8. Eight

I couldn't sleep.

Maybe it was the curry sitting too heavy in my belly, or the gentle strumming of the guitar over my head, or maybe the bed was just too small. I shifted onto my side and pulled my knees up, but it still felt cramped. Lying on my side only made Dante's music louder, even with the earplugs in.

I glanced over at the glowing alarm clock. Three thirty in the bloody morning and he was still playing like it was midday. He showed no signs of stopping or slowing down, either.

Bloody hell. If I can't sleep, I might as well get up and do something useful . Except what was I to do at that ungodly hour? The house needed a good top to bottom clean, but I wasn't in the mood to scrub floors and sweep. Besides, there was supposed to be a maid starting soon.

I wiped a hand over my face and sat up, pulling the earplugs out as I went. Dante had his amps on high enough that the windows vibrated slightly with some of the lower notes, and the high notes made my teeth hurt. I thought about going upstairs to give him a piece of my mind, but it wouldn't do any good. For the first time, it seemed like we were finally making some progress, and I didn't want to undo it.

Instead, I slid into the desk and opened my laptop. Boone had said I should keep an eye on Dante's social media channels just in case, and I had yet to check on them. While the cabin didn't have an internet connection, I could piggyback off my phone to work. That was what I meant to do when I logged in, but I got distracted by the song drifting through the floor.

"…I disappear without a trace.

Every empty bottle is a fall from grace.

You numb the pain, but steal the show.

I've got nowhere left to go.

You chain me up and drown me in doubts.

I just can't find a good way out,

So I fall into your familiar embrace

And I disappear in you without a trace.

Caught in the crossfire of this war in my head,

Without the burn, I'm better off dead."

His voice sounded so raw, so forlorn and honest. Not at all like the overproduced voice I'd heard on the CD. It was enough to make me almost wish I liked music.

Before I knew it, I was typing Dante's name into the search bar and scrolling through the results with a frown. Most of the links led to articles picking up the story of his coming out. It seemed to have spread through news outlets like wildfire. One of his former hookups was apparently even writing a tell-all book and had a movie deal lined up. Bloody leech. I wondered if Dante even knew. Or if he cared. He seemed resigned to the whole thing, as if people knowing everything about him wasn't a blatant invasion of privacy .

Halfway down the search page was an older link mentioning leaked photos. I clicked it, expecting another article. What I got instead was a page selling autographed photos of him in the buff.

Good God, put a warning on that ! My cursor darted for the X in the corner, but I paused. The photo was blurry in places, and definitely taken in a dark room with a cell phone camera, but it was clearly him. A much thinner, paler version of him. Painfully thin. He'd posed for the camera with his lips pursed and a half empty bottle of vodka in his fist. My chest hurt to see him like that. No wonder his bandmates were concerned if this was how bad it'd gotten.

The music stopped above.

Finally, he's going to sleep . I closed all the open windows on my laptop and shut it down before climbing back into bed. I was almost out when my phone chirped. Normally, I would've ignored any notification coming in at almost four in the morning, but I'd set up an alert to notify me of any unusual activity on any of Dante's social media accounts. I hadn't expected to get a notification so soon, and not in the middle of the night. I clicked on the window and it took me to Dante's Instagram page.

That little shit! He'd posted a bloody video of himself playing in his room an hour ago.

I threw the blanket aside and stormed out of the room, phone in hand, to confront him. I didn't care if he was asleep. He was going to get up and delete the post he made before a million people saw it and the place was swarming with fans and reporters.

I didn't think I was quiet coming up the ladder, but Dante must not have heard me. He was still lying naked on top of the duvet, working a fist around his cock. His eyes were closed, his other arm thrown lazily behind his head. The silver cross necklace sitting against his tattooed chest rose and fell with his rapid breaths. With his long, ashen hair falling down around his shoulders, Dante looked like a fallen angel begging to be worshipped.

I was stunned speechless at the sight, enough that I completely forgot why I'd come up in the first place.

Why am I standing here like a fool? I should go. But what if he hears me leaving? I can't just stand here and watch him like a bloody voyeur.

I tore my attention away to stare at the nearby wall and cleared my throat.

"Jesus, man!" Fabric rustled as Dante scrambled to cover himself with a pillow.

"Sorry." Why in God's name was I apologizing? He was the one who'd made a mistake, not me. It wasn't my fault he was too busy jerking off to hear me coming up.

"What do you want, Church?" The low growl in Dante's voice made the skin on my arms prickle and my cock twitch.

I swallowed, but it was as if I'd stuffed my throat with cotton balls. "You…" I cleared my throat to no avail. "We…I…the…"

Dante smirked and sat up, propping his elbows up on the pillow between his legs. "God, I love it when a big, strong man trips all over himself trying to find the right words. Go on, kitten. Take a minute."

My face burned. Why was I acting like a damn fool suddenly? It wasn't like I'd never seen a naked man before. I wasn't some blushing virgin. He wasn't even the first client I'd walked in on. What the bloody hell was wrong with me?

"Don't flirt with me when you're…" I gestured vaguely at him.

"Harder than a steel pole?" Dante chuckled. "Well, you're not making it any better, so why don't you say what you came to say so I can finish and you can go wish you were here?"

"Instagram!" I sputtered and held up my phone, pointing at it. "You posted a video, Dante. "

"Is that what you're so worked up about?" He rolled his eyes and tossed the pillow aside.

"Put on some pants," I growled as he climbed out of bed.

"I'm trying. As far as I know, they haven't invented insta-pants yet."

He fished around in the mess on the floor for his discarded clothes. I turned away, but it was already too late. All the blood had rushed south, and I had to do my best to discreetly adjust my erection before he noticed it. His flirting was already bad enough. He'd never let me live it down if he saw that.

"As far as the Instagram post goes, it's no big deal. I was careful about the shot. Nobody's going to be able to figure out where I am from a thirty-second video, Church." He zipped up his pants.

I turned back around, trying to remind myself that I should be fuming mad, not turned on. "Maybe not if you hadn't left the bloody geotag on, Dante!"

"I didn't. Did I?" He grabbed his phone off the nightstand with a frown, tapping on the screen. "Shit, I did. That was my bad, but it's no big deal. I'll delete the post. It's only been seen by…" Dante cringed.

"How many people, Dante?"

He shook his head. "Doesn't matter. It's deleted now. That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

I clenched my fists and stepped closer. "Dammit, Dante, you have to start thinking before you do these things! What if I hadn't gotten a notification? What if—"

"You're stalking me on social media now?" He crossed his arms over his chest, making it impossible not to glance at the skull he had tattooed there.

"It's my job to keep you safe, Dante."

"No, it's your job to babysit me and make sure I don't sneak off and drink or pop any pills. That's why you're here, isn't it? You don't give a damn about me. The label execs that hired you sure as hell don't either. They want you here to make sure I don't fuck up After Atom's clean and wholesome image."

My fists curled up tight, fingernails biting into my palms. "I wouldn't have to be here if you had an ounce of self-control!"

"You think I have no self-control?"

"I know you don't!"

He smirked, eyes raking over me. "You talk an awful lot about self-control for a man who's begging to submit."

I shook my head. "You couldn't handle me on your best day."

"No? I bet I can break you with two words."

I folded my arms. "Try me."

Dante might've been nearly a foot shorter than me, but the way he prowled forward made him seem much bigger than he was. He stopped right in front of me, stood up on his tiptoes and leaned in. My trapped cock throbbed as warm breath brushed over the shell of my ear.

He made a sound in the back of his throat that was half animal, half human, but all sex. "Good boy."

Bloody hell. With that voice, Dante was temptation incarnate. If he'd been anyone else…

But he wasn't. He was the one man who was off limits, and this was nothing more than his attempt at a distraction.

I turned my face toward him, trying to ignore how right his scent felt wrapped around me. "I need your phone, Dante."

He stepped back with a smirk. "Is that all you need?"

"Yes," I lied through gritted teeth.

"What're you willing to do to get it?"

I closed my eyes and sighed. "I'm just trying to keep you safe. Don't make this any more difficult than it already is. Please. "

When I opened my eyes again, he held his phone out to me, his expression blank. I thought it must be a trick, but he let me have it without a struggle.

"I expect to have access whenever I need it," he said.

"You can have supervised access to your phone for a few hours a day."

"I didn't say access to the phone." Dante winked and walked back to his bed. "Although next time you want a show, let me know in advance so I can come prepared, pun intended."

"Next time I want a show, I expect a better performance," I replied.

"I'll keep that in mind, big boy." Dante's laughter followed me all the way down the stairs.