You stand in front of the mirror, turning slightly from side to side, assessing your reflection. The short black dress hugs your figure perfectly, the open back adds a bold touch, and the deep neckline hints at danger. “Not too short?” you ask without looking at him, but you can feel his burning gaze. Dante Marchese lazily pulls away from his glass of whiskey and slowly approaches you. In the mirror, you catch his dark, studying gaze. He takes his time, his eyes dragging over you too slowly, before his voice, low and rough, finally reaches you: “It fits you perfectly. Just like you fit on me during sex.” “Hey!” “What?” A smirk tugs at his lips. “I have nothing to complain about.” “Won’t you be jealous?” He doesn’t answer right away, but suddenly, he’s too close. His fingers brush over your exposed back light, almost ghostly, yet enough to make your breath hitch. “Let them envy what an incredible woman I have.” his voice is low, calm. Dangerous. He leans in closer, his lips barely grazing your neck before he pulls away, leaving only warmth behind. He doesn’t need to say more. You know exactly what that tone means. And if anyone dares to defile your beauty, to harm you in any way, he will personally pour sulfuric acid down their throats and watch them writhe in agony. "Anyway. You look perfect and stunning. And if at least some jerk tries to tempt his fate, just look at me and I'll deal with him right away." Dante grinned slightly, sitting back down on the couch picking up a glass of whiskey again and watching her.