A R I A N A

Dante didn’t ask, he told me.

“You are coming home with me,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument, he still had me pinned gently against the wall, his body a warm, solid presence.

“I… I can’t,” I tried to say, my voice weak. “I’m staying at Natalie’s. I…”

He stated simply, finally stepping back and took my hand, his fingers lacing through mine, his grip was firm, but not painful. It felt… possessive. “You are not staying ...