15. Tristan

FIFTEEN

Tristan

Technically, I didn't break the rules. I didn't touch Dante's cock with my hands or my mouth. But I did touch him with the vibrator—and he came really fucking hard. So did I. I always do with him, but that was a whole new level.

Four days later, and I still shudder and get hard every time I think about him rutting in me like that. Straining and growling and biting me while he fucked my hole like an animal.

But it did something to him, coming like that, and I think he's angry about it.

I didn't even realize how he had relaxed toward me until his intensity ratcheted back up. He fucked me in the lounge at Lush. He fucked me in the penthouse entryway. He fucked me on the patio until I sprayed cum all over the glass railing overlooking the city.

Between times, he's mostly been at his office. He does have an investment company to run—I get that. But he's often out at night too, who the hell knows where, even when I'm not working at Lush. I don't like that.

Tonight, though, he'll be with me. Me and several hundred other overdressed people.

Part of me is pleased that he's taking me to such a public event. I can't really deny that after what happened with the thong. All that day and all night at Lush, I only knew that I was confused and unsettled and maybe scared. But then Dante broke me down to the truth as he fucked me: I want him.

I want him to claim me. I want him to possess me. I've never wanted that before. Or maybe I've simply never allowed myself to want it.

But as he walks into the bathroom in his tux, I can't help the flutter in my stomach as he comes to stand behind me while I fiddle with the stupid white bowtie, which is more complicated than my usual cheaters. He looks fantastic. I look weird. At least I feel weird. I don't belong in these clothes. I don't belong at a fancy charity dinner. So even though part of me is pleased that he insisted I go with him, I'm also sick with dread.

His parents will be there. I think that's why we're going. I heard him on the phone the other day. I couldn't make out everything he said, but he sounded tense, and I did catch the words, Yes, Mother . That was about ten minutes before he fucked me on the patio.

So I gather that he doesn't want to be doing this either. Maybe that's part of why he's been extra intense lately.

Dante reaches around me, fingers meeting mine on the bowtie. I should drop my hands and let him fix it, but I like the feel of his fingers brushing mine. We so rarely touch like this. We've never even kissed.

I know that's not what this is. We're not a couple. We have an arrangement, one I signed my name to. He's paying me, for fuck's sake.

So I drop my hands and let him straighten my bowtie. He does it, then his fingers wander to my throat, making me shiver.

"You're so beautiful," he says.

Every time he says something like that, I light up inside, like I become what he sees. Beautiful. Desirable. Visible.

But I don't really know how to be any of that, so I say, "I feel dumb."

Dante frowns. "Why?"

I shrug, feeling like it's obvious. Dante's fingers tighten on my throat. He pulls me back against him.

"Why should you feel dumb in this tux?"

"A tux is for someone rich, who probably went to an Ivy League college. I didn't even finish high school."

"You didn't?"

My face flames. Why the hell did I tell him that?

"What happened?"

"I didn't see any point in it. It's not like I was gonna go to college. Can we not talk about this?"

Dante's grip eases on my throat, but his hand doesn't move. "It's clearly the time to talk about it."

"Why the hell is this the time to talk about it? You could've asked me about my background anytime. You've never asked."

I try to pull away, but Dante's hand tightens on my throat. "I've never asked because I prefer learning a person before I learn facts . I'd rather put the facts in context with the person, rather than the other way around. Facts tend to obscure the truth more than reveal it."

His words freeze me. Fuck. I never thought about it like that. I had assumed he didn't care enough to ask.

"I'll tell you what I already knew about you, Tristan, before these facts. It was already obvious to me that you are highly intelligent, resourceful, tough, and curious. That's what I knew about you first. I also knew that you were isolated, wary, and angry. So the fact that you didn't finish high school needs to go in context with all of that, not the other way around. So I conclude that you didn't finish high school because you don't trust systems."

Holy shit. I don't think even I understood myself that well until he said that. What the fuck. No one has ever paid attention to me like he does. No one has ever cared enough to figure me out.

He says, "Here's something you should understand about the kind of people who will be at this stupid goddamn dinner. Most of them are dirty as fuck. They're not rich because they're better than other people. They're rich because they're worse—or someone somewhere in the family tree certainly was."

"So why are we going?"

In the mirror, I see his jaw harden.

"Because of your family tree?" I ask.

My heart starts pounding. I've been wanting to ask him about his family ever since I heard him on the phone, but he's so damn intimidating. So, like an idiot, I went and asked him while his hand was on my throat. I'm sure he can feel my quickening pulse. I can certainly feel his tightening grip.

Then he lets out a noisy breath. His hand drops from my throat—to my pants. He unzips them.

"Dante—"

"We're going to play a game tonight." The pants fall, dropping to my ankles.

"What are you—"

"You're an excellent actor, Tristan. I think you'll do well, probably better than I will." He tugs my underwear, a super restrictive pair that he chose for me, halfway down my thighs. "Don't move," he says and walks to the cupboard.

I watch him in the mirror. I certainly don't want to look at myself. The mirror only shows me down to my waist, but I can imagine the rest: pants at my ankles, underwear at my thighs, my cock starting to thicken when Dante get outs the lube.

Is he really going to fuck me? Now? Like this?

He comes to stand behind me again. "Bend over."

"Our clothes—"

"I don't give a fuck about our clothes, but if you do, you'd better bend the fuck over—or yours are going to get ripped."

I close my eyes as arousal spills through my body. He told me once that I would get hard at the sound of his voice, and when he sounds like that? Yeah. I sure as hell do.

"Good boy," he rumbles as I bend over for him.

I look up at his reflection. He pulls something from his pocket, something he already had with him when he walked in here. I don't get a good enough look to identify it before he crouches behind me, out of sight.

I'm braced for aggression. A rough, demanding grip my ass or balls, maybe a slap. Instead he parts my cheeks and lathes his tongue across my hole. The sound that escapes me is embarrassing, but Dante murmurs with pleasure and pushes his tongue inside me. I open so easily for him now.

He rims me for a long, heady moment, then he switches to his thumbs, stroking and stretching me. He's never rimmed me before. In fact, this is only the second time I've felt his tongue on me at all. The first was in that dressing room.

"This is mine," he murmurs against my ass. "Underneath it all, you and I are both going to know it."

By now, my cock is hard and lifting against the hem of my crisp white shirt.

His touch vanishes. I hear the lube. He hasn't bared his cock, so part of me knows what's coming, but I still gasp in shock when a lubed toy of some kind presses against me. I start breathing harder as Dante penetrates me with the toy. It stretches me wider and wider.

"Dante—fuck! It's too big! Stop!"

"You can handle it," he says gruffly as my hole continues to stretch.

I moan and whimper then cry out as the toy pops in, fully seated. It's not long enough for a dildo. It's a plug, a huge one. The flared base of it holds it in place inside me.

Dante's hands massage my cheeks. "Fuck, I love how your ass looks when it's stuffed full like this."

My body is rocking. My cock is stiff. I want to touch it. I want Dante to touch it.

He doesn't. He stands up. He pulls up my underwear. I straighten as it covers my ass and pins my erection against my belly. The movement shifts the plug in my ass, and I bite my lip and rock slightly. Dante checks on my cock, his fingers brushing it as he makes sure it's covered.

My eyes are closed. I'm afraid to look at myself. I feel my pants slide up. Dante tucks in my shirt, zips and buttons the pants. He straightens my waistcoat.

"What are you afraid of?" Dante whispers in my ear.

" You ," I breathe.

"Good. I'm the only thing you need to worry about tonight. Not the other people. Not the place. Not the things you might hear. All you're going to think about is that plug in your ass and what it means." He nips the side of my neck, eliciting a shiver. "Do you understand?"

I open my eyes, taking in the slightly glazed look in the reflection of them and the possessive, almost predatory way that Dante is standing behind me. His mouth is still at my neck—and I like it there.

For a second, the truth sears me. Dante isn't the only thing I'm afraid of. I'm also afraid of myself. Of what I am with him. Of what I want with him.

This … and more.

I'm afraid, too, to be in public like this.

"People will know," I say.

He bites me hard enough that I flinch. "What did I tell you about other people?"

"That's hardly fair."

"I told you we were playing a game. I didn't say it was a fair one. But it is going to be fun. On the outside, we'll be playing our parts. Underneath, we'll be playing by our own, private rules."

"Dante …"

"Come on. Let's get your coat."

It's torture walking from the bathroom to the bedroom. With every step, I feel the pressure of the plug. I feel the slickness of lube in my ass and around my hole.

As Dante brings me my coat, I look down. My erection isn't visible.

"This is why you got me this underwear," I say as he helps me into my coat. "You planned this."

"I plan everything."

"I don't think you planned on going to this dinner," I point out because I'm half drunk on lust, my inhibitions gone. "I think your mother—"

"Don't worry about my mother."

"But she'll be there, won't she? And your … father?"

Dante's expression darkens as he buttons my tailcoat. He doesn't respond. He just leads me out.

By the time we're in the parking garage where Kenzie is waiting with the limo, I'm walking better. I'm still hard as fuck, but I'm getting used to the plug. But then I sit in the back seat and nearly groan as the plug presses into my prostate.

I don't notice much of the drive. My existence revolves around the pressure in my ass and Dante's fingers on my knee. I want sex. I want to come.

When the car stops, Dante gets out. He walks around to my door and opens it. We're at the entrance of what I think is a hotel. I can see people in fancy clothes walking to the doors.

"No," I say when Dante holds out his hand for me. "I can't."

"If you're imagining that I won't force you just because we're in public, I will show you otherwise. Get out."

My heart starts racing. Sweat breaks out in my armpits. "Please, Dante."

"Get out ."

"You're an asshole."

"I know."

"I hate you."

"That's fine. Get the fuck out, Tristan. Now ."

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.