When I was 9 I was kidnapped by someone dangerous, ever since then I vowed to myself I wouldn't let bad guys like that roam around the earth freely. 17 years later I'm now a lawyer and you guessed it, who is indeed prosecuting criminals.
My father...
Isadora My eyes flutter at the sensation of the sun hitting my face. The bed is still empty which makes a sudden relief course through me. I sit up from bed with a pit in my stomach as I realize Dante isn't seated on the chair anymore. I bolt out of bed, rushing to my room door but before I could open it, a figure walks out my bathroom.
The sense of relief flows through me as my gaze meets his cold ones. My eyes drift lower only to take note that he's in nothing but a towel hanging low on his hip, his abs flexing with every exhale and his...manhood pressing against the soft material.
I raise my eyes back up to his only to see he'd noticed me staring. My head falls down in embarrassment as I try to hide my stained cheeks from him.
"You didn't sleep on the bed" I state the obvious, walking over to it. Either he didn't hear me or he's choosing not to reply because all he does is go into the closet.
"I um" is all I managed to force out before he comes out with an unbuttoned t shirt and pants on
"Get dressed, we're leaving in 20" he states picking up his watch from the table accompanied by the chair he slept on. Good morning to you too.
"To where?" I ask startled
"I have an important meeting and you're coming with" he walks back into closet while I decide to not argue especially with him under my father's roof.
~~~
I look at myself in the mirror, wearing a light brown dress pants with a white strapless corset top to match with. Dante had already left the room before I got out the bathroom but a knock on the door alerts me my time was up.
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I grab my matching white purse before exiting the room, heading downstairs. By the time I'd gotten outside, Dante's already been seated in his car awaiting my presence.
The car ride wasn't as long as we pull up to what seems like an art gallery?
Dante helps me out the car, guiding me in the quiet building. He places his hand on my lower back which causes me to tense as we step into the gallery.
I look around taking notes of the people to find a clue why on earth he'd want to come here. My gaze shifts up to his face while he seems concentrated on the piece before us.
Why is it that I have to remind myself he's a criminal every time and he tortures people for pleasure. If that part of him didn't exist I think some part of me would actually find peace with our marriage.
Despite what he is, my body doesn't know how to act around him. His touch sends millions of jolts around my body and every time he pulls away a tiny thought just wants him back on me again.
