His lips pressed softly against her forehead, lingering there for a heartbeat before he pulledback.
Jazz barely had the energy to move, let alone think, but she forced herself to look up at him, searching his face for something she couldn’t quitename.
Titus gazed at her, his expression dark with pleasure, apossessive edge tightening his grip as he ran a slow hand down her back. He took in every detail—the way she trembled against him, the lingering flush on her skin, the way her breath shuddered in the aftermath. Satisfaction flickered in his eyes, not just for the way he had unraveledher, but because she hadn’t pulled away. That should have unsettledhim.
He had expected hesitation, resistance—anything but this quiet surrender. It wasn’t just about dominance anymore, wasn’t just about proving she was his. It was something else, something creeping beneath his skin, making him want more than her body, more than just this moment. Because she was still here, tangled up in him, and he wasn’t about to let hergo.
“I told you we weren’t done yet.”
Exhaustion clung to her, her limbs heavy, her breath uneven from what he had just done to her. Titus felt the subtle tremors running through her, the way her body instinctively sought him even as she tried to steady herself. She tucked herself against his chest, her skin warm against his, and he braced himself for what usually came next—distance, withdrawal, the unspoken need for space.
But she didn’t pullaway.
That realization hit him harder than it should have. Hedidn’t untangle himself from her warmth. Instead, his grip tightened, anchoring her there as if to convince himself that this wasn’t a fleeting moment, that she wasn’t just another conquest to be discarded when the night ended. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t want to letgo.
The tension in his muscles refused to ease, wound tight with something unfamiliar. Was it possession? Uncertainty? Or something more dangerous—something he couldn’t prevent? He had never been the type to dwell, to let a moment extend beyond its use. But this—her—wasn’t something he could dismiss.
His hold was tight as if keeping her close would quiet the thoughts clawing their way into his mind. Because the truth was settling in, unshakable and inevitable—this wasn’t just about dominance. It never hadbeen.
His breath hitched—so slight it was almost imperceptible, but he felt it, felt the shift inside him that he wasn’t ready to name. He loosened his grip for a fleeting second, as if debating whether to let her go, but the ideawas gone before it could take root. His fingers shifted more tightly around her waist, his body instinctively pulling her closer. He wasn’t just holding her. He was keepingher.
Maybe, for the first time, he wasn’t in charge of what happened next. She had become something more than a moment, more than a fleeting indulgence. He wasn’t ready to call it anything, wasn’t ready to admit what was shifting inside him, but the significance of it settled in his chest all the same. Aconnection that defied the logic he had built his life around. If he admitted it, even to himself, it would change everything.
And Titus Dante didn’t do change. He had learned long ago that change led to weakness, to cracks in the foundation that men like him couldn’t afford. Adaptation was necessary, but emotions—attachments—were liabilities. He had built his empire on domination, on never letting anything or anyone dictate his course.
But right now, with Jazz in his arms, that certainty wavered. Shehad slipped past his defenses without permission, without effort, and for the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure he had a choice.
Her breath was steady now, her body warm against his, but Titus remained alert, his mind restless. His fingers moved absently along the curve of her breast, feeling the soft rise and fall of each breath, surrendering himself to the quiet. He had expected distance after, but instead, she stayed.
And so did he.
Jazz shifted slightly, pressing her cheek against his chest, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with something fragile. “If my father hadn’t owed you so much money, would you have even been interested in me?”
The words hung between them, heavier than he had expected. Her voice was soft, but added kindling to a brightly burning fire deep inside. Did she really believe that? That what burned between them could be reduced to a businessdeal?
The idea gnawed at him, not just because it was wrong, butbecause it exposed something he hadn’t wanted to confront—how easily she could see him as the kind of man who took what he wanted and left nothing behind.
Maybe that’s who he was. Maybe that’s who he had to be. But with her, it felt like a lie. And that was treacherous. The thought irritated him more than it should have, but he didn’t say anything. The words sat on his tongue, unspoken, locked behind the essence of everything he refused to admit. Instead, he exhaled slowly, easing the tension in his jaw, keeping his expression unreadable.
He glanced at his palm, where the faint outline of the mark—the Dante Brand—was forming, an intricate design beginning to take shape beneath his skin. It pulsed subtly, awarmth he wasn’t sure was real or imagined, as if it recognized who lay beside him. The edges were blurred, shifting as if resisting full permanence. It was a bond, one that neither of them had chosen, yet one that bound them all thesame.
It was a Brand that ran through the Dante line forgenerations upon generations, supposedly connecting soul mates.
She didn’t know. Not yet. But when she did, would she accept it—or would she run? Would she look at him the same way, or would she see the mark as another chain, another way for him to keepher?
He wasn’t sure what burned hotter in his chest—the idea of her rejecting it outright, or the thought that she might accept it but never truly trust it. That she might stay but always keep a part of herself locked away fromhim.
That wasn’t an option. If she was his, she was his completely. His grip on her tightened, his fingers pressing into her skin as if to will the thought into reality. He didn’t share, didn’t offer half-measures. Either she was his in every way, or she wasn’t his at all. And the idea of the latter, of her slipping away from him, sent something cold slicing through the possessive heat in his chest.
Fate had made its choice. But had Jazz? And if she didn’t, what then? Would he let her go, allow her to walk away as if she hadn’t alreadywoven herself into him, into something deeper than possession?
No. That wasn’t an option. He didn’t know when it had shifted, when she had become more than an inevitability, but now, the idea of losing her sent something piercing and unforgiving through his chest. If she hadn’t made her choice yet, he would make sure she did—and there would only be one answer.
He could tell her the truth. That fate had chosen long before either of them had. That no amount of debt or strategy had brought her to him—only inevitability. But Jazz wasn’t ready for that truth, and maybe, neither washe.
So he gave her something else, something easier to accept. “I would have wanted you no matter what.”
She didn’t respond right away. He felt the slow release of her breath against his skin, the tension she tried to hide. She wanted to believe him. He could feel it in the way she held herself, in the way she stayed close despite the doubt creeping into the edgesof hermind.
