Page 63 of Merciless Billionaire's Savage Desire

A laugh burst from her lips. She turned around without thinking and launched herself into his arms, hugging him so tightly her breath caught.

“We’re getting married?” she squealed, voice muffled against his chest.

Dante didn’t say a word—he just grinned, lifted her off the ground again, and crushed her to his chest. His arms locked around her with a grip so tight it made her breath hitch. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling deeply, as if he could live off her scent.

“I love you, Anya,” he said into her skin, his lips brushing her ear. “Happy birthday.”

Her heart was so full it ached. “Thank you,” she whispered, voice cracking with emotion.

She could barely take it all in. So much happiness, so much love, so much relief after everything they'd been through. She had never been this happy.

As she pulled back from the hug, he swept her up again and carried her to the bed. But instead of setting her down, he sat down on the bed with her in his lap, holding her close like he couldn’t stand even an inch of distance.

He pressed his face into her chest and let out a long, shaky breath.

“I want this,” he murmured. “You in my lap, me holding you, breathing you in… always.”

Anya smiled, running her fingers through his hair, softly scratching the back of his neck. His body trembled lightly under her touch.

She gripped his hair, pulling his head back just enough to catch his eyes with hers, her palms warm against his cheeks. She leaned in slowly, pressing her lips to his in a kiss that was rich and deep—lingering long, savoring every inch of him.

When they finally broke apart, Dante reached for the table nearby and pulled it closer. On it sat a gorgeous strawberry cake, decorated with delicate roses and frosting, and a bottle of champagne with two flutes beside it.

Anya picked up the knife to cut the cake, but he gently grabbed her hand and guided it with his, cutting the cake together.

“Happy birthday, Anya,” he said softly. “May God bless you. And may you live forever… with me.”

She giggled at the last part and turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Dante, it’s my birthday. I get to make the wishes, not you.”

“You don’t need to wait for your birthday. Just tell me, and I’ll make all your wishes come true.” He grinned and kissed her cheek.

Anya held back a laugh, then finally closed her eyes and pressed her hands together.

“Please, God, let me always be happy with the people I love, and who love me back.”

She opened her eyes with a smile, picked up a piece of cake, and brought it to his lips.

But he didn’t bite it. Instead, he took her finger into his mouth, slowly licking the cream off, his eyes locked on hers. She blushed furiously.

Then he picked up a little piece for her.

Her tongue peeked out, licking the cake from his finger, slow and deliberate. His body tensed. She felt his body tense beneath her and quickly bit back a smile. He was trying to stay composed, but she could see right through him.

She pulled away, grabbed the champagne bottle, and poured it into two glasses without pausing—filling them nearly to the brim. Then she brought one to his lips and lifted the other for herself.

Dante took the glass, but his other hand tightened around her waist, keeping her perched firmly in his lap, her legs spread across the bed in a relaxed sprawl.

She raised a brow and eyed him suspiciously. “You’re not going to lecture me about drinking too much tonight?”

He shook his head slowly, a crooked smirk tugging at his lips. “Drink all you want tonight,” he said, his voice low, remembering with a mischievous glint, “Just like last time… when you couldn’t keep your hands off me at the bar. You can attack me again—no one’s gonna stop you.”

“Oh my God,” she groaned, burying her flushed face into his neck as a mortified laugh escaped her. “When are you going to stop bringing that up? I’m so embarrassed.”

He chuckled, his chest rumbling under her cheek. She pulled back and pouted up at him. “Don’t laugh,” she mumbled.

Instead of replying, Dante lifted his champagne glass to her lips and tipped it gently. “Drink.”

She obediently parted her lips and took a few sips. As she swallowed, a thin stream of champagne escaped the corner of her mouth and dripped down to her chin. Before she could lift her hand to wipe it away, Dante leaned in, his tongue trailing slowly up her jaw, catching the droplet and following it to her lips. He swept over them with a gentle stroke.

---