22. Tristan

TWENTY-TWO

Tristan

"Come here," he says gently, like he's my fucking savior. But he is, isn't he? I need him to reach into the back seat and pull me out. I need him to scoop me up so I can moan and shudder and cling to him as the plug shifts inside me.

I don't even know where we are until Dante tells Kenzie, "You can take the Jag home if you want." We're at home then. In the parking garage.

"I'll take the train," she replies in a clipped tone. Then she adds, "That was fucked up, Dante, even for you."

"I'll take care of him."

"You fucking better."

"Fuck off, Kenzie."

"Gladly."

Dante grumbles and starts walking. I know I should be embarrassed to be carried like this. I should be embarrassed by the way Kenzie saw me. Heard me. Later, maybe I will be. Right now, I'm just so fucking relieved to have him. Oh, I know it's fucked up. I'm well aware.

He did this to me, made me spend all day craving sex, craving him. It took Kenzie a while to notice. It took her longer to get the truth out of me. At first, she even thought it was funny. Apparently, her babysitting didn't come with instructions. I could've slipped into the bathroom at the theatre and jacked off.

The thing is, it wouldn't have helped. Ah, fuck, that's not even the real problem.

I wanted this. The torment—and the relief that I know will follow. I want the moment when this is worth it, when Dante takes me over, takes me out of myself, makes everything so intensely real.

Like I said, I know it's fucked up.

But god, it feels good to have Dante carry me into the elevator, to have his undivided attention. I didn't have it when we were in his office. I can tell the difference.

He was distracted. He was upset. He's good at covering it, burying it all under a burning intensity that comes off as aggression. It is aggression, but it's more complicated than that.

His cheek is pressed against my head. He's breathing hard enough that I know he's turned on. All he wants right now is me.

I have never, ever been wanted like this. I've never been seen so fully, so clearly, not even by my own self. I had no idea what I needed until Dante gave it to me.

He carries me out of the elevator and down the hallway to his door. He manages to enter his code and get the door open without putting me down.

As we move through the apartment, I expect him to carry me to the play room, but he carries me upstairs to the bedroom. He sits down on the bed, cradling me in his lap. I'm making little sounds that should embarrass me but don't. The plug is pressing deep inside, but what has me so hungry and needy is Dante's presence. His body, with his cock hard under me. His intensity. The unspoken promise that I'll get to come. I don't want to, not yet. I want everything that comes before it. Usually, I fight him on it. It's partly instinct. It's partly release. Right now, however, I have no fight in me.

Maybe it's because he kissed me last night.

I'd never been kissed before. Even in my past experiences, I never kissed. I'm not sure why. I just never felt the desire. But when Dante kissed me, the world exploded. Or something inside me did.

I had no idea it could feel like that.

Dante rubs one of my nipples through my t-shirt. I press into the touch.

"You're so beautiful like this," he murmurs into my hair.

I love you , I almost say. Do I? Is this love? What the hell is love anyway?

I don't say any of that. Instead I whisper, "I need you."

"I know." He rubs my other nipple. "I'm here. I'm going to take care of you."

Part of me understands that he means, I'm going to make you come , but part of me feels like he means something more. I've spent most of my life, all sixteen years since Evan vanished, learning how to take care of myself, teaching myself to not need anyone.

The thing is, to survive, I don't need anyone. But it's not enough anymore to just survive. It's not enough anymore to put on an act and navigate the world while feeling removed from it.

I need this .

I need him .

He pushes my shirt up. My skin is so sensitized that goosebumps break out as his fingertips explore my contracting abdomen.

When he unbuttons my jeans, I tilt my face up and nuzzle at his throat. He starts breathing harder. He drags my zipper down, and I moan at the pressure against my aching cock. When my fly is open, he rubs me through my briefs. They're wet with precum.

"Oh fuck," he breathes as his fingers find the wetness. His hips shift as he seeks friction against my ass. We both moan as his erection grinds against me.

"I thought about you all day," he says. "I imagined that plug inside you, pressing against your sweet spot, making you hard for me. I imagined your cock dripping as you waited for me. Did you imagine me inside you?"

"Yes," I breathe against his throat. "I imagined you stretching me. Fucking me. Coming inside me."

His groan is loud and ragged, and I find myself suddenly on my back on the bed as he hurriedly removes my shoes and socks. He kicks off his own and rips off his shirt. Literally rips it off; I hear the cloth tearing.

I sit partway up and pull my t-shirt off. Dante tackles me back down and assaults my mouth with a brutal, claiming kiss. He bites at me and tugs my bottom lip with his teeth. I moan and open to him. His tongue spears into my mouth with hunger and aggression, practically devouring me, and I love it.

I chase his tongue with mine, and it makes him even more aggressive. He reaches down and grips my cock through my underwear. He makes a pleased and predatory sound when a shudder wracks my body.

He releases my cock, but the back of his hand is still rubbing against it as he starts working at the fly of his pants. Suddenly there's a lot of tugging and shoving, and my ass lifts a little as my jeans and underwear are wrenched down. I'm distracted by the way my dick gets tugged by the dragging cloth, so I'm not quite prepared for the abrupt sensation of his bare cock against mine. As I cry out and arch into him, he switches from kissing me to biting and sucking at my neck.

It's so fucking erotic that I almost come. His hard, leaking cock is gliding against mine. His hand is moving between us, cupping and tugging my balls, then cupping and tugging his own. But it's when he takes both our cocks in his grip and ruts against me that I cry out sharply. He pinches the tip of my dick, stopping my orgasm. My cry becomes one of frustration. I want to come. I need to.

But he doesn't let me. He edges me again and again and again. I don't even know at what point he got both our pants fully off. I don't remember getting dragged up further onto the bed.

He bites my nipple hard enough to hurt. I spasm under him, initially angry, but my spasm makes my ass clench around the plug, and I moan.

When Dante draws away, I whimper. I'm past caring if it sounds needy. I am needy. He's only getting the lube, but I can't handle the separation. I crawl after him. I crawl into his lap.

He chuckles softly, but he seems pleased. He lets me straddle him, like I did last night at Lush. I didn't get to come then. He left me then. He's not leaving me now. I won't let him.

For the first time ever, I wrap my arms fully around him. His breathing stutters at first. He stiffens a little, then he relaxes and holds me against him. My hips are rocking, grinding my cock against his. My ass is clenching on the plug.

It feels so good that I rock harder. Dante has gone still, though his breathing is harsh. I'm too lost in my need to think much about it. I just want more. I want him .

"I love you," I gasp before I can stop myself.

He freezes.

" I love you ," I say again, and this time he lets out a strange, garbled cry. This time, as I rock harder against him, he starts to pitch backwards. I'm on top of him now, rutting against him, desperate with need. He's gasping, almost choking. He keeps crying out then cutting off the sounds.

My arms are trapped under his back, but my nails manage to dig in as I grind my cock against his. My back is so fucking tight. My balls are so fucking full and tingling. His cock feels so goddamn good against mine.

My teeth sink into his throat as I start to come. Dante cries out, ejaculating under me. Our cocks kick and pulse and spill between our bodies, slicking us with our mingled cum as we strain through the release. My ass is tight around the plug, and it milks me as I collapse, shuddering, against Dante.

I hear him sucking in harsh breaths as he crawls out from under me, like he's trying to escape. I whine in protest.

"Don't leave," I mumble, barely coherent. I'm drifting off, passing out.

He hesitates, then he turns me onto my side and tugs me into his body. I settle my ass against him as his arms wrap around me. His face buries against the back of my neck. I'm vaguely aware that he's trembling, but he doesn't say anything and he doesn't leave, so I let myself drift away.

* * *

I wake up totally disoriented. I'm hard, aching with it. I'm on my side, and there's pressure against my hole. Startled, I try to jerk away, but I'm caught in a firm hold, and the penetration continues. Fear turns to hunger as I realize it's Dante and that he's pushing his cock into me.

"Oh my god," I gasp into the pillow. "Oh fuck. Dante, fuck ."

He still doesn't say anything. He just bites the back of my neck and starts fucking me. It's rough and raw. He's grunting. Rutting. I'm not really with it. All I can do is moan and let my leaking cock brush against the sheets with every harsh thrust.

When he reaches around me and grabs my cock, I come. I don't know if he does because I'm already passing out. I'm already gone.

When it happens again, I'm already sort of awake. I think he's been touching me for a while, but I'm not sure. This time, I'm on my front. Dante yanks my ass up and enters me in a single, harsh thrust.

I'm already loose and ready, and I can tell that he did come last time because his cock plunges noisily in the sloppy wetness of my ass.

He's making strange sounds, kind of bad ones, but he's fucking me so hard that I start moaning and arching and slamming back into him. His thrusts grow frantic and he ruts wildly inside me, and it's so fucking intense that I scream this time as I come all over the sheets and all over myself.

His hips snap forward as his cock swells and kicks inside me, filling me with fresh cum. I whine and moan as his pulsing cock milks the last of my orgasm from me.

This time when I collapse, I'm so drained, so overstimulated that I let out a shuddering sob and fall into a strange, dark sleep.

The next time I wake up, it's different. Dante isn't fucking me. He isn't even touching me. He's crying out in his sleep. Sharp, distressed cries. Then he starts mumbling something that I can't make out.

I shove up onto one elbow, dimly registering the tacky mess all over me and the bed. It makes me realize that, usually, Dante cleans me up after sex.

"Dante," I say quietly as he lets out another bad sound. He's breathing hard. The room is dark, but my eyes are adjusted to it, and I can see him twitching.

I reach out and squeeze his shoulder. It doesn't wake him up, so I shake him. He lurches up with a broken cry. His head whips my way. Before I can figure out what to say or do, he scrambles away from me.

"Dante!" I shout as he tumbles out of the bed. He hits the hardwood floor with a thump. I lurch after him, but he's already scrambling to his feet.

He races to the bathroom and slams the door shut. Heart racing, I kick the sheets aside and bolt out of the bed after him. I stop at the closed door when I hear him throwing up.

Holy shit. What the fuck just happened?

A nightmare, obviously, but … holy shit.

I don't know what to do. I press my hands to the door. I hear him spit. I hear him make a sound I don't like.

"Dante," I call through the door.

He doesn't reply. The bathroom is still dark. I don't think he's moved. Then the toilet flushes, and I hear him walking. Light glows around the edges of the door. The faucet turns on, and the water runs for a long time. It shuts off.

"Dante," I call again when there's been no further sound for a while.

Cautiously, I open the door. With his back to me, Dante is standing naked at the sink. His hands are gripping the edge of it, and he's leaning against them. His head is bowed so that even in the mirror I can't see his face.

"Dante … fuck, are you okay?"

His head whips up, and he glares at me via the mirror. "Get out."

My heart skips. "I need to know if you're okay."

He turns to face me. There's something about the movement, how measured it is, that makes my skin tighten. I rock back but hold my ground as he comes stalking my way.

The bruising on the left side of his face and on his stomach, not to mention the bled-through bandage, should make him look at least a little vulnerable, they only make him look more dangerous. Even the older wounds, the ones I dealt him, add to the sense of threat. Nothing will take him down. Nothing will stop him.

The circumstances that led to this moment vanish from my mind as Dante crowds into me. When he's this dangerous, there is no room for anything but instinct.

I take a step back. Then another. I'm in the bedroom now, in the darkness.

Dante grabs me by the throat and spins, slamming me into the wall by the bathroom door. The light that spills out limns his jaw and splashes over the contours of his body. Every muscle is tense, especially from his shoulder to his wrist. I can't see his hand because it's clamped on my throat.

"Dante," I choke out, pulling at his wrist. He's choking me too hard. It hurts. I can't breathe.

His lip curls back from his teeth as he snarls, "I don't fucking want you here. I don't fucking want this. I fucking hate it!"

"Dante—"

He yanks me away from the wall and half throws me across the room. "Get the fuck out!" he shouts as I fall to my hands and knees. "Get the fuck out now !"

My heart is in my throat, choking me in place of his hand, as I scramble for my clothes. Dante is still shouting. Get out! I don't want this! I don't want you! Get out, get the fuck away from me!

A sob breaks from me as I race out of the room, clothes and shoes clutched to my chest. I stumble down the stairs and bolt past the kitchen and living room.

I stop in the entryway, gasping for breath, tears running down my face, my heart still pounding. I can hear things breaking upstairs, so at least I know he's not after me. I pull my clothes on at lightning speed and don't even bother with my shoelaces before I yank open the door and race toward the elevator.