Free Web NovelChapter 50: Kiss me
"Kiss me!" Dante said, his voice low but urgent, even as Dora stretched out her hands to grab the back of his neck and hurriedly pulled him toward her, their lips crashing together in a heated kiss. Her fingers tangled into his hair, desperate and trembling, as she tore at his clothes, each piece falling carelessly to the floor. fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm
He did the same to her, his movements rough, deliberate, and hungry. Their breaths mingled between gasps as skin met skin, warmth against warmth, the sound of their hearts filling the room. Dora could feel his chest pressed against hers, the rhythm of his heartbeat thundering in sync with her own.
Then suddenly, he tore his lips from hers, his breath still hot against her cheek, and whispered into her ear, "I love you."
Dora’s heart leapt. A flood of warmth rushed through her at his words, and for a brief moment, she beamed, her face lighting up with joy and disbelief. But that expression froze the instant she felt an invisible, searing glare pierce through her—an unbearable weight of eyes upon her.
She jerked upright, gasping, her eyes snapping open only to find herself alone on the bed. Her body was naked except for a coat draped loosely over her shoulders, the morning sunlight pouring through the window in golden rays that painted her skin.
Dora blinked rapidly, confusion and shame colliding inside her as she realized she had just been dreaming. But it hadn’t felt like a dream—it had felt too real, too vivid, like the events of the night before bleeding into her mind.
Her chest tightened as the memories returned—the heat of their bodies, the way she had let it happen, the way she hadn’t stopped him. Her cheeks flushed red, burning as she covered her face with both hands.
"God..." she muttered under her breath, mortified.
Her fists balled tightly as she forced herself to rise from the bed, her muscles sore, her body still betraying her with faint tremors. She hated how mentally affected she was—how her body still throbbed between her legs, how the ghost of his touch lingered like a cruel reminder.
Annoyed with herself, Dora pushed the thoughts aside and dove straight into the bathtub, letting the warm water embrace her. The heat soaked into her skin, but not deep enough to wash away the shame or the confusion that clung stubbornly to her.
She dressed quickly afterward, her expression smoothing into something serene and composed—an illusion of calm that hid the storm inside. There were only two days of filming left, and most importantly, her wedding was in three days.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand with a new message from Guila—the schedule, perfectly packed and demanding as always. Dora sighed. Every hour was accounted for. Between shooting scenes, final fittings, and meetings, she barely had time to breathe.
And then there was her sister.
She still had to visit her—no matter how painful it was. Even though her sister looked stable on the outside, it was clear her mind was still far from recovery. The trauma lingered.
’Who would be fine after losing four body parts?’ Dora thought grimly, fastening the buttons of her blouse. The thought alone made her chest ache.
She tied her hair up into a neat ponytail, fixed her expression into something gentle, and stepped out.
When she entered the dining room, she immediately saw Dante seated at the table. He was already halfway through his meal, his posture perfect, his face calm—almost cold. The same expression he wore every morning, unreadable and distant.
He didn’t even look up when she walked in. Dora’s pulse quickened, her throat tightening, the air suddenly too heavy.
She hurried to her seat, trying to appear normal, focusing all her energy on her breathing. Her only plan was to get through breakfast without saying something foolish—or worse, revealing how shaken she still was.
She reached for her plate and began dishing food, keeping her eyes down. But then his voice broke the silence.
"Do you feel okay?" Dante asked, tone neutral as always. "If you don’t, you can make an appointment with the doctor."
The sound of his voice made her freeze mid-motion.
He didn’t even glance at her—just kept eating calmly, as if nothing unusual had ever happened between them.
"I’m sure the director would understand," he added, his voice steady, composed.
Dora swallowed, shaking her head quickly. "I feel fine," she said, her lips dry. She forced a faint smile before stuffing a spoonful of food into her mouth to avoid having to speak further.
He nodded slightly, continuing to eat. But then, as if ticking off a list, he began again.
"I’ve made arrangements for your sister. She’ll be able to attend the wedding in a wheelchair," he said evenly, his tone all business. "A lot of people will be attending, but you don’t need to worry. It’s your wedding—they’ll pander to you."
Dora nodded again, silent. Her gaze stayed locked on her food, chewing mechanically.
She couldn’t understand how he could talk like this—how he could sit there so composed, discussing schedules and guests, when just last night his hands had been on her body, his breath against her skin.
How could someone be so unaffected?
She, on the other hand, felt like every nerve in her body was betraying her—her chest tight, her stomach knotted, her pulse fluttering.
As his calm voice droned on, her mind drifted without permission. She could almost hear him again, whispering into her ear... feel the warmth of his hands sliding lower—
"Are you listening?"
The question snapped her out of her haze.
Dante was looking at her now, his expression stoic, but his eyes sharp, assessing.
Dora’s irritation flared instantly. Of course he’d notice her zoning out. Of course he’d make her feel small again.
He didn’t look guilty. He didn’t look affected. Nothing about him suggested he even remembered what they’d done—or that it meant anything to him.
’This is probably his hundred and tenth time,’ she thought bitterly, a cold weight settling over her chest.
Her pulse pounded in her ears, but she masked it well. She nodded sharply and met his gaze, forcing composure.
"Yes, I’m aware," she replied curtly, then added through clenched teeth, "but thank you for informing me."
Her voice was even, polite—but her fingers trembled slightly around her fork.
Dante said nothing after that. He finished his food in silence, expression unreadable as ever.
Dora pretended to be just as focused on her plate, though she barely tasted a thing. The tension sat heavy between them, thick and suffocating.
A few minutes later, he stood.
"I’ll be back later. We’ll talk when I return," he said simply, then turned and left the room, shutting the door softly behind him.
The moment he was gone, Dora exhaled shakily. She stared down at her half-eaten meal, gripping her spoon so tightly it bit into her palm.
Anger and confusion twisted inside her chest until it hurt.
Her heart was still pounding wildly, her palms clammy, a light sheen of sweat forming along her neck. She hated that her body still reacted to him—hated that she was waiting for him to come back.
He wouldn’t care. He’d never feel what she felt.
’You fool,’ she scolded herself silently, slamming the spoon down on the table. ’You can’t fall for him.’
But even as she told herself that, her heart refused to listen.
It beat faster at the thought of seeing him again—of the way he looked at her last night, of the way his hands had traced her body.
Her mind knew better.
Dora’s irritation flared instantly. Of course he’d notice her zoning out. Of course he’d make her feel small again. frёeweɓηovel.coɱ
He didn’t look guilty. He didn’t look affected. Nothing about him suggested he even remembered what they’d done—or that it meant anything to him.
’This is probably his hundred and tenth time,’ she thought bitterly, a cold weight settling over her chest.
Her pulse pounded in her ears, but she masked it well. She nodded sharply and met his gaze, forcing composure.
"Yes, I’m aware," she replied curtly, then added through clenched teeth, "but thank you for informing me."
Her voice was even, polite—but her fingers trembled slightly around her fork.
Dante said nothing after that. He finished his food in silence, expression unreadable as ever.
Dora pretended to be just as focused on her plate, though she barely tasted a thing. The tension sat heavy between them, thick and suffocating.
A few minutes later, he stood.
"I’ll be back later. We’ll talk when I return," he said simply, then turned and left the room, shutting the door softly behind him.
The moment he was gone, Dora exhaled shakily. She stared down at her half-eaten meal, gripping her spoon so tightly it bit into her palm.
Anger and confusion twisted inside her chest until it hurt.
Her heart was still pounding wildly, her palms clammy, a light sheen of sweat forming along her neck. She hated that her body still reacted to him—hated that she was waiting for him to come back.
He wouldn’t care. He’d never feel what she felt.
’You fool,’ she scolded herself silently, slamming the spoon down on the table. ’You can’t fall for him.’
But even as she told herself that, her heart refused to listen.
It beat faster at the thought of seeing him again—of the way he looked at her last night, of the way his hands had traced her body.
Her mind knew better.
Dora’s irritation flared instantly. Of course he’d notice her zoning out. Of course he’d make her feel small again.
He didn’t look guilty. He didn’t look affected. Nothing about him suggested he even remembered what they’d done—or that it meant anything to him.
’This is probably his hundred and tenth time,’ she thought bitterly, a cold weight settling over her chest.
Her pulse pounded in her ears, but she masked it well. She nodded sharply and met his gaze, forcing composure.
"Yes, I’m aware," she replied curtly, then added through clenched teeth, "but thank you for informing me."
Her voice was even, polite—but her fingers trembled slightly around her fork.
Dante said nothing after that. He finished his food in silence, expression unreadable as ever.
Dora pretended to be just as focused on her plate, though she barely tasted a thing. The tension sat heavy between them, thick and suffocating.
A few minutes later, he stood.
"I’ll be back later. We’ll talk when I return," he said simply, then turned and left the room, shutting the door softly behind him.
The moment he was gone, Dora exhaled shakily. She stared down at her half-eaten meal, gripping her spoon so tightly it bit into her palm.
