Touching The Bare Skin

Dante handed Evie the fresh bottle. His long, calloused fingers brushed against hers in the brief exchange. It was a fleeting friction, the kind of casual physical contact people romanticized in cheap romance paperbacks and bad movies. But Evie felt a real, physical jolt rip through her nerves. Her breath hitched in her throat, catching hard in her chest like she had just been shoved awake in the middle of a fever dream. Men like him did not notice women like her. Cleaners who clipped grocery coupons, scrubbed other people's filth, and drove beat-up sedans with broken windows usually remained invisible. Yet here she was, standing in a multi-million-dollar penthouse, and his dark gaze was locked on her like a target he intended to hunt down.

Dante stepped closer. He closed the physical distance between them in two smooth strides, shrinking the massive living room until the air felt tight, heavy, and hard to breathe. A soft mechanical hum broke the silence as the floor-to-ceiling curtains began to slide shut on their own, cutting off the sprawling city skyline. The bright, glittering neon of the city vanished behind the thick fabric. The enormous room sank into dim, moody shadows. It left just the two of them trapped in an intimate dusk, surrounded only by the sharp, ragged breaths echoing in the quiet space.

“See?” Dante murmured. His voice dropped low, rich and vibrating with intent. His warm breath brushed against the sensitive skin of her cheek. “Everything’s better with just a little bit of light.”

Evie knew she should roll her eyes. Her survival instincts demanded she stand up, grab her cheap duffel bag, and walk out the door with her five hundred dollars and her pride still intact. She did not move an inch. Her heavy work boots stayed firmly planted on the expensive rug.

“You’re used to getting your way, aren’t you, Mr. Vincenzi?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady despite the rapid pounding of her heart.

A slow, wicked smirk curved his lips. “Dante, please,” he corrected her, his tone dropping an octave. “And… maybe. But I don’t mind earning it when the prize is worth the effort.”

He leaned in. There was no hesitation, no polite question asking for permission. The raw, unfiltered heat between them flared into a wild fire.

“Please,” Dante whispered, his mouth hovering just a fraction of an inch from hers. “Don’t pull away.”

She didn't.

Evie leaned into him. She abandoned every ounce of logic and self-preservation because the magnetic pull of a dangerous man was too strong to fight. Then, Dante’s mouth crashed down on hers. There was nothing gentle or tentative about his kiss. He claimed her lips with a ruthless, performative intensity. He kissed her like he owned her, like his only goal was to consume and ruin her all at once. His tongue forced past her lips, sweeping into her mouth and tasting her. The aggressive, wet intrusion coaxed a helpless moan from deep in her throat. Her body went soft, surrendering to the dominant assault.

His hands moved fast, taking control of her body. One large hand slid up her back. His long fingers splayed wide over her spine, gripping her tight and yanking her flush against his hard chest. His other hand dropped to her hip, his grip firm and demanding. He slid his palm lower, curving his heavy hand over the round swell of her ass. He squeezed her hard, his fingers digging into her flesh with enough blunt force to make her gasp right into his mouth.

Evie reached for him, her hands shaking with adrenaline. Her fingers clawed into the smooth, expensive fabric of his shirt. She slid her hands up to his broad shoulders, holding on tight to anchor herself against the dizzying spin of the heavy kiss. Dante shifted the angle of his head, his lips moving with a slow, dark rhythm. He softened his bite for a second to tease the corner of her mouth, then deepened the kiss again with fresh, animalistic hunger. The hand on her back moved higher, his fingers burying into her messy hair. He tilted her head back to expose her neck, his tongue exploring every inch of her mouth until her lungs burned for oxygen.

She pressed her chest flush against his solid torso. Her body responded, aching for friction despite the loud warning sirens going off in her brain. Dante’s hand left her ass and slid up under the hem of her shirt. His warm, confident fingers grazed the bare skin of her waist. He traced slow circles on her flesh, sending a sharp shiver straight down her spine. Dante let out a low groan against her lips. It was a tiny crack in his smooth, lethal armor, and that raw sound made Evie’s heart pound against her ribs. He was just as desperate and hungry in this confined space as she was, their mutual lust feeding off each other.

He pulled back after a long minute. It was sixty seconds that felt more like a dangerous dare than a simple kiss. Evie sucked in a desperate lungful of air. Dante stared down at her, wearing the arrogant grin of a man who already knew he was a memory she would never forget. His dark blue eyes burned with heat as they raked over her flushed cheeks, her swollen, parted lips, and the heavy rise and fall of her chest.

Evie felt dazed. The aftershocks of his rough hands and wet mouth still hummed through her veins. “You’re... Wow, that was... Very good,” she murmured. The breathless words tumbled out of her mouth before she could bite them back.

Dante soaked up the honest compliment. His grin grew wider, flashing a dangerous glint of triumph. He loved the validation.

“I aim to please,” Dante said, his voice a low, dirty rumble. “But that? That was just the warm-up. Upstairs, I can really show off.”

The invitation was blatant. Evie swallowed hard. This was the exact moment a smart woman would beg off and run for the elevator to save herself. She looked up at him instead. She stared right into the dark, primal hunger shining in his eyes and made a choice she knew would haunt her the next day.

“I’ll regret this tomorrow,” she breathed out.

Dante’s smirk deepened. His arrogance was intoxicating, radiating a supreme confidence that left her weak in the knees. “No, sweetheart. You’ll regret not doing it sooner.”

Before she could blink, Dante swept her off her feet. He scooped her up into his arms, carrying her bridal style without breaking a single sweat. He walked past the living room furniture and carried her straight up the floating staircase to the second floor.

He brought her into his massive bedroom. The space was dominated by a huge king-sized bed covered in dark, designer linens. Dante laid her down gently on the mattress. He climbed onto the bed and hovered his large, muscular frame over her. His eyes were darker now, fixed intently on her face.

He lowered his head and started kissing her again. The pace slowed down this time. He pressed open-mouthed, reverent kisses down her jawline and moved to her neck, his lips pausing right over her racing pulse point.

Evie slid her hands up his chest. The thin fabric of his shirt did not hide the thick slabs of muscle underneath. Her fingers pressed into his chest, feeling the hard, defined ridges, needing to confirm he was a real man and not just a hallucination brought on by a skipped dinner. This man belonged on the cover of a fitness magazine, not in the arms of a broke maid. But perfect abs could not hide the truth: Dante Vincenzi was a predator designed to consume women, not keep them.

Dante let out a rough groan against her neck. His massive body trembled under her touch. Evie realized her hands had power over him. She liked that realization. Dante knew she liked it, too.

He pulled back, grabbed the hem of his shirt, and yanked it over his head.

Evie stared. The bare skin of his chest and arms was covered in sharp, black ink. The mafia tattoos were bold and unapologetic. A fierce wolf was etched across his skin in aggressive, sharp lines, projecting raw danger and immense strength. Right below the wolf sat three interlocking rings, a crown, the word "South", and a pair of crossed daggers. The ink screamed violence and authority. There was nothing subtle about this man.

Evie reached out without thinking. Her fingertips traced the dark lines of the wolf on his hot skin. Dante reacted instantly. His hands slid down her sides, his heavy fingers gripping her waist. He grabbed the bottom of her shirt and pulled it up over her head in one swift, aggressive jerk. He threw the fabric aside onto the expensive rug.

“You didn’t—” she started to speak, wanting to protest the dizzying speed of the encounter.

Her words vanished instantly. Dante’s mouth crashed down on hers again, shutting her up with a demanding, wet kiss that swallowed her breath.

Now she laid on his expensive bed in her cheap work pants and her bra. It was a beige lace bra, a sad casualty of skipping laundry day. Dante did not care. His strong fingers found the zipper of her pants. He tugged it down, gripped the rough fabric, and pulled the pants down her legs. He tossed them onto the floor to join her shirt.

Evie was stripped down to the sad beige bra and a tiny black thong. She mentally cursed her best friend Jenna, who had forced her to buy the thong in the first place. *Buy it. One day you’ll thank me,* Jenna had said with a smug grin. Evie supposed this was that day. Sort of.

Dante stood by the edge of the bed and looked at her. It was not a polite, passing glance. His gaze was a hungry, unapologetic feast. He drank in the sight of her nearly naked body. Her stomach was tight, but it came from years of lugging heavy mop buckets and hauling trash bags, not from a fancy Pilates studio. Her curves were built by endless manual labor. She never thought of herself as a seductive woman, but the dark heat in Dante’s eyes told her he strongly disagreed. He looked at her like she was a feast he was about to devour.

The vulnerability hit her hard. The intense heat of a blush crept up her chest and neck, burning her skin as she laid exposed under his predatory stare.

“I know I’m not like the girls you usually—” she started, her voice shaking with raw insecurity.

Dante refused to let her finish the sentence. He dropped back onto the bed, his mouth capturing hers to silence the self-doubt. His large, calloused hand moved down her chest. He cupped her breast right through the beige fabric. His thumb pressed in and dragged rough and hard across the lace, finding the hardened peak underneath. A sharp gasp broke from Evie's lips into his mouth.