King of Wrath (Kings of Sin)

I didn’t move back in with Dante.

Part of me wanted to, but I wasn’t ready to jump in with both feet again so soon.

I did, however, agree to another date with him.

Three days after our movie night, we arrived at a quiet corner of the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. It was a gorgeous afternoon, all clear skies and golden sunshine, and the picnic setup looked like something out of a fairytale.

A low wooden table stretched across a thick ivory blanket, surrounded by huge cushions, gold and glass floor lanterns, and an oversized wicker hamper. The table itself was set with porcelain plates and a feast of foods, including baguettes, charcuterie, and desserts.

“Dante,” I breathed, stunned by the sheer intricacy of the setup.

“What…”

“I remembered how much you like picnics.” His palm slid from my hip to the small of my back. Fire licked over my skin, chasing away my goosebumps from the sight before us.

“Please don’t tell me you shut down the garden for this.”

Most visitors picnicked on one of the grassy lawns, but we were smack dab in the middle of an actual garden.

“Of course not,” Dante said. “I only reserved part of it.”

His amusement following my groan was a cool glass of water on a hot day, and the atmosphere was comfortable enough to sink into as we settled around the table.

It was easy and effortless, a far cry from the poignant but charged air the other night. Here, I could almost forget the troubles waiting for us outside the lush confines of the garden.

“This might be the longest date I’ve been on,” I said. It’d started with a special exhibition at the Whitney Museum, followed by mimosas at an exclusive brunch party and now this.

On the surface, it seemed like any other lavish date, but I suspected Dante had an ulterior motive. The rumors regarding our relationship and my father’s company were escalating. By taking me out so publicly, he was making a statement: our relationship was rock solid (even though it wasn’t), and any slander about me personally wouldn’t be tolerated. My tie to him was the best form of protection against vicious society gossip.

No one wanted to piss Dante off.

“We can make it longer.” His grin worked its way into my chest. If he was upset about me rejecting his proposal to move back in, he didn’t show it. He hadn’t brought up the issue since his initial disappointment.

“Overnight trip to upstate New York? I have a cabin in the Adirondacks.”

“Don’t push it. I’m docking the extra hours off of our next date.”

“So there is going to be a next date.”

“Maybe. Depends if you keep annoying me or not.”

His deep-rumbled laugh scattered tingles down my spine.

“I don’t come to Brooklyn often, but I’ve been visiting more since my brother’s girlfriend lives here.” A grimace touched his mouth. “Guess what her name is.”

“I have no idea.”

“Leaf,” he said flatly. “Her name is Leaf Greene.”

I almost choked on my water. “Her parents have a, uh, unique sense of humor.”

Leaf Greene? Her middle school years must’ve been horrific.

“She’s been helping Luca do ‘inner work,’ whatever the hell that means.

But he’s not doing cocaine or drinking himself into unconsciousness at a nightclub, so it’s progress.” Dante’s tone was dry.

“How are things between you and Luca?” He’d mentioned they were talking more, but I didn’t know where things stood with them.

Dante poured a glass of mint iced tea and slid it across the table toward me. “Different. Not bad, but…different. He’s matured over the past year, and I don’t worry as much about getting a call to bail him out of jail in the middle of the night. We agreed to bimonthly meals together.” Another grimace. “Last one was at Leaf’s house, and she cooked fucking tofu chicken.”

A laugh spilled out. “Tofu can be good if prepared properly.”

“Tofu as tofu, not as chicken. Chicken should be chicken,” Dante growled. “And in case you were wondering, no, she didn’t prepare it properly. It tasted like chewy cardboard.”

I couldn’t help laughing again.

The public thought we were still engaged, but it was private moments like these that I’d missed—the little jokes and asides, the personal details, the conversations about mundane topics that, taken as a whole, meant as much as more meaningful talks.

Love wasn’t always about the big moments. More often, it was tucked in the small moments connecting the major ones.

This date felt like one of those. A stepping stone on our path toward potential reconciliation.

I wasn’t ready to fully trust Dante again, but I might one day.

“For someone who hasn’t had a serious relationship in years, you’re pretty good at putting together these dates,” I said after we finished eating.

We walked through the garden to stretch our legs and soak in our surroundings before we left.

All around us, spring flowers bloomed—lilacs, peonies, and azaleas; dogwoods, wild geraniums, and Spanish bluebells. The air was alive with the sweet scents of nature, but I barely noticed. I was too distracted by Dante’s scent and the heat emanating from his body.

It touched my side, warm and heavy even though we walked a respectable distance from each other.

“It’s easy when you know the other person.” His reply was both casual and intimate.

My heart wavered for a beat. “And you think you know me?”

“I like to think I do.”

We stopped in the shade of a nearby tree, its trunk against my back, its branches arching overhead in a canopy of leaves.

Sunlight dappled through the foliage, turning Dante’s eyes into the color of rich, molten amber. A five o’clock shadow stubbled his strong jaw and cheeks, and my entire body tingled when I remembered the scratch of that stubble on my inner thighs.

The air sparked, a lit match in a pool of gasoline.

All the banked heat we’d suppressed during lunch surged toward the surface in an unabashed wave. My skin was suddenly too hot, my clothes too heavy. An electric link snaked around us, slow and sinuous.

“For example…” Had my voice always been that high and breathy?

“For example, I know you’re still scared,” Dante said softly. “I know you’re not ready to fully trust me again, but you want to. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.”

His observation pierced my mask like it was made of nothing more than breaths and whispers.

Another wavering heartbeat. “That’s quite an assumption.”

“Perhaps.” A step brought him closer. My pulse sped up. “Then tell me.

What do you want?”

“I…” His fingertips grazed my wrist, and my pulse broke into a flat-out sprint.

“Whatever it is, I’ll give it to you.” Dante threaded his fingers with mine, his gaze steady. Hot.

Words eluded me, lost in the haze clouding my brain.

We stared at each other, the air heavy with things we wanted to but couldn’t say.

Amber darkened into midnight. Dante’s body was a study in tension, his jaw hard and his shoulders so taut his muscles were almost vibrating.

His next words pitched low and rough. “Tell me what you want, Vivian.

Do you want me on my knees?”

Oh God.

Oxygen disappeared when he slowly lowered himself to the ground, the movement both proud and subservient.

His breath fanned across my skin. “Do you want this?” His fingers trailed from my hand down over the back of my leg, leaving fire in their wake.

My thoughts muddled, but I had the remaining sense to know this wasn’t about sex. It was about vulnerability. Atonement. Absolution.

It was a pivotal moment disguised as an inconsequential one and condensed into one word.

“Yes.” It was both command and capitulation, moan and sigh.

Dante’s breath released.

If I were with anyone else, I’d worry about someone walking by and seeing us. But Dante’s presence was like an invisible shield protecting me from the rest of the world.

If he didn’t want anyone to see us, they wouldn’t.

His palms burned as they parted my thighs.

He’d barely touched me, and I was already on fire.

I tipped my head back, drowning in arousal, in heat and lust and the reverence of his touch as he kissed his way up my thigh. His stubble rasped against my skin and sent tiny shocks of pleasure down my spine.

“I’m sorry.” The aching whisper ghosted over me, seeping into my veins and settling into my bones. Another shiver ran through me. “I’m sorry for hurting you…” A soft kiss at the delicate crease between my thigh and insistent heat. “For pushing you away…” He slid my underwear to the side and gently touched his tongue to my clit. “For ever making you feel unwanted when you’re the only person I’ve ever loved.”

His raw words blended with my cry when he drew my clit into his mouth and sucked. My body arched away from the tree. My hands sank into his hair, and I could only hold on as he worshipped me with his lips and hands and tongue.

Rough yet smooth. Firm yet pleading. Carnal yet tender. Every movement sent another jolt of pure sensation through me.

Pressure built simultaneously in my chest and at the base of my spine. I was breathless with it, flying high on nothing but emotion and adrenaline.

He drew back and grazed his teeth against my sensitive clit. He pushed two fingers inside me, thrusting and curling while I writhed with abandon.

Dante knew my body. He knew exactly which buttons to push and which spots to hit, and he played it like a finely tuned instrument. A maestro conducting an orchestra of sighs and moans.

He pressed his thumb against my clit at the same time he hit my G-spot.

The pressure exploded.

My orgasm rocked through me, and my cries still echoed in the air when Dante rose to his feet, his chest heaving.

He braced his hands on either side of my head and tenderly kissed away the tears sliding down my cheeks.

I hadn’t realized I’d been crying.

He paused when he reached my lips.

Silence thickened between us as his mouth hovered a hair’s breadth from mine, waiting. Hoping. Seeking permission.

I almost gave in. Almost tilted my chin up and closed the breath between us while my body buzzed from the aftershocks of my climax.

Instead, I turned my head. Just a fraction, but enough for Dante to step back with a ragged breath.

We took a big step forward, but I wasn’t ready for another one yet. I was too physically and emotionally drained.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“You don’t have to apologize, mia cara. ” His fingers twined with mine again, strong and reassuring. His eyes were soft. “As many steps as it takes, remember? We’ll get there.”