Page 31 of Ruthless Silence
I should turn back. Instead, I push the door wider.
Dante stands shirtless at the heavy bag, muscles rippling with each precise strike. The gym air is thick with his sweatand exertion, the leather of the heavy bag still swaying from his strikes. I breathe him in: violence and control and male heat that makes my head swim. Sweat gleams on his skin, highlighting every scar. The ruined tissue at his throat, the knife marks across his ribs, the bullet wound near his shoulder. A roadmap of violence that should repulse me.
My nipples tighten against the thin nightgown, and I hate my traitorous body for responding to the sight of him.
He pauses mid-strike, head turning slightly. Of course he knows I'm here. He always knows.
"Can't sleep?" I ask, my voice rough with exhaustion and something else.
He turns fully, and my breath catches. The gym lights cast shadows across his abs, the V of muscle disappearing into low-slung sweatpants. His dark eyes find mine, and that almost-smile plays at his lips as he signs: "Neither can you."
"This is ridiculous," I say, stepping into the gym. The words tumble out before I can stop them. "Ten days of this… arrangement. You sleeping in a chair like some kind of guardian angel. Me pretending I don't notice you watching."
His hands still on the bag, body going alert. Waiting.
"This marriage, this arrangement…" I continue, switching to signing because the English fails me when I'm emotional. "After what happened in your study, after you showed me… why do you still keep that distance? The chair, always the chair. Are you torturing us both on purpose?"
Every muscle in his body tenses. His hands move with violent precision: "You know why."
The memory of our confrontation days ago burns through me. His body pressed against mine, the evidence of his want, his confession that the piano was to keep from touching me. But knowing and understanding are different things.
"But it's getting worse," I sign, the truth spilling out. "The distance. The watching. After feeling you against me, knowing you want… It's torture."
"Yes," he signs simply. "It is."
"Then why continue it? You said the music was to keep from touching me. But the music isn't working anymore, is it?"
His laugh catches me off guard. Shoulders shaking with silent mirth that's more bitter than amused.
He moves toward me with that predator grace, and my body responds immediately, remembering our last confrontation. "You want me to break my promise? Touch you without permission?"
"I want to understand why you're so determined to suffer. We both felt it. In your study, when you pressed against me. This isn't one-sided."
He backs me against the gym wall, not quite touching but close enough that I feel the heat radiating from his skin. His hand plants beside my head as he signs with the other: "Because once I start, I won't stop."
"Maybe I don't want you to stop."
The admission hangs between us, shocking in its honesty. His eyes darken, pupils dilating as he processes my words.
"You don't know what you're saying," he signs.
"Don't I? You showed me in your study how much you want this. How much control you're exercising. But what if… what if I'm tired of your control?"
My hand flies up to touch his chest, palm flat against his scarred skin. He catches my wrist instantly, reflexes faster than thought, but doesn't push me away. Just holds me there, my hand trapped against his racing heartbeat.
"Don't," he signs with his free hand.
"Why? Because you'll finally break?"
"Because you'll hate yourself tomorrow."
The truth of it stings. "I already hate myself for wanting you."
"Exactly." His grip on my wrist tightens slightly. "So we suffer separately instead of suffering together."
I try to pull my hand free, but he uses the momentum to spin me, pressing my back fully against the wall. Both my wrists are suddenly in his grip, pinned above my head with one of his hands. The casual display of strength, the way he controls me so easily, makes my knees weak. The same hands that broke Giuseppe's arm for threatening me now hold me captive, but instead of fear, I feel… safe? Protected?Madonna, what is happening to me?
He cocks his head, staring at me intently, and I know what he's asking without him even needing to sign.This what you want? To test my control until it breaks?
