I did all that to see her smile when she realized I’d infiltrated the one party we could attend together without anyone seeing my face.

But then I showed up. I drank in the wealth and power in the room. Every rich and influential person in Chicago, and from cities all around. I scanned the room full of beautiful people, looking for the most stunning woman of all.

And I saw her dancing with another man.

I recognized Simone immediately. No one has skin that glows like hers, or a figure that outshines even the most ostentatious gown. She makes every man in the room drool with envy. The lucky fuck she was dancing with knew he was miles out of his league.

But I was jealous anyway. So fucking jealous I could barely breathe.

I could tell the kid was rich just by his watch and his suit. In fact, I was pretty sure he was the same little shit she was talking to at the Young Ambassador’s Dinner.

I wanted to break his fucking legs for dancing with her.

He knew how to dance. He looked like he’d been doing it all his life—and he probably had. He had style, bearing, manners—everything I don’t. And he had Simone in his arms.

So I ripped her away from him. Literally pulled her right out of his hands and took her. I spun her around that floor until she was dizzy, showing every stiff-shirt in that room that she was mine, and I’d take her whenever I wanted.

But it wasn’t enough. Not even close to enough.

So now I’m pulling her off the dance floor, out of the ballroom, all the way out of the party entirely.

Some idiot in a security guard’s uniform tries to stop us.

“Excuse me, sir—sir!” he calls.

I grab a wad of bills out of my pocket and stuff it into his hand. “Shut the fuck up and show me which way we can go to be alone,” I tell him.

He stares at the money for a second, then mutters, “That way. Just don’t touch anything, okay?”

I pull Simone away through the empty galleries of the museum. I’m dragging her along, my hand locked around her wrist.

She’s hurrying after me, stumbling a little in her high heels, with the heavy, cumbersome skirt of her gown slowing her down.

“What are you doing?” she gasps. “Where are we going?”

I have no idea.

I’m just looking for a place. A place where no one can see us or hear us. Where I can take possession of Simone once and for all.

Finally, we come to the Napoleon exhibit. Most of the lights are dimmed. I see a pale plaster death mask, military medals, hand-written letters under glass, a diamond-encrusted sword, a row of glass cologne bottles, and a pair of embroidered slippers. Portraits of the emperor, muskets, and a battered bicorne hat.

And then what I was looking for: a long velvet chaise, emerald green, with four carved legs and pillows at one end. It’s roped off, but otherwise unprotected.

I pick Simone up and I throw her down on that chaise.

“What are you doing!” she says, terrified. “We’re going to get in so much trouble—”

I shove the mask up off my face and I silence her with my mouth crashing down on hers. I kiss her voraciously. I taste the champagne on her tongue. I’m going to wipe every memory of that other man off her flesh. Everywhere he touched her, I’m going to touch her harder.

The chaise groans under my weight. I don’t care. I’ll splinter the whole damn thing with Simone underneath of me. I’ll bring this whole museum, and every artifact inside of it, crashing down around us.

There’s only one thing of value in here: Simone.

She belongs to me. Only to me.

I try to free her chest from the heavy bodice of her gown. The material resists me, and I rip it open. Her breasts spill out. I grope them hard, pinching her nipples until Simone gasps and moans.

I pull up the skirt, too.

She’s wearing thigh-high stockings and lace panties underneath. I rip those off. I push my fingers inside of her. She’s soaking wet, as I knew she would be.

I’ve already waited too long for this.

I’m done waiting.

I set my cock free from my trousers.

It’s raging hard, dying to sink into her warmth and wetness for the very first time. I tell myself to be gentle, to go slow. But my body isn’t taking orders from my brain anymore.

I put the head of my cock at her entrance.

And I plunge inside.

9

Simone

Dante’s lost his mind.

He throws me down on the chaise, not caring that this chair is over two hundred years old and never built for someone his size, let alone both of us.

He pushes up his mask so I can see his face, but that’s hardly any better.

He looks crazed. His eyes are blazing. His jaw an iron bar of tension.

His lips attack mine. He bites my lips, he shoves his tongue in my mouth, sucking the breath from my lungs. His hands are all over me. I hear fabric tearing and I don’t care in the slightest. I want his hands on my body, on my bare flesh.

He grabs my breasts and squeezes them.

Any boy who touched me before did it gently, hesitantly, always asking for permission.

Dante takes what he wants. He takes money, guns, and most of all, me. There’s no law on this earth he won’t break. And he sure as hell doesn’t care about social convention.

So I’m not surprised by how he acts.

I’m surprised by how I respond to it.

My body longs for it. It wants more and more and more. It doesn’t matter how roughly his hands grope and grab and squeeze. My flesh throbs, but the pleasure is so much more intense than the pain.

I’m grinding against him, feeling his rock-hard cock trapped between his belly and my thigh.

I’m terrified of that cock. I probably should have practiced with one that was smaller, softer, more reasonable . . .

It’s too late now. Practicing and waiting are at an end. Dante is taking what he wants tonight. And I want to give it to him.

He rips my panties, tearing them off my waist. He shoves his fingers inside of me. Even that is hard to take. I’m wet and I’m eager, but every muscle in my body is tight, anxious, desperate.

He lets his cock loose and it hits my hip, heavy and hot.

He grabs it, lining it up with my pussy instead.

He pushes the head between my lips. It feels impossibly thick and extremely warm. Much warmer than his fingers or even his tongue.

I’m trembling with nerves. I would say something, but he’s still kissing me, filling my mouth with his tongue. All I can do is wrap my arms around his neck, close my eyes, and hope it doesn’t hurt too much.

Dante grabs my hips in his hands and pulls me toward him. His cock pushes inside of me, an inch at a time.

It does hurt. It hurts a whole fucking lot, actually. And it seems to get worse the deeper he goes.

Even though his cock is so smooth, it’s scraping me raw inside. Shoving and burrowing all the way up. I cry out into his mouth, biting down hard on his lip.

Still, he keeps going. With shallow thrusts, he keeps pushing it all the way inside, until our bodies are tight together, no space between us anymore.

It’s too much. I really can’t stand it.

And yet . . . it feels good, too.

His body heat fills me inside and out. The heavy head of his cock rubs against a spot deep inside me. A spot I didn’t even know existed. That little bit of flesh is a button of pleasure, similar to my clit. It throbs and swells at the slightest touch.