Anastasia felt her back sink into the plush cushions of the sofa, the rich velvet swallowing her slight frame as though the furniture itself had been designed to cage her there. The world seemed to pause in that moment, every noise outside dimming, every breath she took echoing back at her louder than it should have.
Dante's mouth finally tore away from hers, though the lingering burn of his kiss still branded her lips. He didn't step back. He didn't give her space. He loomed, shadow and man all at once, his presence suffocating yet addictive, the sharp cut of his jaw framed by the low glow of the chandelier above. His black eyes were unrelenting, taking her apart inch by inch.
"You're beautiful, Anastasia," he whispered, his voice a low rasp, more command than compliment.
