POV: DIMITRI Dimitri Valentino had built his empire on control.
Control over his emotions.
Control over his men.
Control over every territory, every business, every breath of power that flowed through the underworld of this city.
But watching Eve Thorne walk away from that elevator, watching her choose him, choose submission, choose to stay….had nearly shattered that control into a thousand pieces.
Seven years.
Seven fucking years he’d waited for her.
Since the moment she’d kissed him on the cheek at Mike’s graduation party, her lips soft and innocent against his skin, her smile bright and pure and utterly destroying.
She’d been eighteen.
Too young.
Too good.
Too much Mike’s baby sister for him to even consider touching.
But he’d considered it anyway.
Every family dinner where she’d sat across from him, laughing at Mike’s jokes.
Every holiday gathering where she’d hugged him goodbye, her body soft and trusting against his.
Every time he’d seen her with that worthless piece of shit Simon Ward, playing the perfect wife while dying inside.
He’d wanted to kill Simon.
Had come close more times than Mike knew.
But he’d waited.
Bided his time.
Knew that eventually, Eve would wake up.
Would realize she was wasting her life on a man who didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as her.
And last night, drunk and devastated and desperate, she’d walked into his club.
His club.
As if fate itself had finally decided to stop fucking with him.
Now she was in his shower, naked and sore and his, and Dimitri was standing in his bedroom trying to remember how to be human instead of the possessive animal that wanted to kick down that door and claim her against the tile until she couldn’t remember her own name.
The bathroom door was frosted glass.
He could see her silhouette….the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips, the way she’d braced one hand against the wall as hot water cascaded over her body.
His body.
For six months, at minimum.
And by the time those six months were over, she’d be so thoroughly addicted to him that the idea of leaving would be laughable.
He’d make sure of it.
The shower turned off.
He heard her moving around, probably using the towel he’d left for her, and then the door opened in a cloud of steam.
She stopped dead when she saw him.
She’d wrapped the towel around herself, tucked tight above her breasts, falling to mid-thigh.
Her hair was wet and slicked back, her face free of makeup, her eyes wide and wary.
Beautiful.
Devastatingly, impossibly beautiful.
“I thought you left,” she said, her voice small.
“This is my bedroom.” He moved toward the walk-in closet.
“I had clothes delivered while you were showering.
Come here.” She hesitated, clutching the towel tighter.
“I can dress myself.” “I’m sure you can.
But I want to dress you.
So come.
Here.” The command in his voice made her flinch, but she obeyed, bare feet padding across the carpet until she stood in the closet doorway.
The closet was the size of most people’s bedrooms.
His clothes on one side….suits, casual wear, all designer, all dark.
And on the other side, where there had been empty space this morning, racks of women’s clothing.
All in her size.
She stared.
“How did you…” “I know everything about you, Eve.” He pulled a dress from the rack….soft cream fabric, fitted bodice, flowing skirt.
Elegant.
Expensive.
His.
“Your size.
Your measurements.
What colors look best on your skin tone.
What styles you prefer.” He turned to face her.
“Drop the towel.” “What?” “You heard me.
Drop it.” “I’m not…” “You signed a contract that gives me ownership of your body.
That includes dressing it.
Now drop the towel, or I’ll rip it off.” The look she gave him was pure defiance, but he could see the arousal beneath it.
Could see the way her nipples had hardened beneath the damp towel, the way her breath had quickened.
She wanted him to rip it off.
But he’d make her obey instead.
“Drop.
It.” Her hands shook as she loosened the tuck, let the towel fall to the floor.
And Dimitri forgot how to breathe.
She was perfect.
Every curve, every line, every inch of her exactly as he’d imagined and better.
Full breasts with dusky pink nipples.
A waist he could span with his hands.
Hips made for gripping.
And between her thighs, already glistening with arousal….
“Don’t look at me like that,” she whispered, moving to cover herself.
“Like what?” “Like you’re going to devour me.” “I am going to devour you, piccola.
Every inch.
But first…” he held out the dress “….arms up.” She obeyed, and he slipped the dress over her head, smoothing it down her body.
No bra.
No panties.
Just the soft fabric against her bare skin, her nipples visible through the thin material.
“Perfect,” he murmured, adjusting the neckline, letting his fingers trail across her collarbone.
“My beautiful property.” She shivered at the words.
“Now,” he said, moving to a drawer, “these.” He held up a pair of lace panties.
Black.
Barely there.
“Step into them.” She did, and he knelt before her, slowly pulling them up her legs, over her thighs, settling them against her hips.
His face was level with her pussy, close enough to smell her arousal, and it took every ounce of control not to bury his face between her thighs right there.
Later.
He’d feast on her later.
He stood, his hands settling on her waist.
“One more thing.” From his pocket, he pulled out a phone.
Top of the line.
Already set up.
“This is yours now.
It has one contact in it.
Me.
You call me every morning, every night, and anytime you move locations.
Understand?”