The room was thick with the tension of a thousand battles—every shove, every claw, every whispered word lingering in the air like smoke. Ishani's chest heaved, heat coiled tight in her stomach, and every muscle in her body screamed to run, resist, fight.
Dante watched her, eyes dark and relentless, smirk fading into something more dangerous—something that threatened to consume. He stepped closer, closing the distance until she could feel the heat radiating off his chest, his gaze locking with hers like iron.
"You've fought beautifully," he murmured, voice low, husky, every word designed to unsettle her. "Every protest, every struggle, every word… has only drawn me closer."
"I'm not—" she began, voice raw, trembling with fury.
"Not yet," he whispered, cutting her off with a finger tilting her chin up. "But soon, bella. Very soon."
Her pulse spiked as he leaned in, chest pressing against hers, fingers threading through her hair. She twisted, shoved, clawed at his chest—but Dante anticipated every move. He held her firmly yet gently, giving her the illusion of control while tightening the cage around her with precision.
"You're impossible," she hissed, lips quivering, teeth gritted in defiance. "And I hate… I hate…"
He silenced her with a low growl, pressing his lips over hers with a force that stole her breath. It wasn't tentative. It wasn't teasing. It was deliberate, consuming, the culmination of every brush, every almost-kiss, every battle that had preceded this moment.
Ishani gasped, her hands clawing at his chest, trying to shove him away, but the fire in her body betrayed her. Heat coiled tight, pulse racing, breath mingling with his. She struggled, yes—but against the inevitability of this kiss, she was powerless.
Dante deepened the kiss, sliding one hand to her waist, the other threading through her hair. He kissed her like claiming a prize, like cementing the fact that all the defiance, all the fury, all the words… had only made this inevitable.
Her body pressed closer in spite of herself, hips meeting him despite every protest. She twisted and flailed, claws digging into his shoulders, teeth bared in defiance, but the fire in her veins tangled with desire, making it impossible to separate the two.
"You belong to me," he murmured against her lips, voice husky, dangerous, almost reverent. "Every fight, every word, every scream… it only proves it further."
Ishani gasped, pulling back just slightly, eyes wide, cheeks blazing, heart hammering like a drum. "I—"
"You don't get to speak right now," Dante whispered, capturing her mouth again, slower this time, savoring her taste, her warmth, her heat. His hands held her firmly, yet there was a reverence, a claim, a dangerous kind of tenderness threading through the storm of their kiss.
Her nails sank into him instinctively, her body thrumming with adrenaline and something far more dangerous. She tried to resist, tried to push him, tried to reclaim her control—but the kiss was relentless, suffocating, intoxicating.
Dante pulled back slightly, forehead resting against hers, breaths mingling, eyes dark with obsession. "See? You fought me, resisted me, argued with me… and yet, here we are. You taste me now, bella. You feel what you've denied."
Her chest heaved, lips parted, eyes wide with fury, embarrassment, and undeniable heat. "You… you're insane," she gasped.
"And you… are mine," he murmured, brushing her hair back, letting the claim linger in every brush of his lips, every possessive glance, every heat-laden touch.
The storm of their fight, their words, their almost-kisses—all of it—the slow burn, the tension, the obsession… culminated here. Ishani glared, trembling, but Dante's victory was undeniable.
For the first time, he had claimed her fully—not in force, not in cruelty, but in the slow, consuming fire that was them. And though she would fight again tomorrow, though her heart screamed defiance, Dante knew this moment would linger in both of them forever.