Chapter Six

DANTE

Dante’s gaze wandered over the rosy blush spreading across Emma’s cheeks as her parents discussed their upcoming vacation plans. She wore the jasmine and vanilla perfume that he had given her on her sixteenth birthday. The intoxicating scent teased his senses and threatened to unravel him. Her hair was pulled back into a neat bun today, emphasizing the softness of her neck. He wanted her again.

He sat stiffly at the dinner table, surrounded by laughter and lighthearted conversation. The tender affection between the family members was a stark contrast to the cold emptiness that had marked his own childhood. Dante watched Emma interact with her family. She talked about her day, laughed at her parents’ jokes, and occasionally glanced his way. The tension between them remained, but was tempered by the familial love surrounding them. It was intoxicating, like a drug he couldn’t shake off.

He wondered if she was going to continue to hide the true identity of Queen Mab or if she was going to admit to him that she craved his dominance. Was it a one-night-only thing for her? Was she embarrassed by her desire to be dominated? The questions ate at him, and he shouldn’t be thinking about her like that while he sat at her parents’ dinner table. The Hartleys’ home had been a safe haven for him growing up more times than he cared to admit.

The conversation flowed around him as his mind drifted back to painful memories of his parents’ abuse. His parents had never treated anyone with kindness or love—not even each other. His father was an alcoholic prone to violent outbursts, while his mother seemed to ignore everything happening around her. They had money, but no idea how to love. The desire to belong—to truly be a part of something as genuine as this—pulled taut within him, yet he maintained his distance, a self-imposed exile from the very thing he craved. The irony of seeking dominance in one sphere while feeling utterly powerless in another was not lost on him. But here, amidst family banter and the soft glow of overhead lights, Dante played his part flawlessly, a consummate actor on a stage not his own.

What the hell was he doing here, pretending he belonged in a home of domestic bliss like this?

Joey was shoveling in mouthfuls of his mother’s meatloaf and mashed potatoes as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks. Maybe he hadn’t, at least not homemade food like this. Dante wondered what had put the hunted look in his friend’s eyes, and the wariness that Joey revealed when he wouldn’t meet his stare. There was something off, but Dante couldn’t put his finger on it.

“More potatoes, Dante?” Mrs. Hartley’s voice penetrated his reverie, her smile all nurturing generosity as she offered the bowl.

“Thank you.” He took the bowl before passing it to Emma. Their fingers brushed ever so slightly, sending a flash of heat through him. As they exchanged brief glances, Dante felt a dangerous hunger well up inside him, only to be buried once more beneath layers of self-preservation.

“Emma tells us you’re doing well at Couture.” Mr. Hartley punctuated his question with a forkful of green beans. “How’s the counseling side of things?”

“Rewarding,” Dante said shortly, not wanting to talk about work. He barely worked on the Couture side, even though his vanilla cover was a therapist.

“Must be quite the experience, working at a place like that,” Joey chimed in, a lightness to his words that felt foreign to Dante. “All the glitz and glamour of fashion mixed with...other interests.”

A flash of guilt washed over him, as unfamiliar as it was unwelcome. What—if anything—did Joey know about the “other interests”?

“Let’s just say I’ve always had a keen interest in understanding human behavior,” Dante said, his reply skirting the edges of his darker reality.

“Sounds like it takes a lot of patience,” Joey said.

“Patience and a good deal of resilience,” Dante agreed, nodding. Those words spanned more than just his professional life. They were tenets of his existence within the walls of Club Inferno, where control and endurance were paramount.

His thoughts, those treacherous whisperers, veered toward the dungeon where leather and steel ruled supreme—the dungeon where he’d claimed Emma with the searing touch of a Dom who sought to etch pleasure through pain. The memory of her submission, the heat of their entwined bodies, it clawed at him now with sharpened nails of potential ruin.

Emma’s secret—that she was the masked sub from that night—lay between them like a sleeping beast. It had not stirred tonight, but the possibility of its awakening sent spikes of adrenaline through Dante’s veins. What if, in a moment of vulnerability, she confessed to Joey? Dante couldn’t bear to lose the one person who’d been a constant in his otherwise turbulent life.

Yet, in the dungeon, Emma had chosen anonymity. Why? Did she fear the consequences as much as he did, or was there more to her silence? Perhaps it was a gift, a singular night wrapped in discretion, meant to be tucked away in the corner of their minds where reality couldn’t tarnish it. He turned over the memory of their encounter in his mind like a pebble worn smooth by relentless tides. It was just a one-night stand, he reasoned. A fleeting moment of connection that should remain just that—fleeting. The thought brought an unwelcome tightness to his chest. To continue down that path with Emma would mean to tread into a maze of complication they were both better off avoiding.

Dante’s thumb traced the edge of his wineglass, a quiet anchor in the swell of family banter that ebbed and flowed around the Hartley dinner table. The laughter, the easy exchanges—it was foreign yet hauntingly familiar territory. As the conversation drifted toward lighter topics, he could almost forget the tempest churning within him. Almost.

“Pass the salt, Dante?” Joey’s voice brought him back to the present.

“Of course,” Dante replied, his movements measured as he handed over the shaker.

As he did so, images of Emma, flushed and yielding beneath his careful administration of pleasure, flashed behind his eyes. Could Joey ever forgive him if he knew the truth? If he saw the evidence of their tryst painted in bruises on his sister’s skin? No matter how consensual, how deeply craved each mark had been, it was a betrayal too intimate for forgiveness.

“Have you always wanted to work in that field?” her father chimed in, passing a dish of steamed vegetables.

Always was a stretch. He’d stumbled into the world of counseling as one might fall into a ravine—unexpectedly, painfully. His past, littered with scars from his parents’ abuses, loomed large as a reminder of where he never wished to return.

“Sounds like a fascinating job,” Mrs. Hartley chimed in, her eyes filled with genuine interest. “What kinds of challenges do you usually encounter?”

“Well,” Dante began, rubbing the back of his neck, “every individual is different, so the challenges can vary greatly. But I find that helping clients build self-esteem and confidence is often key to overcoming many of their obstacles.”

“Maybe you could help Emma with that,” Joey said.

If looks could kill, Emma would have shot lasers out of her eyes and incinerated her brother on the spot.

“Emma is doing just fine on her own,” Dante said.

“I’m sitting right here,” Emma said, sullenly.

Dante leaned back into his chair, forcing his attention onto Joey, who was now regaling his mother with tales of his military training.

“Emma, how’s work been?” Mrs. Hartley asked when Joey went for his third helping of meatloaf.

“Busy as always,” Emma replied with a smile. “But I’m learning a lot and I love it.”

“Sounds exciting,” her mother said.

“Thrilling,” Dante murmured under his breath, almost imperceptibly. He regretted the word the moment it left his lips, as though it were a betrayal of the restraint he was struggling to uphold.

“Emma, tell us about the Halloween party you organized,” Mrs. Hartley said, beaming with pride. “Did you meet anyone famous?”

As the conversation flowed around him, Dante’s thoughts drifted back to the dungeon. His chest tightened at the memory of her on her knees, willingly giving herself over to his control. He knew that if their secret were to come to light, it could jeopardize his friendship with Joey, a bond forged through years of shared laughter and pain.

“Earth to Dante?” Joey’s voice cut through Dante’s thoughts, bringing him back to the present.

“Uh, I’m sorry, I missed that,” Dante admitted sheepishly.

“Mom asked if you’d like some more wine,” Joey repeated, holding up the bottle.

“Sure, thank you,” Dante replied, smiling as Joey refilled his glass. He knew he should focus on enjoying the company of the people he considered family, but his mind stubbornly remained with the image of Emma, her body flushed and marked by his touch.

For now, he would have to live with the uncertainty, and the secret that lay between them. But as the evening wore on, Dante couldn’t help but wonder if the truth would eventually come out, shattering the only family he had ever known. Each time Emma’s laughter reached his ears, it was both a siren song and a warning bell. He sipped his wine. It did little to quench the heat that simmered within him, a heat stoked by memories of leather and whispers in the dark.

“Have you been working on any other interesting projects at Couture?” Mrs. Hartley asked Emma.

“Actually, yes,” she said. “We’ve been partnering with some up-and-coming designers to create a new line of clothing inspired by different global cultures. It’s fascinating to see how each artist brings their unique perspective to the table.”

As the conversation continued, Dante clung to the fleeting moments of normalcy, all the while knowing that underneath it all, his heart still yearned for Emma’s touch. But as long as their secret remained hidden, he would do everything in his power to protect both of them from the potential heartbreak that could ensue if the truth were ever revealed.

“Thank you all for the wonderful dinner,” Dante said, forcing a smile as he stood to help clear the plates. The clatter of silverware and the scrape of chairs against the floor punctuated his words, grounding him in the present moment.

“Why don’t you stick around for a beer?” Joey suggested, gesturing toward the living room where they could continue their conversation away from the bustle of the kitchen.

Dante hesitated, the offer tempting but fraught with risk.

“I can’t. I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow.” He glanced at Emma, her eyes downcast as she wiped the edge of a plate clean. “How about we catch up before you leave again? Maybe grab a drink somewhere?”

“Sounds good,” Joey agreed, seemingly oblivious to the tension that hung in the air between Dante and his sister. “We’ll find a time that works. You okay?”

Dante forced himself to focus. “Yeah, why do you ask?”

“You’ve been a bit distracted all night,” Joey said, his brow furrowed. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” He met Joey’s eyes. “You seem off tonight too.”

Joey backtracked both physically and mentally. “I’ve just been thinking about some stuff, that’s all.”

“The road goes both ways, you know. I’m here if you need me. Any time.”

Joey gave a knowing nod and changed the subject, moving the conversation away from the heavy emotions hanging over them both.

Dante turned to say his goodbyes to Emma’s family. Despite the hollow ache in his chest, he mustered genuine gratitude for their hospitality—a stark contrast to the cold indifference he had known in his own childhood home. “Mrs. Hartley, Mr. Hartley, thank you for having me over. It was a pleasure spending time with you all.”

“We’ve missed you,” Mrs. Hartley replied warmly. “We should do this more often.”

“Take care of yourself, son,” Mr. Hartley added, clapping Dante on the shoulder. “And keep an eye on Emma for us, will you?”

“Of course,” Dante promised, his gaze drifting over to Emma one last time before he made his exit.

Exiting the house felt like stepping out of a sanctuary and back onto a battlefield. The door closed behind him with a soft click, sealing away the laughter and light that seemed so alien to his own experiences. Dante breathed deeply, the night air cool against his skin, a balm to the feverish anxiety that had persisted throughout the evening. As he walked down the path, the gravel crunching beneath his shoes echoed in the silence. He felt the tension in his shoulders ease slightly, relief mingling with a profound sense of loss. He had played his part well. The facade of friendship remained unbroken, his deeper desires for Emma buried beneath layers of self-imposed detachment.

The drive home would be long and solitary, the roads stretching before him much like the path he had chosen—a path of self-denial, where the gratification of his longing for Emma lay forever out of reach. Dante slid into his car, the leather seat cool and familiar against his skin, and started the engine, the purr of it somehow both comforting and isolating.

The hum of the engine blended with Dante’s thoughts as he navigated through the quiet streets, the darkness outside a stark contrast to the warm glow he’d left behind. His hands were steady on the wheel, yet his mind was anything but calm, tumbling over the evening’s events like a relentless current.

“Keep an eye on Emma,” he whispered into the silence, the words an oath and a curse. Protecting Emma from potential heartbreak meant chaining his own heart, locking away the part of him that craved to claim her, to explore the depths of her submission. It was the only way to safeguard their bond from the destructive forces of his own desires. A shiver ran down his spine as he imagined what it would be like to truly possess her, to see her willingly kneel before him. But those images were quickly doused by the cold water of reality—the understanding that Joey, his oldest friend, would never forgive him for marking his sister’s skin, even if every bruise was a testament to consensual passion.

Dante’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, the leather creaking under the strain. He could not allow himself the luxury of dwelling on what-ifs and maybes. He was a master of control, after all. And so, with the city’s skyline looming ahead, he fortified the walls around his heart, brick by brick, convincing himself that suppression was the kindest form of affection he could offer Emma. He couldn’t risk ruining his friendship with Joey and the admiration of her family over an impossible attraction. She deserved better than someone like him anyway.

Back at his place, he collapsed onto the couch. His thoughts drifted to her soft skin and how perfect she would look bound and gagged under his command. A shudder ran through him at the thought alone. He wanted her submission, her sweet moans echoing through the walls of his dungeon. Dante groaned, knowing he’d run out of time to avoid her. Tomorrow would be hell when he went back to work—being near her would only fuel his desire to claim her as his own.

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