Page 16

Chapter 16

DANTE

I don’t know what I was thinking telling Salvatore to meet me upstairs, except that I feel like I’m spinning and for some reason he’s the only still point.

“I’m taking my thirty before I start picking up tables,” I call out to no one in particular after I put my red corset back on and apply a fresh coat of lipstick in the same shade of crimson.

No one will miss me for a little while. Besides, what’s Cyrus going to do? Fire me? I chuckle at the thought of the manager calling me into his office to tell me he’s sick of my shit and that taking an unauthorized break is the last straw, and the look on his face when I flash him the ring on my finger and tell him who my new husband is. It might be worth finding some way to piss Cyrus off just for the chance to give him a fucking stroke.

My amusement fades just as quickly as it came. Is this who I am now? Instead of the badass, unhinged twink who’s not afraid to throw an elbow or break a few bones, now I’m a wilting flower wielding my husband’s name as a shield so I don’t have to fight my own battles. If I met this version of myself, I’d think he was fucking pathetic.

Fury and disgust roil in my gut as I make my way up the stairs, half tempted to turn around and walk the hell out of here, away from Salvatore, away from this whole fucking mess, to start fresh somewhere new. Who would that Dante be? I reach the top of the stairs and my eyes land immediately on my mafioso in his blue suit, leaning against the railing that overlooks the club below.

The wildfire of emotions raging inside of me finds a fresh piece of kindling to devour. Salvatore . Violence heats my skin, so similar to lust it’s almost impossible to tell the difference, and my cock seems to be just as confused as my brain is, swelling against the soft, delicate lace of my thong.

He pushes off of the railing and turns around like he can hear my footsteps over the music, or the shift in my breathing as the flames of my anger crackle and pop inside me, or maybe he can just feel my eyes, the way I always seem to be able to feel his from across the room.

“Angioletto,” he purrs, sweeping his gaze over me slowly, from my spiked heels all the way up to the smoldering rage in my eyes. “Fighting then,” he murmurs, the corners of his lips curling into a smirk.

“What?” I don’t wait for him to explain though, grabbing him by the lapel and dragging him towards the closest private room with the sign on the door flipped to Vacant.

I raise my knee to chest height and kick the door open, taking a small amount of satisfaction in the sound of the cheap wood splintering where my heel connects and the way it rattles on its hinges as it flies open. Apparently, the sign was a lie, which makes the startled yelp the man on the couch with his dick out lets out really not my fault. Genesis stops swinging his hips in the man’s face and turns a glare on me.

“What the fuck, Dante?”

“Get the fuck out.” I’m not in any mood to play nice. I’m in the mood to scream and thrash and burn the world down just to find some balance with the chaos going on inside my head. Maybe Genesis sees it in my eyes, or maybe he’s perfectly fine with the excuse to end the private dance early since he’s already been paid. He just shrugs and saunters out while the guy zips up, muttering under his breath about the interruption, then hurries out behind him.

I swing the door shut forcefully behind them and then spin towards Salvatore. I’m practically vibrating, seething for reasons I don’t completely understand, and he’s as relaxed as ever, loosening his tie before taking a seat on the far end of the leather couch, nowhere near where the other man had been sitting.

“What’s the matter, Angel? Is this about the break-in at your place?” He rests one arm casually along the back of the couch and spreads his legs to make himself comfortable.

My eyes are drawn to the hard bulge between his thighs and my body remembers how it felt last night to have him pressing me against the shower wall, his cock dragging ruthlessly against mine, my body melting with surrender. And then his words sink in, and I snap my eyes back to his.

“It’s not about the break-in. I could give a fuck about the soon-to-be-dead prick who can’t seem to stay the hell out of my apartment,” I growl, and Sal’s lips twitch with a heated smile. “And fuck your nephew, by the way.”

“He’s not stupid, Angioletto, he had to tell me.” He leans forward, putting his elbows on his thighs. “Do you just need something sturdy to rage at, or did I actually do something to piss you off?”

“You fucking ruined me.” I try to snarl at him, but the sound comes out too strangled, halfway desperate like an animal caught in a trap. “Or, I don’t know, Don ruined me. I ruined myself.” I feel like everything is spinning again, like I’m gasping for a breath I can’t quite catch. “This isn’t me. I don’t want this to be me. My husband fending off men who try to touch me like I can’t handle them myself,” I spit the words and stomp closer to Salvatore without meaning to.

He leans back again, looking up at me with warm, lustful, confusing things dancing in his dark eyes. He puts his hand on my thigh, tracing the shape of the wide holes in the fishnets with his thumb.

“I thought it would give you the chance to dance without having to worry. You didn’t like it?”

I grit my teeth and sway another step closer, putting myself right between his spread legs. My achingly hard cock strains against my underwear right at his eye level. There’s no way to hide the way my body has learned to react to him, and I don’t bother to try.

“I did like it,” I growl.

He arches an eyebrow and leans forward, holding my eyes as he drags his tongue in a slow circle over the bare skin of my lower belly, just below the edge of my corset.

“You’re mad at me because you liked feeling taken care of?” He licks another slow circle. “Defended?” He nips at the wet spot left by his tongue, drawing a gasp from my throat and making my cock twitch eagerly. “Protected?”

“I can protect myself. I always have.” I shove against his shoulder—at least that’s what my intent is, but somehow, I end up with my fingers digging into the soft fabric of his jacket, feeling the sturdiness of his shoulder underneath.

Both of Salvatore’s hands land on my ass cheeks, bare except for the open weave of the fishnets. The lacy strip of fabric wedged into my crease rubs teasingly against my hole and all the untouched parts of me throb.

“ Can and have to aren’t the same thing, sweetness. Something tells me you’ve been fighting for too long already. It’s okay to rest and let me go a few rounds for you.” He drags his lips over the head of my cock as he murmurs the words and my knees quake.

“I ran to you instead of even trying to deal with Don myself,” I counter, my protests sounding weaker as my anger starts to get lost with every kneading grasp of his hands and every teasing brush of his lips.

His eyes flare and he grabs me harder, burying his face against the hard, pulsing length of my cock. The lace doesn’t do anything to blunt the heat of his breath or the wetness of his lips.

“Because you knew I’d protect you. There’s nothing weak or wrong about that. A smart man uses any weapon at his disposal. There’s no honor among monsters, all that matters is who comes out on top.” It sounds so simple when he puts it that way. Don wouldn’t hesitate to use the Mafia to come after me if he had the chance, so why should I feel bad about it?

I swallow hard and my knees wobble again.

“I don’t know who I am anymore though. If I stop swinging my fists at every threat, if I let you fight for me instead, then I’m just a devastatingly hot guy with no clue what to do with himself.”

Salvatore barks out a laugh.

“You’ll still be the same fiery, violent, unhinged little angel you’ve always been. You’ll just be less tired.”

My shoulders sag a little. I have to admit, that sounds nice. But it also sounds like a hopeful, empty promise. I can let him fight for me, but I can’t get too used to it. That’s a fair compromise to make with myself, isn’t it?

“Salvatore?” I cant my hips and rasp his name.

“Yes, Angioletto?”

“Make me suck your cock.”

SALVATORE

I’ve been kneading his soft, perky ass cheeks, but my hands go still and my cock throbs.

“You want me to force you to your knees and make you feel helpless, Angel?” I scrape my teeth over the lace covering his swollen, aching cock and it jerks eagerly. “You want to choke on how out of my mind horny I’ve been for you since the first time I watched you grab a man by the wrist and bring him to his knees with fire in your eyes and a snarl on your beautiful lips?”

He nods slowly, the heat in his eyes smoldering and his cock spasming again while the rest of his expression sets into that mask of defiance I’ve jerked off to so many times I’ve lost count. Maybe some people wouldn’t understand how Dante could go from being on the verge of a panic attack over his own perceived weakness to wanting to be forced to submit, but I get it. There’s no weakness in choosing to submit, but he has to see that for himself.

“Oh, and we only have, like, fifteen minutes before my break is technically over, so hurry up or you’re going to spend the rest of my shift with blue balls.” He gives me a cheeky smile and starts to take a step back.

I’m out of my seat in a flash, tangling my fingers in his hair and yanking him back roughly. His head jerks and a breathy gasp parts his crimson lips.

“You remember your safeword?” I know he does, but the reminder never hurts, especially before getting a little rough. I drag my free hand down the length of his corset, imagining stripping it off of him later and spreading him out stark naked in my bed. When I reach his cock, I wrap my fingers around it a little too tightly. He rewards me with a whimper. He tries to nod, but I tighten my grip. “Words, Angel. Say, ‘yes, Sir.’”

I snake my tongue along the warm, wet seam of his parted lips and he snaps his teeth, grazing the tip of my tongue.

“Fuck you,” he hisses, gnashing his teeth again.

I pull back in time to avoid another bite, the taste of copper lingering in my mouth from the first one, and my heart races with excitement.

“The only thing getting fucked tonight is that bratty mouth of yours. I’m sure it’ll be a hardship for you to be too busy choking on my cock to spew any of those charming insults and profanities.”

He squirms against the hold I have on him, and I let a slow smirk pull across my lips. I take my hand off of his cock and wrap it around his throat instead, loosely, just enough to feel every swallow and the vibration of his quiet gasping sounds against my palm.

“Don’t touch me.” Dante shoves lightly against my chest, stumbling over his own feet as I spin towards the couch.

“You can’t fool me, Angioletto. You’ve wanted this as long as I have.”

The click of his tongue against his teeth isn’t part of the roleplay at all. Even with his cock drooling in his panties and his eyes begging me to be even rougher with him, he still wants to pretend that this is one-sided. Beautiful, infuriating, stubborn brat.

“Lie to yourself all you want.” I walk him backward until the backs of his legs hit the couch, and I sink my teeth into his earlobe. “But I know the signs of a brat begging for attention. Did you ever go home after a shift and wrap your hand around your lonely cock, imagining what it would feel like if I finally had enough of your mouthing off?”

He nods and then catches himself and shakes his head. I chuckle, kissing and biting my way along his jaw. His skin is nice and smooth now, the stubble from the last few days gone, leaving the minty scent of my aftershave in its place.

“Were you hoping I’d spank you to put you in your place?” I shake my head before he even responds. “No, that’s not what you were looking for.” I move my grip from his throat to his jaw, turning his head towards me so I can look in his eyes, so I can see those pouty, snarling lips of his. “This is what you wanted, you just couldn’t admit it, even to yourself. You want to pretend that you don’t want it to take your power back from all the men who’ve made you feel like you’re nothing but a fuck toy.”

“Is a psychology lecture about my twisted kink supposed to be a punishment or are you trying to run out the clock because you’re afraid you won’t be able to perform when you’re under so much pressure?”

Laughter rumbles in my throat and I push Dante onto the couch. The sounds of the club are muffled by the door, easy to ignore over his ragged breathing and the clank of my belt buckle as I undo it with one hand. I slip my other hand down the front of Dante’s top to tease a pierced nipple between my fingers, tugging and pinching, watching the tick of his jaw and the rebellion in his eyes as he fights against the pleasured moans and whimpers building inside of him.

I pull my cock free, my eyes locking on his pursed lips. My base throbs and pulses with the building pressure of wanting to be buried deep inside of him. I want to feel his surrender in the way his mouth goes slack around me, in the strokes of his tongue along the thick veins lining my shaft.

“It’s okay to admit you want it,” I taunt him, squeezing just below the head of my cock and dragging it over his lips like lipstick, leaving streaks of my precum glistening against the velvety red. “I can see how hard you are, Angel.”

His hands are balled into fists at his sides, his cock visibly straining in those pretty panties of his. He narrows his eyes in a challenging glare, refusing to say a word. I pinch his nipple harder, twisting the barbell just a little, and his lips part on a gasp. I shove my cock between them with a triumphant moan. For a second, he seems to forget our game, forget that he wants to pretend not to like it. His eyelashes flutter and the tension in his face goes slack, his tongue laving hungrily over my cockhead. He makes a muffled sound that vibrates down my shaft and settles in my heavy, tightening balls, and he sinks down another few inches, sucking me into the wet heat of his mouth.

“Now there’s a good boy,” I groan, letting my head loll back and snapping my hips forward.

Dante sputters, the muscles of his throat constricting around me. Blinding pleasure rushes through me at the tightness, the fluttering spasm as he tries to adjust to my cock filling his throat. I pull back out and his lipstick smears down the wet length. His nostrils flare and he meets my eyes, his eyelashes damp with tears. His glare stays in place another few seconds, the tip of my cock resting on his tongue, and then he lets out a shuddering breath. The tension he’s been holding on to—always ready for a fight, his hackles always up—melts away.

“Good, Angel,” I praise him again, hoping he can hear the satisfaction and pride filling my chest and seeping into the dark, cracked parts of my soul that I always knew Dante could fill. “It’s okay to like it. It’s okay to feel good,” I murmur, thrusting between his lips again, savoring the drag of them over my length and the hot, wet pleasure of his throat engulfing me over and over.

He’s not pretending to fight anymore. His hands groping, hips twitching, his eyes pleading, staying latched onto mine as I fuck his mouth harder and faster.

I’m not worried about the time limit, but the urgency is part of the thrill. Someone could knock on the door at any minute, demanding to know where Dante is. All they would hear are his muffled, gagging moans and my panting as I watch my cock slide in and out of his pretty mouth.

“Touch your cock,” I growl. “Let me see.”

He whines around my next thrust, lifting his hips off the couch and wiggling his tights and underwear down just enough for his hard, flushed cock to spring free.

“Time’s almost up, Angel,” I warn, filling his throat again and again, my balls tight and aching, insistent, eager heat pooling in my gut. “Hurry up and make yourself come, or you’ll be suffering with blue balls until the end of your shift.”

The echo of his earlier taunt earns me a glare that only lasts a fraction of a second before I thrust deep again and his eyes roll back as he wraps his hand around his cock like I told him to. He strokes himself fast, the muffled moans around my cock getting deeper and longer, tears flowing freely down his cheeks and lipstick colored spit staining his chin, his hips lifting off the couch in desperate, unrhythmic thrusts.

“Dante,” I groan, slamming my hips against his face one more time and burying my cock deep in his throat. The choked, body racking sob he lets out as my cock swells and my orgasm explodes through me might be my new favorite sound. Or maybe it’s the strangled moan that accompanies the ropes of his cum splattering across that pretty corset of his, his eyes wide and his whole body shaking as he swallows down the endless volleys of my release and then laps at my slit like he’s afraid to miss a drop.

“Angel,” I sigh, cupping his chin and easing out of his mouth when I’m too sensitive to let him lick and suck my softening cock anymore. A trickle of spit and cum dribbles from the corner of his ruined lips and dark streaks of mascara stain his cheeks. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

He blinks, stunned for a second, then shakes his head. “I… um… should get back to work.”

He seems dazed, his hands shaking as he stuffs his spent cock away and looks down at the streaks of cum on his corset.

“Hold on,” I say firmly, tucking my own cock away and sitting down on the couch next to him.

“I have to—” he starts to say again.

I grab his bicep and tug him down before he can go anywhere. He squirms and fights me for a second before giving in and sinking against me.

“There. Just relax. They won’t miss you for five more minutes.” I stroke my fingers along the curve of his shoulder, up and down in a soothing motion, and reach into my pocket with my free hand.

I’ve always found the concept of a handkerchief outdated and, frankly, disgusting. But sometimes it goes with my suit, and I’m not about to argue with style. I pull out the unused handkerchief and tilt Dante’s face up so I can get a better look at the mess I made. A possessive growl rumbles in my throat as I wipe the lipstick off of his chin.

His lips twist into a smile.

“You’re such a fucking caveman,” he mutters, tilting his chin up a little more to give me better access.

“And you’re a fucking brat,” I say with grin.

“Are you staying until the end of my shift?” he asks, holding still while I dab the smeared mascara off of his cheeks.

“What do you think, Angioletto?”