4 – Playing with Fire
Ava's POV
I should have hated him for what he did.
For making me kneel before him like I was his to command. For touching me just enough to set my body on fire… then leaving me aching and wanting. For treating my desire like a game he could toy with and control.
But instead of walking away, I wanted to win.
If Dante Blackthorne thought he could push me to the edge and then pull away, he was dead wrong.
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A Dangerous Game
I spent the rest of the day in my room, stewing in frustration.
I replayed every touch, every whispered command. The way he said, "If you were mine, I’d ruin you."
The words tangled in my head, dangerous and tempting.
I wasn’t his.
But I could make him wish I was.
And I knew exactly how to do it.
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The Dress That Changed Everything
That evening, Dante had an event to attend.
A high-society gala—one of those exclusive, invitation-only affairs where men in custom-tailored suits and women in designer gowns dripped with power and wealth.
And as his personal assistant, I was expected to accompany him.
So I dressed for war.
The dress I chose was blood-red satin, hugging every curve of my body. It dipped scandalously low in the back, the fabric clinging to me like a second skin.
No bra. No panties.
If he wanted to play games, so could I.
When I stepped into the living room, Dante was adjusting the cuff of his sleeve, dressed in a black silk suit, dark and devastating. He turned, took one look at me—
And his entire body went still.
A slow, predatory hunger flickered behind those icy blue eyes. His gaze dragged over my body, taking in every inch of bare skin.
And then, just as quickly, he schooled his expression.
"You’re late," he said coolly, adjusting his watch.
I smiled sweetly. "Traffic."
He said nothing, but I saw the clench of his jaw.
I walked past him, making sure my hips swayed just enough to draw his attention.
I didn’t miss the way his fists tightened at his sides.
Good.
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The Gala – Tension at Its Breaking Point
The event was held at a private estate in Manhattan, the ballroom glittering with chandeliers and wealth.
Everywhere I turned, powerful men and women whispered, laughed, and sipped champagne.
Dante was the center of it all.
He spoke in low, commanding tones, his presence effortlessly drawing people in.
But no matter how many people surrounded him, his attention never strayed far from me.
He was watching.
Waiting.
Simmering.
So I pushed him further.
I laughed at another man’s joke.
I let my fingers brush against his rival’s arm.
I danced with someone who wasn’t him.
And every time I looked back, Dante’s eyes were on me—burning with barely leashed control.
Then, without warning, he moved.
One second, I was on the dance floor.
The next, Dante had his hand on my waist, pulling me away from the crowd.
My heart pounded as he guided me down a dimly lit hallway, the party fading behind us.
"Where are we going?" I whispered.
He said nothing.
Just led me into a private room and shut the door.
Then, he turned to me.
And the look in his eyes was pure, unrelenting possession.
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The Consequence of Disobedience
"You want to play games, little one?" His voice was like smoke and fire, velvet and steel.
I swallowed hard. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."
His lips curved. But it wasn’t a smile.
It was a warning.
Dante stepped closer, his scent—smoke, leather, and something darkly sinful—wrapping around me.
His fingers traced down my bare arm, slow and torturous.
"I watched you tonight," he murmured. "I saw what you were doing."
My breath hitched as his hand slid to my hip, then lower.
"What did you think would happen, Ava?" His lips brushed my ear, his voice drenched in hunger.
"You’ve been teasing me all night," he whispered. "Did you think I wouldn’t punish you for it?"
Punishment, His Way
He spun me faster than I could react, pressing me against the wall, my hands pinned above my head.
The marble was cold against my spine. But Dante? He was burning.
I gasped as he pressed his hard body against mine, trapping me completely.
"You don’t get to touch other men," he growled against my throat.
His fingers slid up my thigh, finding nothing but bare skin.
A dangerous chuckle rumbled from his chest.
"No panties?" His voice was pure sin. "You really wanted to be fucked tonight, didn’t you?"
I moaned softly, my body betraying me.
Dante’s lips brushed over my jaw, not kissing, just teasing.
"You don’t control this, Ava," he murmured. "I do."
Then, without warning, he pulled away.
Leaving me breathless, trembling, undone.
I blinked up at him, frustration and need curling inside me.
He smirked, brushing a finger against my swollen lips.
"You want me to touch you?"
I swallowed. "Yes."
"You want me to make you cum?"
Heat pulsed low in my stomach. "Yes."
His smirk widened. "Then earn it."
He stepped back, adjusting his cuffs, perfectly composed—while I was shaking against the wall.
"Let’s go," he said smoothly. "The car is waiting."
And just like that, he walked away.
Leaving me aching. Needing. Desperate.
But this time?
This time, I wasn’t going to let him win.
This wasn’t over.
If he wanted me to earn it, I would.
Because I wasn’t just playing his game anymore.
I was going to break him.