Here’s a polished version of your text, with adjustments for grammar, punctuation, flow, and clarity:
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Mireille’s grip on the sheets tightened as she told herself she could let it happen quietly. She didn’t want to open her eyes and look at Dante, fearing he would see the truth in her gaze—that she was about to cum from his massage.
Then a phone rang, cutting through the tension like a knife. Mireille jolted, her legs slipping from Dante’s grip, and her eyes flew open.
Dante glanced at the phone. It was Mireille’s. His jaw clenched, and a surge of irritation coursed through him. He wanted to grab it and smash it against the wall. Whoever was calling could have waited thirty seconds—or a minute—longer. He’d been so close to seeing her completely unravel, just like the night before. Perhaps she would have even squirted again.
Mireille pressed her thighs together as she reached for the phone, her body still trembling. When she saw the caller ID, her heart sank slightly. It was James.
“James is calling,” she said to Dante, her voice uneasy.
Dante froze for a moment. A pang of guilt washed over him. He had promised James he wouldn’t touch Mireille, hadn’t he? He shouldn’t have touched her last night, and he definitely shouldn’t have touched her now, not when he wanted her so badly. It was completely against their agreement.
“Hey, James,” Mireille greeted, her voice striving for casualness, though her body was still recovering from what had almost happened.
Dante mouthed, *“Don’t tell him I’m here,”* and Mireille hesitated, wondering why Dante didn’t want James to know. Without saying another word, he stood and walked out of the room, leaving her to the call.
“How are you doing, Mireille?” James asked over the line, his voice warm.
“I’m doing good. I’m fine,” Mireille replied, though her thighs were still pressed together, her mind racing.
“Is Dante taking good care of you?” James asked.
Mireille hesitated. *Good care?* Was *this* what James considered good care? Making her cum last night and almost doing it again just now?
“Yes, he is,” she finally replied, forcing the words out.
“Good. I just wanted to check in and make sure you’re okay.”
“I am,” Mireille said, but her tone faltered slightly. She was hyperaware of how suspiciously perfect her answers sounded, and she worried James might pick up on it.
“But Dante’s just like you,” she added, trying to sound natural. “Too protective. I feel like I’m going to be as choked as I was with you.”
James chuckled on the other end of the line. “How’s your health?” Mireille asked, shifting the focus.
“I’m doing fine, Mireille. My health is getting better. Don’t worry about me.”
“Alright, please stay safe for me.”
“I will. I’ve got to go now.”
James ended the call, and Mireille let out a long breath. She sank back onto the bed, pulling the sheets over herself. Her gaze fixed on the ceiling as conflicting emotions swirled within her.
She closed her eyes for a moment, only to open them again with a groan. Part of her rationalized that it wasn’t *so* bad, being on the verge of an orgasm from a massage. But another part of her—one she had a harder time ignoring—found it weird and inappropriate. She was used to being “innocent and pure,” and this? This was definitely *not* innocent.
No. She shook her head. *This was sinful.* Dante wasn’t someone who should bring her any kind of sexual pleasure. He was supposed to be just an annoying, overbearing guy in her life. Nothing more.
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**The Next Morning**
Mireille woke up early, her sleep plagued by restless thoughts. She had a clear reason for getting out of bed, though: she was going to the café for her job interview. Sometime around midnight, she’d resolved to take any job she could get. If she couldn’t land a fancy one, she’d settle for something simple.
Standing in front of the mirror, she ran a brush through her hair before adjusting it with her fingers. Her outfit was simple: a white shirt and blue jeans. But even so, it complimented her figure perfectly.
“Good morning, Princess,” a familiar voice called out as the door swung open. The one person in the entire mansion who wouldn’t bother knocking.
“Good morning, Dante. Maybe it’s time I ask you if you’ve ever heard of something called knocking,” Mireille replied, her tone sarcastic but playful.
Dante’s lips curled into a small smile. “This is my home, Princess.”
“Oh, it’s *your* home? I guess I should move out since it’s not mine,” she retorted, crossing her arms.
Dante stepped further into the room, and Mireille’s eyes flicked to his arms. His sleeves weren’t rolled up today, leaving only his veiny hands visible.
“Why do you think I should knock?” Dante asked, his voice teasing.
“Because I could’ve been naked,” Mireille shot back.
Dante tilted his head, and his tongue darted out to moisten his lips. His mind flashed with an image that made his pulse quicken. “That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?” he murmured under his breath.
“What did you just say?” Mireille asked, narrowing her eyes. She tried not to let her gaze linger on his lips—or remember how they had tasted on hers.
“You’re dressed up. Where are you going?” Dante asked, ignoring her question entirely.
Mireille quickly composed herself, ready with a lie. She didn’t need anyone—especially Dante—knowing she was going to start a job. He’d never let her leave if he found out.
“I’m going to visit Belinda, my best friend,” she said smoothly.
Dante’s gaze narrowed suspiciously. “Lying?” he asked, as though he could see straight through her.
Her stomach flipped. How did he figure it out so quickly? Was she really that bad at lying?
“I’m not lying,” she said firmly, glad she didn’t stutter.
Dante stared at her for several seconds, his intense gaze making her shift uncomfortably. “Why are you staring at me so much?” she finally asked.
“My men will follow you to this ‘Belinda,’” Dante said, turning away to inspect the door to her closet.
“No, that’s not necessary! She’s my best friend. I really need privacy with her.”
“They’ll stay outside whatever room you’re in. They won’t invade your privacy.”
Mireille sighed but refused to raise her voice. “Dante,” she said softly, almost pleading. “I’ll be fine. I’m only going for a few hours. I don’t need your men hovering over me.”
“I could assign the shorter ones, Princess.”
“Dante,” she grumbled, her eyes wide and pleading. “Please?”
Their eyes locked, and for a few moments, the tension in the room was palpable. Dante groaned, breaking eye contact.
“Fine,” he said at last.
A breathtaking smile lit up Mireille’s face, and in her excitement, she jumped onto Dante, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.
“Thank you so much!” she squealed.
Dante’s body stiffened for a moment as her warmth pressed against him. Her breath caressed his neck, and her soft skin fit against his hard body like a puzzle piece.
*Fuck.*
Forcing himself to refocus, Dante placed his hands on her waist, firmly but carefully, and peeled her off him. He took two steps back, needing distance before he lost control.
“Sorry,” Mireille mumbled, embarrassed. “I just got too excited.”
“Keep your location on,” Dante said, his voice heavy, ignoring her apology. “Call me immediately if anything comes up. And pick up when I call. Got it?”
“Sure,” Mireille replied, nodding.
Dante glanced at his wristwatch. He should leave. But something in him didn’t want to go. He wanted to rip off that cute white shirt, feel her softness, and—*No.*
“I’m leaving,” he said gruffly, his voice harsher than intended. He turned and walked out of the room.
Mireille exhaled a shaky breath. Though he was gone, his presence lingered, along with his intoxicating scent. She hated to admit it, but she liked it.