TWISTED OBSESSION: THE BILLIONAIRE'S VIRGIN BRIDE

ARIA

The elevator ride feels both endless and too short.

Dante hasn't released my hand. His thumb traces absent patterns on my wrist, right over my racing pulse. He has to feel how fast my heart is beating. And know how I'm terrified and reckless and possibly making the biggest mistake of my life.

But he doesn't say anything. Just watches me with those ice-blue eyes that seem to see everything I'm trying to hide.

The elevator opens directly into his penthouse.

Of course it does. Because Dante Ashford owns the entire top floor.

The space is massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows that showcase the Manhattan skyline, glittering against the night. Everything is modern, expensive, and cold. Black leather, chrome fixtures, and abstract art that probably costs more than my yearly salary.

It looks exactly like the kind of place a ruthless billionaire would live.

"Last chance to walk away," Dante says, releasing my hand.

I should take it, turn back, press that elevator button, and escape back to my safe, predictable life.

Except I don't have that life anymore. Marcus and Vivienne destroyed it two hours ago.

"I'm not walking away."

Something flickers across his face. Approval, maybe. Or hunger.

"Come with me."

He leads me through the penthouse, past the living area and gourmet kitchen, down a hallway lined with what look like original Rothkos. Every step feels surreal, like I've wandered into someone else's life.

The master bedroom is enormous. The bed alone is bigger than my entire bedroom at home. Dark wood, crisp white linens, and more of those floor-to-ceiling windows. The city spreads out below us like we're gods looking down on mortals.

"Wait here," Dante says.

He disappears into what must be a closet, leaving me standing in the middle of his bedroom with my heart trying to beat out of my chest.

What am I doing?

I'm about to have sex...lose my virginity...to a man I met twenty minutes ago. A dangerous man who just offered me a revenge marriage, like it's a business transaction.

This is insane.

But the alternative is going home alone, crawling into bed, and accepting that Vivienne and Marcus won. That they destroyed me and got to walk away laughing.

No.

I lift my chin, steeling my spine.

I'm done being the good girl who gets crushed.

Dante returns holding several lengths of black silk. My stomach flips when I realize what they are.

Restraints.

"Strip," he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Slowly."

My hands tremble as I reach for the zipper of my dress. It's the one I wore to work this morning... professional, conservative, the armor of Senior Director Aria Sinclair.

Except I'm not her anymore.

I pull the zipper down slowly, letting the dress slide off my shoulders. It pools at my feet, leaving me in my bra and panties. Nothing fancy. I wasn't planning on anyone seeing them today.

The irony isn't lost on me.

"All of it," Dante says. He's leaning against the bedpost, arms crossed, watching me like I'm the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.

I reach behind to unhook my bra. My fingers fumble with the clasp. Finally, it comes free.

I let the cool air hits my skin, making my nipples harden. Or maybe that's from the way Dante's eyes track every inch of my body with predatory focus.

"Panties too."

I hook my thumbs in the waistband and slide them down, stepping out of them. Now I'm completely naked in front of this stranger, and I've never felt more exposed in my life.

Dante circles me slowly, the way a buyer might inspect a prize horse. It should make me feel objectified. Degraded.

Instead, heat pools low in my belly

"Beautiful," he murmurs, more to himself than to me. "Has anyone ever told you that, Aria? That you're beautiful?"

"People say nice things," I manage.

"I'm not talking about nice things." He stops in front of me, so close I can feel the heat radiating off his body. "I'm talking about someone worshipping every inch of your skin. Making you believe it in your bones.

No. Marcus never made me feel beautiful. He made me feel tolerated. Managed

"Get on the bed," Dante orders. "Arms above your head."

I obey, my body moving before my brain fully processes the command. The sheets are cool against my overheated skin. I stretch my arms up, gripping the headboard.

Dante follows, his weight dipping the mattress. He's still fully dressed in that expensive suit, and somehow that makes this even more intimate. He's in control. I'm exposed and vulnerable.

Completely at his mercy.

He takes my left wrist and wraps one of the silk restraints around it, securing it to the headboard. Then the right. The silk is soft but unyielding. I tug experimentally.

I'm not going anywhere.

"Remember your safe word," Dante says, his fingers trailing down my arm, across my collarbone, and between my breasts. "Daddy. Say it if you need me to stop."

"I remember."

"Good girl."

The praise shouldn't affect me the way it does. But heat floods through me, and I press my thighs together instinctively.

Dante notices. Of course he does. His lips curve into a dark smile.

"Eager already? I haven't even touched you yet.

"You are touching me."

"Not where you want me to." His hand splays across my stomach, fingers spanning the space between my hipbones. "I'm going to take my time with you, Aria. I'm going to learn every sound you make, every place that makes you gasp. And I'm going to make you come before I fuck you. Multiple times."

Oh God.

"By the time I'm inside you," he continues, his voice dropping to pure sin, "you're going to be desperate for it. Begging for me."

"I don't beg," I say, trying to sound defiant.

His smile sharpens. "You will.