The morning light slanted softly through the curtains, scattering gold across the tangled sheets that clung to our bare skin. The night before still burned behind my eyes — every touch, every whisper, every unrestrained moan that tore through the silence like music. But now, as I stirred in Dante’s arms, there was something achingly peaceful about the aftermath. The storm that had raged between us — that wild, uncontrollable tension — had finally broken, leaving us quiet and raw, suspended in a kind of fragile calm that felt too good to last.

His arm was draped over my waist, heavy and possessive, his warmth seeping into me. I could...