Chapter 21 Chapter 21 – The Jewel and the Cage
Chapter 21 Chapter 21 – The Jewel and the Cage
Dante
I leave her shaking against the desk, her shirt ripped, her body straining for the climax she so foolishly keeps denying herself. The memory of the fight, the wild, desperate need in her eyes, fuels the low, aching throb in my trousers all the way home.
She thinks she won. She thinks that one defiant statement, ‘In your dreams,” will shield her. She’s wrong.
Her defiance simply changed the location and the terms of the surrender. I tell myself I don’t want a frantic, desperate rut in a secure office building anyway. That will be fine for quickies in future. For our first time I want a comfortable location where I can take my time making her scream my name until she’s hoarse. And I’ll get it.
When we arrive at the mansion, I walk her straight up to the suite. I don’t speak a word until she’s standing in the center of the room, still radiating that dangerous, frantic energy.
“Tomorrow night we’re attending a cocktail party at the Falcone estate,” I tell her, shrugging off my jacket. “It’s a necessary public show. You will be attentive. You will be charming. And you will remind every man in that room exactly what happens when they look at what belongs to Dante Cardello.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, covering the torn shirt. “I’m not a puppet, Dante. I don’t do high-kicks when you pull a string.”
“You’re my wife,” I agree, walking to the closet. I pull out a garment bag that was delivered hours ago and toss it onto the bed. “Which means you reflect my strength. Don’t disappoint me. That’s what you’ll be wearing. We leave at seven.”
She doesn’t argue, but her eyes narrow on the bag like it contains a poisonous snake.
The following evening, I’m ready and waiting in our suite by six. Mya is already out of the shower, wrapped in a plush white robe, her hair a cascade of damp, dark curls. Her jaw tightens when she comes out of the bathroom to find me there.
She’s anticipating the next move in our brutal little chess game.
“I can dress myself,” she states, pulling the robe tighter. “I won’t keep you waiting.”
I smile wolfishly. “There’s no need for that darling. I love being helpful. Dry your hair and finish your make-up.”
Her fingers curl into fists at her sides, but she sits down at the vanity table and turns the hairdryer on full blast.
Watching her get ready is no hardship. She’s exquisite during every phase of the process. She avoids my eyes in the mirror, which only serves to let me know my presence intimidates her. When she can’t keep putting it off, she turns to face me with resignation.
I reach for the garment bag and pull out the dress, which she hasn’t bothered looking at.
It’s made of heavy black brocade, structured and severe, with a modern, asymmetrical neckline that cuts sharply across her collarbone. The fabric is dense and unforgiving, a perfect metaphor for the cage I’ve built around her. It’s the antithesis of the soft silks I usually favor, chosen specifically to display control without indulgence.
I toss the accompanying box of undergarments onto the bed. “No panties. I won’t have you wearing anything that complicates access to what’s mine.”
Her cheeks flush, but the fury in her eyes burns hotter than the shame. “That’s disgusting. I refuse.”
“Refusal is not an option,” I say, my voice dropping to that low, absolute register. “I want you completely naked beneath the dress, save for the accessories I provide, lest you forget who you belong to.”
She stares at the dress, then at me, running the calculations in her clever, rebellious mind. She finally nods once, sharp and brittle.
I make her drop the robe and she stands before me naked, shoulders squared, forcing herself to hold my gaze. Her skin is pale, goosebumps dotting her arms, but her nipples are tight, arousal written in the hard peaks. My fiery prize can’t lie with her body.
I ignore the invitation of her breasts and kneel before her, retrieving the pair of black lace thigh-high stockings from the box. “Sit down, I don’t want you to lose your balance.”
Her throat bobs as she swallows and sinks down on to the edge of the bed. My petulant princess’s knees seem to be having trouble holding her up.
I take her ankle in my hand, keeping my touch deliberately unhurried and gentle. She shivers as I roll the silk stocking slowly up her leg. The touch is perfect, exquisite torture.
Once both are in place, I pull her to her feet and fasten the garter belt around her waist, my fingers brushing the soft skin of her stomach. Her breath stutters silently.
“You feel the promise of ownership, don’t you?” I murmur, my eyes fixed on my task, never meeting hers. “Your body knows who it belongs to. That’s why its screaming for me to finish this.”
She doesn’t respond, watching wide-eyed as I fasten the garters to the lace tops of the stockings.
The physical act of preparing her, touching her with purpose but without relief, is a pleasure I haven’t experienced with anyone before. She’s mouth-watering in only stockings, but I can control myself.
I stand up and guide her into the dress. The brocade is heavy, the weight of it settling around her like a custom-made suit of armor. I pull the zipper up slowly, the cold metal tracing the length of her spine, pausing at the low plunge to remind her of her vulnerability.
When the dress is in place, I slip the black stilettos on her feet and step back to admire my work. She’s flawless.
I reach for a velvet box on the dresser. Inside, a necklace gleams. A simple, breathtaking cascade of diamonds. I move behind her, lifting her hair away from her neck. My fingers linger at the base of her throat before I fasten the clasp.
Then the final piece. A thick, cuff-like bracelet of white gold and diamonds, which I clamp around her wrist. I gently spin her toward the full-length mirror.
“Look, Mya,” I command, my hands coming to rest possessively on her hips. I lean down, my mouth close to her ear, watching her eyes in the reflection.
She sees the woman I’ve created. The ice queen, draped in stones, completely naked beneath the stiff, expensive fabric, marked and bound by my hands.
“This is what you bought with your father’s life,” I whisper. “Wealth. Power. Take note of how perfect we look together, Mya. We are a statement. A brand. We belong on the highest pedestal. And you belong to me, down to the skin.”
Her eyes in the mirror are wide, filled with a raw, undeniable fire. She hates the image, but she can’t deny the raw, terrifying magnetism of it.
I release her. “Let’s go. It’s time to face the wolves.”
The drive to the Falcone estate is silent, my tension a physical weight in the car. The Falcones are old money, old connections. Tonight is about confirming my new status. That I’m married, settled, and more dangerous than ever.
The moment Mya and I step into the crowded ballroom, I feel the shift in the air. The whispers start immediately, but they die down just as fast.
I walk her through the throng, my hand placed firmly on her bare lower back, just above the heavy brocade. I scan the room, taking in the hungry glances. Good. She’s being admired.
But the admiration is tempered with caution. The rumor mill has clearly done its job. They know I won’t tolerate ogling. They know the consequence of looking at my wife with anything resembling desire. I made an example of Massimo in my dining room, and my sphere of influence is large enough that the story has already made the rounds.
I relax slightly. The vultures are kept at bay by fear.
“I need to speak to a few associates,” I murmur, leaning down to her. “Marco Falcone, the old man, is over by the fireplace. Mingle, Mya. You’re free to roam this space. Look at them, talk to them. There is no one here who would dare to betray me by talking to the press or helping you escape. Don’t test the theory.”
She glances at me, a sharp, almost feral look. “I’m not that stupid, Dante.”
A small, genuine sliver of amusement makes my lips twitch. Her spine is straight, her chin high. She is magnificent.
I release her hip, watching her glide away toward a group of women who instantly assess her with cold, cutting envy. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s exactly where she belongs. At the center of power, drawing every eye, proving my dominance without speaking a single word.