Page 9

Chapter 9

DANTE

I wish I could say I lay awake for hours, pissed that Salvatore managed to trick me into begging after all, unsettled by how disturbingly safe he made me feel for just a few minutes. I pretended to be asleep when he came back to clean me up, just so I wouldn’t have to admit to his smug, handsome face that maybe I enjoyed myself a teeny, tiny, minuscule amount. But after he gently wiped the cum off my thighs and fucking tucked me in —seriously, who does that? He’s a vicious criminal for fuck’s sake—I passed out and slept like the dead. I’m sure it had more to do with being in a different state where no one could possibly have followed me and not how hard Salvatore made me come.

The morning sun peeks through the curtains and the existential crisis I avoided last night is all cued up and ready to go. Because clearly on the morning I’m getting married to a mafioso in order to avoid retribution from the scumbag pedo I put in prison, my biggest problem is why I got off so hard on submitting last night. I’m making too big a deal out of this. Plenty of people are switches. Hell, I’m bisexual and vers, so clearly, I’m comfortable swinging wildly any which way that pleases me in the moment. Adding the occasional desire to submit to my sexual resumé shouldn’t be an issue. So why does it make me feel so twitchy and exposed?

I need coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. I slip out of bed and glance around the room in search of my panties. The memory of Salvatore’s hands on my skin as he slid them off, the growl in his voice when he told me to beg, makes me shiver. They’re not on the floor where I left them, so I grab one of the white satin robes hanging in the closet and wrap it around myself. It’s very bridal, which I suppose makes sense since this is the honeymoon suite. Maybe I should wear this for our wedding. It’s either the robe or the alien-themed tourist crap I insisted on buying yesterday to annoy Sal.

I turn towards the bed where he’s still fast asleep, splayed out on his stomach with the blankets only covering half of him, mostly tugged over to my side of the bed, one bare ass cheek on full display. The urge to bite it just to hear him yelp and startle awake is strong.

Dammit, maybe he’s right, maybe I am a brat.

I shake my head at myself and slip out of the bedroom, quietly closing the door behind me. I didn’t properly look at the suite last night, and I’m glad I didn’t. It would have made me feel like I had even more to prove. Large windows give a view of the sprawling, gaudy city and the mountains in the distance. Aside from my stint in an out-of-state prison, this is the first time I’ve been outside of Wildcliff. Maybe that was my mistake—waiting around for Don’s sentence to be up so he’d know right where to find me. I could stay here. I’m sure there’s no shortage of strip clubs. In a city like Los Vespar, maybe they’d even be able to overlook my record and I could get a job dancing with my clothes on instead.

I try to picture myself here, dressed in a glittery leotard and massive tail feathers, the desert sun beating down on me three hundred and sixty-five days a year. I shudder and turn away from the view. Wildcliff is home, and over my dead body will I let Don chase me away. Or over his dead body. Actually I’d prefer it that way.

I have to admit, I feel extremely posh in this robe, the satin caressing my bare skin, the way it flows as I flit around the living room. I should come up with a dance routine for a robe like this. It would look fabulous on stage. I shrug it off my shoulders and let it fall open just enough to show off the tattoos on my collarbone and chest, and with music playing in my head, I start to dance, paying particular attention to the way the white satin billows around me with every movement. A pair of red panties underneath would be stunning to flash at just the right moments. I do a high kick, imagining how that would play under the lights with the red panties underneath. I let the movement flow through me, getting lost in it the way I always have, for as long as I can remember.

I spin and draw up short, almost stumbling over the length of the robe but catching myself at the last second. Salvatore stands in the doorway with bedhead and pillow lines still on his cheek, unabashedly naked, watching me. I pull my robe tighter around myself, feeling every bit like a Victorian woman trying to hide her virtue. I’m not sure what I’m hiding. He’s seen me naked; everyone has. I let go of the robe, letting it fall slightly open again, held together by the cinch around my waist.

“Don’t stop on my account.” He rakes his eyes over me slowly and his soft cock visibly thickens.

“I’m not. I was done,” I lie. “I need coffee. Do you want anything from room service?”

I pick up the menu from beside the room phone. Before I even get the chance to flip it open, there’s a knock at the door.

“Room service,” someone announces.

“Damn, this place is good,” I mutter, and Salvatore chuckles. “Why don’t you go put some pants on.” I make a shooing motion.

“Feeling possessive, husband? Want to keep my nudity for your eyes only?” Instead of going away, he comes closer, sliding his hand along my jaw and grinning at me.

His warm breath tickles my lips, and he tilts my face towards his, bringing his mouth closer to mine. I swallow and try to summon the violent urge to get his hands off of me, but all I manage to do is melt into him and part my lips in an unmistakable invitation that Salvatore is all too happy to take. He slips his tongue into my mouth with a rumbling sigh that makes my cock harden instantly, his grip on my jaw tightening in sharp contrast to the teasing softness of the kiss.

“And you’re accusing me of being a brat?” I mutter when he breaks the kiss. “Now we’re both too indecent to open the door.”

He smirks again and gropes my stiff cock refusing to be contained behind the delicate fabric of the robe.

“You can leave everything there in the hallway,” he calls out without taking his eyes off of mine.

“Yes, sir,” the person on the other side of the door says, and after a few seconds, footsteps echo back down the hallway and the elevator dings faintly in the distance.

SALVATORE

“Sit.” I give Dante a nudge towards the sofa.

I’m expecting the glare I get in return. What I’m not expecting is how much sexier it looks when his lips are kiss swollen and his pretty cock is still sticking out from between the folds of the robe. More shocking still, he actually listens, striding over and sitting down with a defiant little huff. Once he’s seated, he gathers his billowing robe into his lap to hide his erection and then he waves towards the door like royalty making a demand.

“Be good and fetch breakfast for me.”

I rumble a laugh. “You’re asking for it, Angel,” I warn, coming up with a dozen ways to show him how much more fun he’ll have if he lets me be the Dom he’s desperate for on my way to the door.

The room service cart is parked right outside, and a pair of garment bags are hanging from the door. Good, I won’t have to hurt any of the hotel staff.

“What’s all this?” Dante eyes the garment bags curiously as I bring everything inside and nudge the door closed with my foot.

“I ordered room service before I went to sleep last night. I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I ordered a little bit of everything.” I roll the cart over to him and start pulling the covers off each plate.

“No, what’s that?” He nods at the bags.

“You didn’t think I was going to stand up on our wedding day in a wrinkled suit or anything with a UFO printed on it, did you?” I tsk.

“You got me an outfit?” His face lights up. Not with rage or lust, but with genuine excitement. What else could I do to make him smile like that? He pushes the cart aside and jumps up, grabbing for the nearest garment bag and unzipping it in a frenzy like a child on Christmas. “What…?” His expression turns to shock and my stomach sinks.

“If it’s not what you want, we can go shopping before the wedding. There’s plenty of time.”

“No, it’s perfect.” He shakes his head slowly, looking dazed. “How did you know?”

He rubs the soft white lace between his fingers and gently touches the pearl beading. The white slacks that go with it are more traditional than the top, but I thought they would go together nicely. And, of course, a pair of red heels to finish the look. There’s nothing like the air of confidence my angel has when he’s wearing a pair of stilettos.

“Sparrow texted me a picture of the top the other day. He said you were looking at it but that he thought you didn’t buy it because of the cost. I remembered it last night and they have the same store here, which luckily had it in stock in your size.” I unzip my own garment bag to check on the suit I bought. I had to buy off the rack, obviously, with so little time to plan, so I decided to stick with a simple black suit.

“Why? I mean, why would Sparrow text you that?” His eyes darken and he drops the outfit onto the couch. “Did you have him following me?” Dante hisses, drawing himself up to his full height to get in my face.

“No, Angioletto, I don’t have anyone following you.”

“So why would he be reporting back to you about clothes I want but can’t afford?”

“If I had to guess, it’s because he knows how I feel about you, and underneath his murderous exterior, he’s secretly a hopeless romantic.” I’m sure he would pull a knife on me for suggesting such a thing, but all evidence points to him having a small soft spot for my crush on Dante.

“How you feel about me?” His eyebrows pull together and he frowns.

“I told you last night,” I remind him, putting a hand on his hip and backing him up towards the couch. When the backs of his knees hit it, I give him a nudge and he topples down. I lean over him, bracing my hands on the back of the couch. “I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you on stage.”

“You and every other gay man in Wildcliff.” Dante’s eyes harden and his jaw ticks. “I hate to ruin the illusion and everything, but that’s the point of strippers. We take off our clothes and shake our asses so your dick gets hard, and you throw money at us. That funny feeling in your pants isn’t love, it’s just business.”

It wasn’t his clothes coming off that made it impossible to look away from him. Sure, I liked the way his hips moved and how the lights danced over his bare skin, but that wasn’t what kept me coming back night after night for years. He’s not ready to believe that I fell in love with his rage and his painfully sharp tongue, not his body.

“You’re wrong,” I whisper, pressing a hard kiss to his mouth.

Dante sinks his teeth into my bottom lip and I groan, licking into his mouth with the aching need to devour him, to tear through every ounce of stubborn resistance he has and make him see the truth.

Patience , I remind myself. I have a lifetime to prove to him that I’m not like the men who have made him feel like nothing but a piece of meat.

“Now, say ‘thank you, Sir.’”

He bristles. “Thanks.”

I chuckle. “What am I going to do with you, Angioletto?”

“Marry me to save my ass and probably live to regret it thanks to my shitty attitude and inability to play nice with anyone?”

I hum, my lips twitching with another grin. “At least it’s a nice ass.”

“Fuck you. Pour me some coffee.” There’s a lightness in the bratty demand that almost makes me laugh again.

“Keep pushing me, and you’ll find out how I prefer to handle brats,” I warn, picking up both garment bags and carrying them into the bedroom to hang.

I pull on the other robe and when I step back into the living room, I notice two steaming mugs of coffee, one in front of Dante, the other on the coffee table. I round the couch, and he watches me over the rim of his mug as he takes a sip, like he’s daring me to comment on the fact that he poured us both a cup.

Shame. I was kind of hoping he’d keep testing me.