Dante carried Elena from the bath, wrapping her in a thick, warm white linen towel, drying her skin with meticulous, unhurried care. He carried her back to the sprawling four-poster bed, laying her amidst the ivory pillows before tossing his own towel aside. He stood naked and magnificent in the morning light, his corded muscles gleaming, his obsidian eyes dark with an all-consuming, desperate hunger that could no longer be…
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