Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
When Marco’s eyes flick to the left, I crank my neck in the same direction.
Leaning against the hallway wall is Dante.
Or what’s left of him.
He looks wrecked. His clothes hang crooked and his posture is broken, but it’s his eyes that lower the imaginary knife to my stomach. They’re lost. Wholly and without constraint.
“What happened?” I ask Marco.
He shrugs, but before he can speak, Dante drawls out, “Lucia…” Even though his greeting is a drunken slur, or worse, I smile, happy he’s still coherent enough to recognize my voice.
A startled squeak escapes me when he steps forward and stumbles. I catch him before he hits the floor and instinctively wrap my arms around him. He stands a foot taller than me and weighs at least a hundred pounds more, but since he doesn’t put all his weight on me, I’m not terrified of being crushed underneath him.
Like that would ever be terrifying.
“I’ve got him,” I tell Marco.
The last thing I need is his heavy boots stomping through the apartment and waking Camille before I can get Dante cleaned up and out of sight. She doesn’t need to see him like this, and I don’t want anything to steal the joy I feel each evening and morning when she greets him with euphoria. Those times are the highlights of my day.
“You can go.”
Marco hesitates, but I hit him with a glare that leaves no room for argument. After a curt nod, he returns to the hallway he guards at all hours of the day and night when Dante isn’t here.
The instant the door closes, Dante curls his body around my back. His chin brushes the top of my head as his hands land low on my stomach. He breathes in so deeply he chuckles when strands of my hair tickle his nostrils.
“You smell like me, angelo. I like that.”
I swallow hard when I feel him thicken as I guide him to the bathroom. He reeks of alcohol and a floral perfume I pretend not to notice. My allergies keep me from using perfumes that aggravate my sinuses. Floral scents irritate my sinuses, so I never wear them.
After helping Dante onto a chair I assume was placed there for the females in his life, I walk over to the massive walk-in shower and turn on the water. I considered putting him straight to bed, but the front of his shirt is marked with a stain that looks an awful lot like vomit.
“Can you stand?” I ask, twisting back to face him.
He watches me for several heart-thrashing seconds before he jerks up his chin.
“Okay. Good.” I nudge my head to the hallway. “While you shower, I’ll turn down your bed.”
As I begin to leave, his hand shoots out to grab my wrist. His hold isn’t firm. I could pull away at any moment, yet it’s clear he doesn’t want me to go.
“Stay,” he says, reinforcing my thoughts.
“I can’t.” The words grind out of me, thick and longing. I’ve been dying to hear him say that word all week, but I don’t want it when he isn’t in control of anything.
“Yeah, you can,” Dante replies, tugging me closer. “Just like you can make yourself come.”
My eyes shoot to him so fast that I grow dizzy. I thought he’d be too intoxicated to remember what happened before he left.
“I’ll be good,” he lies, his eyes flaring with mischievousness. “I promise.”
I nod. Don’t look at me like that. I don’t believe a word he speaks. It is the fact that he butchers a world-renowned signal of telling the truth.
How can you mess up crossing your heart and hoping to die?
“Keep your underwear on,” I demand when he follows clumsily removing his shirt with his hand lowering to his trousers, which he can’t remove since he’s wearing shoes.
“I’ll get them.”
His groan when I fall to my knees to undo his laces would usually instigate a severe bout of recklessness. It doesn’t have the same effect today. His clothes don’t solely smell of floral perfume. His body is coated in it.
“Almost there.” I grunt as I tug on the back of his designer shoes to remove them. “Now you can step out of your pants.”
My throat brutally swallows when I lift my eyes to make sure he heard me, and they’re almost taken out by an impressively large and throbbing penis. Dante didn’t keep his underwear on as asked. He is butt-fucking naked, and I stare at his rippling abs, big cock, and tattooed pecs like I’ve earned the privilege to disrespect him so greatly.
“I’m so sorry.” I slap a hand over my eyes before turning my head away. “I shouldn’t have looked.” My bones creak in protest when I leap to my feet. Years of abuse before years of dancing in four-inch stilettos have aged my body faster than normal. “I’ll wait for you in there.”