing inside her, watching him wear the evidence of herself on his flesh. She wanted him to be marked with her, just as he had marked her on the inside.

He moved his thumb over her lips, the touch rough.

Before she knew what she was doing, she opened her mouth and sucked it in.

His eyes darkened. “You need to stop if you don’t want to be fucked, Amara.”

Heat snaked inside her body, coiling low in her belly, melting her insides.

She wanted to be fucked. She wanted to be fucked by him. But she didn’t want to panic in the middle of it.

She bit down on his thumb, keeping her eyes steady on his. “Go slow, please.”

His eyes flared and suddenly, she was flat on her back on the bed, her legs dangling over the edge, Dante kneeling between them, his gaze on hers, his mouth a heartbeat away from her panties.

“Do you want me to stop?”

She shook her head mutely, her heart hammering in a way that sent wetness pooling between her legs.

He took a hold of her panties, pulling them down her legs and throwing them on the bed, his fingers finding her folds. “Fuck, you’re drenched.”

His rough, hard voice noting that with his rough, hard fingers on her flesh just made her wetter. She pushed a hand in his hair, moaning. “Dante.”

She felt his hands get a hold under her knees, pushing her legs back towards her on the bed, splaying her wide open to his eyes. “I’m going to eat this pussy until they bury me in the ground,” he stated, his mouth falling on her folds.

Amara arched off the bed, her hands gripping his hair, liquid heat moving through her body, spiraling to the spot his mouth devoured her. And he devoured her, his tongue plunging inside, tasting her, learning her spots, one of his hands coming down on her little nub of flesh, his thumb rubbing her vigorously as he ate her out like it was his sole purpose in life.

It was her first time being eaten out, and god she loved it. This pleasure was nothing like anything she’d felt before, not even the few times she’d tried to touch herself since the assault. She had never been this wet; the orgasm had never been this close. Writhing against his face, noises of pleasure escaping her throat, Amara pulled his mouth closer, never wanting him to move away.

“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged her, making out with her pussy like it was the last time he would have it. “Ride my face. Fuck, you taste so good. Use my tongue.”

God, he was a talker. A dirty, nasty talker under those suits. It turned her on even more.

His tongue swirled around her clit, side to side, round and round, diagonally, every which way, and Amara felt a wave so intense crash over her it made her scream, the cords in her throat straining as pleasure flooded her, her legs spasming out of control as she came all over him.

He held her down through it all, letting her ride the wave, keeping her rooted to the bed as she slowly came down.

She felt limp. Heavy, like her bones weighed a ton, but in the best way.

Blinking, she looked up as he hovered over her, between her legs, still in his suit, looking down at her with a look so visceral it made something in her heart clench.

“Hi,” she whispered, her chest heaving.

His lips, still wet from her, tilted upwards. “Hi. You okay?”

She licked her lips. She could feel the bulge in his pants pressed against her naked heat and knew she was probably leaving a wet spot over him. And while the evidence of his arousal itself made memories want to resurface, she wanted nothing more than this man, buried as deep as he could be inside her, one with her in every way he could be.

She had to do this. She needed to do this. Keeping their gazes locked, strengthened by the possessive heat in those brown eyes, knowing he would rather cut off his arm than physically hurt her, she knew he would let her.

“Two things-” she told him softly “-don’t ever take me from behind, and don’t call me a slut.”

He raised his eyebrows slightly, and he hesitated for a second. “Is there something I should know before we do this?”

Amara felt her palms get clammy. “No.” She could never tell him, not when that shame still curled in her gut.

“You sure?”

She nodded. Raising her hands, she slowly started to undo the buttons on his shirt, exposing inch after inch of delicious male flesh he hid under those expensive suits of his until he hovered over her with his jacket on and shirt gaping open, his chest covered by a sparse smattering of hair, trailing down to solid abs, down to his belt and the bulge under it.

She pushed on his shoulders. “Lie back,” she told him quietly and saw his lips pull up in his typical smirk.

“As you wish, my lady.”

A laugh escaped her. “Did you just quote The Princess Bride while I’m trying to seduce you?”

“You never have to try, Amara,” he murmured, tracing her lips with his fingers before laying back, linking his arms behind his head. “In my defense, you did make me watch that movie twice.”

“You liked it,” Amara pointed out.

“I loved it,” he said, his gaze surprisingly sober on hers. “I believe in true love, and I believe in waiting for it. Would you have waited, Amara? If it had been you in the movie, would you have waited on a promise, not knowing why or when or how?”

She knew they weren’t talking about the movie anymore. She climbed over him, straddling his waist, his erection pressing right into her core.

“Is my true love trying to find me, be with me, in the movie?” she asked, her heart pounding as she unzipped him, feeling his cock in her hands for the first time.

She saw his abs flex at her touch, but he stayed still, watching her. “Every single day.”

Her heart stuttered. She couldn’t keep her walls up against him, not when he said shit like that and actually meant it.

Ignoring how his word affected her, she wrapped her fingers around him, or tried to, the feel of him soft but hard, heavy, in her palm. With her other hand, she pat one of his pant pockets, taking out his leather wallet, hoping there was a condom in it.   

There was. Taking it out, she squirmed back, ripping it open with her teeth, and finally looking down at his cock, the first cock she had actually seen outside of porn.

It was big. Big. Fuck.

Panic started to seep into the edges. She couldn’t take it in. She wouldn’t be able to take it in. It would hurt.

God, it couldn’t hurt.

Her hand trembled, and she felt him take the condom from her, rolling it over his erection in a smooth motion.

That cleared some of the haze of her panic. She wasn’t doing this with some random stranger who would push into her without any thought or possibly hurt her. This was Dante. The man who had picked up her body when it had been at its most broken and held her soul when she had thought it beyond repair, giving her gold to fill her cracks every day for three years. He was the most dangerous man that she knew, but also the noblest in a way. She knew he would never she was at her safest when she was with him. And if she told him to stop, he would stop.

Taking a deep breath in, she looked into his eyes, opening her legs wider, feeling his tip touch her nether lips.

“I would wait for you for an eternity, Dante Maroni,” she whispered to him, slowly lowering herself on his erection, feeling her walls stretch to accommodate his thickness. A breath whooshed out of her and she pulled her dress off, exposing every inch of her body to his hungry gaze. “But that eternity would be spent alone, wouldn’t it?”

His hands came up to cup her breasts, squeezing them hard and she sank an inch deeper on him, trying to rotate her hips to lessen the burn. He pulled her forward so she leaned down, her nipples brushing over his chest, as his hands slid into her hair, his jaw clenched, his eyes fierce on hers.

“One day, I’m going to put my ring on that finger, Amara,” he grit out, pushing up another inch into her. “One day, I’m going to put my babies inside you. Just wait for me, baby. Please wait for me.”

Amara felt her breath hitch, her heart stuttering as she finally sank all the way down on his length, feeling full but not invaded, her eyes holding his gaze. “What about-” she asked him, her voice soft, squirming as he throbbed inside her. “-you being Dante Maroni. One day, you’ll have to find yourself a mafia princess and put your ring on her and your babies inside her.” God, just the thought of that hurt. She already hated his future wife. “Remember what you said? We’re not a love story. We’re a tragedy waiting to happen.”

Suddenly, she was on her back as he loomed over her, pushing inside her deeper than she’d thought possible, his mouth a fraction away from hers. “Then, let’s make it a good one.”

He placed her knees over his elbows, opening her wider as he pulled out of her, leaning back completely. Amara felt herself moan as her walls clenched, empty of him, wanting him back, and within a second, he thrust back in. The power of his thrust pushed her up on the bed, her breasts bouncing, and he leaned down, taking one of her nipples into her mouth. The suction sent a shot of pleasure to her core, making her muscles squeeze around him, her hands gripping her sheets beside her.

This felt like nothing she could have imagined, nothing from her nightmares.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he said on another hard thrust, his teeth tugging on her nipple, his thumb settling on her clit, rubbing between her legs. “So tight and wet and mine. This pussy has been mine, hasn’t it Amara?”

She was getting mindless with pleasure, her neck straining to the side as she tried to hold back the wave from crashing into her.

“Let go, baby,” she heard him whisper into her ear, her legs completely pressing back as he leaned over her, licking her neck, his chest rubbing against her nipples in friction that sent heat spiraling through her.

“Come for me, Amara.”

Thrust. Rub. Lick.

“Grip my cock with your pussy.”

Thrust. Rub. Nip.

“Feel that?”

Thrust. Rub. Bite.

“You dirty girl, so wet for me.”

Thrust. Rub. Lick.

“You’re making a puddle on the sheets.”

And she came.

Like a rocket that shot up into the sky and splintered apart in a million pieces of fire and smoke, evaporating into nothingness in seconds. She came so, so hard her teeth punctured her lips, a strangled cry leaving her throat, her body jerking in his arms as he held her down, still moving inside her, still fucking her like she was his dirty girl and her pussy his to plunder.

“Look at me,” he grit out, pushing his hands into her hair, gripping her head to keep it still as she slowly came down to the ground.

“You” thrust “are” thrust “mine”.

With that he picked up the pace, hammering his hips against her, his pelvis pushing her clit on every downward motion, his eyes, those beautiful, dark eyes, steady on hers, seeing her completely laid bare and naked and vulnerable and open in every way that she could be. He saw it and he took it, and she gave and gave and gave, the intimacy of their bodies, their gazes, their hearts all connecting in one tandem until she didn’t know where she ended and where he began. That look in his eyes – pure unadulterated desire for everything – pushed her over the edge again.

She felt him jerk inside her, his growl rough as he came, his cock pushing as deep into her as it could go, making her walls weep around him.

Their bodies came down from the high of their orgasm slowly, sweaty, and spent. He got up and went to the bathroom, and she just lay there unmoving, staring at the ceiling, waiting for her heart to gradually calm down.

The feel of something wet between her legs had her looking down, to see him cleaning her with a wet towel, and she felt her heart squeeze in her chest. Why did he have to be so perfect for her?

He threw the towel to the side, stripping out of his clothes, exposing his entire body to her eyes for the first time up close.

Amara watched the muscles and ridges on his body – the broad shoulders she’d held on to multiple times as he carried her, the strong arms that made her feel the safest she’d ever felt, the beautiful chest she wanted to use as a pillow for the rest of her life. She watched him – from his big, beautiful feet to his muscled thighs, to his semi-hard cock, to his happy trail, to his abs, to his pecs, to his neck, and finally, to his eyes.

He leaned down and kissed her softly, stretching out beside her.

“You okay, baby?” he asked against her lips as she cupped his jaw. She went from ‘dirty girl’ to ‘baby’ and she loved it. The brain was such a weird thing. She would’ve thought being called a dirty girl would have possibly triggered her. But when he said it like that, in his voice of warm chocolate and twisted sheets, his dark eyes worshipping her skin, ‘dirty girl’ felt like ‘goddess’. She loved it. How could she ever stand a chance against this man when he made her feel like this?

She nodded to his question. “How is my mom?”

“Safe. Enjoying the challenge of trying to get into Tristan’s house. Mine is pretty boring for her.”

Amara huffed a laugh, imagining it vividly. “How is he doing?”

“Same old,” he told her, playing with her hair, his fingers holding a wild curl. “He actually bought a property in the city.”

“In Tenebrae?”

He shook his head. “In Shadow Port. It’s not that far from here. You should go sometime. I think he’ll like that.”

Amara felt a flutter of excitement in her system, her heart aching at the thought of having a friend in the city, even though Tristan wasn’t a conventional one. “Does that mean he’ll be here often?”

“I think he’ll be here a lot,” he said, his eyes taking a measure of her. “You know Gabriel Vitalio?”

She nodded. Of course, she knew the infamous Vitalio. She was in his city.

“He has a daughter – Morana,” he hesitated. “Tristan has a history with her. Let’s leave it at that for now.”

Amara knew he wanted to share, but she didn’t push, knowing he would tell her if he wanted to. Changing the topic, she asked, “What about your brother? How is he?”

There was silence for a beat before he pulled her leg over his hip, their bodies pressed together, his eyes on the ceiling. “Damien is doing good. He’s almost your age but his brain is extraordinary. His Asperger’s diagnosis has been confirmed by another doctor so they’re making special learning modules for him.”

Amara rubbed the line of his chest. “Is he safe?”

“Yeah,” Dante took her hand, interlinking their fingers together. “I faked his death so my fucking father wouldn’t use him as a pawn anymore. But I can’t see him for a long time. Not until Daddy dearest is dead.”

Amara felt her heart pound, her mind absorbing the lengths this man could go to, to protect the people he loved. She forgot sometimes, in moments like this when he was soft with her, that he was still the same ruthless Dante Maroni who was rumored to have interrogated a guy for thirty hours without getting a speck of blood on his clothes. Without his clothes, naked as he was now, Amara saw him in his entirety – the man and the beast.

“What’s that look for?” he asked quietly, tracing the palm of her smaller hand with his thumb.

“Is it the same with me?” she asked her voice nothing more than a whisper. “That I’m off the board until your father is dead?” Yeah, she felt no remorse for thinking about the death of that man.

Dante turned back to the ceiling, his mouth curling. “You remember what I told you about chess pieces? That I didn’t know what piece you were?”

“Yes.”

He turned his neck to put his eyes on hers. “You’re the queen on the board, Amara. You’re my most powerful piece, but my most vulnerable. They get you, they get me, and the game is over. So, I’ll do whatever I need to make sure they never get you. Even if that means hiding you like my dirty little secret for the time being.”

Amara swallowed, her heart in her throat. Could she live like that? “So, what now?”

“Now, we deflect,” he told her. “We move on with our lives. I take a mafia princess or two on a date. You take a guy or two on a date. I go about taking over the business. You go about your classes and therapy. Any eyes watching us see that we’re over. But we go home alone.” His eyes blazed on hers. “Nobody touches you, Amara, or I’ll spend a lot of time cleaning up a lot of blood.”

“And same goes for you?” she asked, just wanting to confirm.

“I’m not a hypocrite, baby,” he brushed her hair back from her face. “I’m not asking you to do anything I won’t be doing myself. Nobody touches me either, just you. I have an apartment in Tristan’s building. When we’re in the city, I’ll sneak away to come to see you. No phones or anywhere online, it’s all traceable. If we happen to meet during the day, you’re someone I used to know and I’m someone who broke your heart. My father can never get a whiff of the real thing.”

Amara went up on an elbow, her heart thundering as she processed everything he was saying. He hadn’t given up on them, he had just played them all like the master manipulator he was. Could she trust him to not play her? “And in between? If you get horny?”

He held her jaw in his hand, the gesture one of such dominance it sent fire licking at her bones. “Then, I wrap my fist around my cock and remember how tight your pussy felt, and I come.”

His other hand slid down her body, cupping her between her legs, the heat of his palm stark against her wetness. “It’s that simple, baby. I’m not a slave to my desires, they’re a slave to me.”

Amara processed that, looking at the sincerity and openness on his face, the kind she’d rarely seen him give to anyone for a long time. He had perfected his mask of a charming, easy-going, easily underestimated guy. Laying bare as he was, she could see how much he hid – the manipulation, the shrewdness, the sincerity.

His eyes moved over her face. “What I’m offering is not what you deserve, but for your own safety I can’t give more than this right now. I don’t even know when I could give you what you do deserve. There’s no timeline to this, so it won’t be easy. But you get to choose. If you don’t want this, tell me now. I’ll walk away and I’ll stay away, and you’ll never have to deal with me again.”  

She didn’t want that. She wanted him. She wanted a future with him even if she didn’t know what it looked like. It was a risk and if it backfired, Amara didn’t think she’d be able to recover from that loss.

“And if I want this?” she asked him softly, hand fingers wrapped around his wrist, feeling his steady pulse under her palm. “What then? What do we do for now?”

“We hide in the shadows for now.” Dante gave her that little grin, the one that always sent butterflies fluttering in her belly, and whispered against her lips, “So, will you play with me, my queen?”

Amara looked into the eyes of the man she loved, saw that same love reflected back at her, and sealed their fates.

“Yes, I will, my king.”

They made love one more time before sunrise.

Amara woke up to see him getting dressed, her throat tightening even as her heart felt joy. She saw as he gave Lulu a head rub and came to her, leaning on his hands beside her face.

“I have to leave,” he told her, his eyes soft, his mouth swollen from their kisses.

Amara nodded.

He bent to press a kiss to her lips, then presses their foreheads together for a long second.

And then he straightened and walked out, leaving her in her bed, with a smile on her face and a hope in her heart. 

Days became weeks.

He came to see her five times those first few weeks. She wrapped them away in her memories.

She saw more of him on the internet, sometimes alone, sometimes with a woman. She ignored it as he asked.

It chipped away little pieces of her.

Weeks became months.

She finished school with accelerated classes, started her master’s degree, began her therapy training. Made friends with books, talked to Lulu, continued with her own therapy. Embraced her demons in the morning, grew into herself in the afternoon, found pleasure in her body at night.

He came many times.

He left every time.

Chip, chip, chip.

Months became years.

She celebrated her twenty-second birthday with him.

She finished her accelerated Master’s, got on her Doctorate, and studied her ass off. She spoke to her mother every other day, kept in touch with Vin and Nerea, and went to Tristan’s penthouse occasionally.

He started spending a few days at a time with her, risking everything for one time.

He had to force himself to leave every damn time, saving everything for next time.

Chip, chip, chip.

Years became six.

With her professional evolution and personal therapy, twenty-five knocked on her door with blooming confidence. She finished her doctorate, started her business, got new clients, moved into an apartment she bought herself. She went out on dates, covered her scars, and wore her heels, and came home alone.

Some days, she felt she was weak for waiting for him. Other days, she felt she was strong for waiting for him. The coin kept flipping, the only constant her deepening love for him and his maddening love for her.

He rose in the ranks, became a true heir to the throne, and Amara felt proud.

He never touched another woman, his heart and body and soul all hers, and Amara felt loved.

He loved coming to her, holding her for long minutes like his arms had been famished.

He hated leaving her, pressing his forehead to hers as her eyes burned.

They hid in the shadows.

Chip, chip, chip. 

Six years became seven.

They became the roots of a tree, buried deep underground, out of sight, twined together, entangled together, strengthening each other, weakening each other, taking all the love like nourishment, storing it in secret places, all the while waiting for the tree that had been violently cut to sprout leaves again.

It took time for forests to grow, kingdoms to build, and empires to exist. Where one was being broken, another was being molded to take its place.

They were lovers and friends, strangers and acquaintances, all those things, none of those things.

They just were.

Waiting.

Chip, chip, chip.

Her exile never ended.

They never truly began.

But empires took more time to break than people, and slowly it cracked.