Bound by Fate, Torn by war(THE LUNA’S WAR)

Bella's fingers curled into Dante's hair, pulling him down to her mouth, and the moment their lips met, it was over.

The war. The waiting. The restraint.

Everything snapped.

Dante growled against her lips, a deep, rumbling sound that sent a shiver of raw heat down her spine. His hands gripped her waist, his fingers digging into her skin as if anchoring himself—or maybe as if he was afraid of letting go.

But letting go was never an option.

Not anymore.

Bella gasped as Dante lifted her, pressing her back harder against the wall, his powerful body completely caging her in. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, and God help her, she could feel all of him—his strength, his heat, the raw force of his need pressing against her in a way that left no room for misunderstanding.

"You have no idea what you do to me," Dante murmured against her mouth, his lips trailing down to her jaw, to the sensitive spot beneath her ear.

Bella tilted her head back, exposing more of her throat, her body betraying her with every shudder, every sharp inhale, every instinctive press of her hips against his.

"You left me," she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath.

Dante froze, his grip on her tightening.

His breath was harsh, uneven. His chest heaved against hers, his body vibrating with something dangerous and desperate.

"I had to," he admitted, his voice rough, pained. "If I had stayed, I would have—"

He cut himself off, his jaw clenching so hard it looked like he was about to break his teeth.

Bella's fingers trailed down his jaw, her golden-brown eyes searching his.

"Then ruin me," she whispered. "Because I'm already yours."

Dante snapped.

One second, she was against the wall.

The next, her back hit the mattress of his bed.

She barely had time to catch her breath before he was on her again, his body pressing her into the mattress, his hands everywhere at once—gripping, exploring, claiming.

Her tank top was gone in an instant, tossed somewhere across the room. His mouth found her neck, his teeth scraping against the soft skin as he trailed lower.

Bella arched beneath him, her body burning, her wolf howling for more.

"Dante," she gasped, her fingers clawing at his back, needing to feel more of him.

He was everywhere, his scent, his touch, his absolute dominance over every part of her.

"I should stop," he growled against her skin. "I should—"

Bella flipped them over, straddling his hips, her hands pressing against his bare chest, her nails digging into his muscles.

Dante's breath hitched, his eyes darkening, his wolf dangerously close to the surface.

"Then stop," she taunted, rolling her hips against his. "If you can."

A deep, guttural growl tore from Dante's throat, his hands flying to her hips, gripping hard as he pulled her down against him.

The feeling of him beneath her—solid, powerful, ready to break her apart in the best possible way—made her dizzy with need.

She shouldn't want him this much.

She shouldn't need him like this.

But it was too late to fight it now.

Too late for either of them.

Dante's hands slid up her sides, his fingers trailing fire across her skin, his thumbs brushing against the soft curves of her breasts.

His lips parted, his breathing ragged.

"You are going to be the death of me," he admitted, and for the first time, she could see the raw truth in his eyes.

Bella smirked.

"Good," she whispered, leaning down to kiss him again.

And this time, neither of them held back.