8. Dante

EIGHT

Dante

As soon as I walk into Lush, I can tell Tristan is furious with me. My dick stiffens as I watch him from the shadows. His usually elegant act has a sharp edge. There's a snap in his wrist as he mixes a drink. His back is ramrod straight.

I can't wait to peel back the layers of his anger. I want to know what lies at the heart of it. There are so many possibilities.

When Tristan bends to get something from the fridge, I make my way to my favored table. It's late and Lush is clearing out, so I don't have to oust anyone this time.

I settle into the banquette as Tristan straightens with a bottle of cranberry juice. Saylor says something to him. He gives a sharp nod.

Has he been this angry all night? All day?

When I took him back to his apartment last night, I was tempted to plant a couple of cameras so I could watch him wake and see how he reacted, but I prefer to see things in real life.

I didn't even take a picture of him as he lay so beautifully spent in the play bed. I can still see it though. His hands, which had been so tightly fisted, hanging limp from the leather cuffs. The dildo glistening on the black sheets between his spread legs. His spent cock lying fat against his lean abdomen. Creamy splashes of cum all over him, even his face, peaceful in sleep.

Usually, I have to get rough with myself when I jack off, using the aggression to override other thoughts, but the sight of Tristan lying there? The memory of his confusion and anger and submission? There was nothing else in my mind as I wrapped my hand around my leaking cock and stroked until my cum landed in thick strands on his smooth skin.

When Tristan emerges from behind the bar to deliver the Cosmo and a glass of champagne, I get my first full look at him in his crisp white shirt, black pants, and narrow black tie. He was wearing these clothes the night I first saw him. Now, I know what lies under them.

His steps are clipped, but the rest of his performance is so classy and elegant that it works for him. It does, however, get him a few extra glances. Two from women. One from a man. I can't tell if Tristan notices, but I sure as hell do. My lip curls slightly. And that's the expression Tristan catches when his eyes land on me.

He halts. His gaze cuts right back at mine. His nostrils flare. He heads my way.

He stops at my table and glares down at me. I love his anger. I want to feel it burn hotter. I want to be inside him at its most intense, when he comes. Then I want to feel it fade out of him as he quiets on my cock.

"Drink?" he snaps.

"No. I'm waiting for someone."

"Why are you here?"

"Because I'm waiting for someone."

"What if he doesn't come?"

I grin wickedly. "Oh, he will."

Tristan sucks in a breath as he catches my meaning. His eyes close briefly. His cheeks flush. He's thinking about last night. About the dildo vibrating in his ass. About my hand on his cock.

Then he glares at me again. He turns on his heel and leaves. I'm still grinning as I watch him return to the bar.

As much as I hated taking him back to his shithole apartment last night, it was worth it. He's had to go about his day, controlling himself, containing it, saving it up for me.

He won't be returning to that apartment tonight. That's a play to be made only once. From now on, he's with me.

Saylor is closing tonight, so after last call, Tristan helps her make a few final drinks. Saylor's eyes flick to me then she says something to Tristan. He nods without looking at her. When he heads for the door, so do I. I time my arrival just ahead of his and open the door for him. Like a gentleman.

There's a challenge in his eyes like he's considering refusing. He's such a fighter. And yet … it's not freedom he wants to fight for.

As we go down the stairs, I'm prepared for questions or angry words, but I don't get them until the valet pulls up with my Jag. Even then, they're not what I expect.

"You're disgustingly rich," he says, scowling at the car.

"I know." I open the passenger door for him. Nostrils flaring, he gets in.

I tip the valet and get in the driver's seat. I don't look at Tristan or talk to him. I'd rather let his temper build. From the corner of my eye, I can see that his arms are crossed, his hands fisted under them. I wonder now if that hole I saw in his apartment wall, obviously from a fist, was made by him.

When we get to my building's garage, I park in one of my spots. Tristan eyes the limo next to us. He doesn't say anything about it.

We take the penthouse elevator. When I key into my place and open the door, he hesitates.

"You've already been here," I remind him. "You survived it once."

He opens his mouth to retort. I grab his wrist and yank him inside. I barely get the door closed before I hear, "You fucking psychopath! What you did was wrong !"

I turn on the light. His righteous anger looks beautiful in my black and white checkered foyer. I take a moment to admire it then point out, "I didn't break the rules."

"You don't fucking think so?"

"No. You didn't say red."

His hands go to his hips. "And how was I supposed to say that when I was unconscious? When you—" He breaks off like he can't give voice to what happened.

I prowl toward him. "When I stripped off your clothes and arranged you on the bed? When I bound your wrists and ankles?" He's backing away from me, but I don't stop until I have him caged against the wall. His hands come up, bracing against my chest, but I push into him. I whisper in his ear, "Or when I fed that dildo, bead by bead, into your ass?"

His breathing is shallow. It puffs deliciously against me. His fingers flex.

"I don't think that's what you're really angry about, Tristan."

His breathing cuts off. I draw back to look at him. His jaw is set stubbornly.

Mm-hmm. That's what I thought.

I let his anger fade for the moment because I know it will be easy to spark again.

I open one side of my body, giving him an exit that leads toward the kitchen and living room. That's his only option, so he takes it. I follow, turning on the main lights and watching his reaction to my apartment. He glances to the left at the spacious, galley-style kitchen, but he focuses on the living room.

A chandelier hangs from the two-story ceiling, softly illuminating the black leather furniture and piano. The light reflects against the huge windows and sliding glass door that face the patio and the city. A set of stairs leads to my bedroom and office. The other rooms are on this floor.

I go to the kitchen. I take off my waistcoat then start getting out ingredients for a sandwich. Tristan comes to see what I'm doing but stays on the other side of the island.

"I don't want any food," he says.

"You need to eat."

"Or what? Are you going to force feed me?"

I leave my work and walk around the island. He tries to step back, but he's so damn easy to catch. This time, it's his tie I grab. His eyes widen.

"The only thing I will force feed is your ass. And I will do it again and again. With toys. With my fingers. With my cock. Whenever I fucking please. You will become intimately acquainted with your prostate." I step closer and start undoing his tie. "You'd never felt it before, had you?"

He's frowning. His anger is coming back. I pull his tie free and lay it over the back of one of the high chairs.

"Is this some kind of game to you?" he demands.

"It's a contract."

"It's bullshit! All it says is that you can do whatever the hell you want to me!"

"That's not exactly what it says, but I understand your point. And, yes, I can do almost anything I want—until you say the terminal word. So really, Tristan, you have all the power."

"This is so fucked up."

"Who cares? I love it. So do you."

"No, I fucking don't!"

I'm not even angry when I grab him, but I do mean business, so I kick the chairs out of the way and slam him against the island. I pin him there with one arm braced against his back. My other hand reaches around to unbuckle his belt and whip it away.

"Yes, you fucking do," I growl against the back of his neck. My anger is rising now, or something like it. A dark, familiar need. "What you love is the chance to scream and express how fucking angry you are. What you love is the chance to fight—and still get what you need."

I undo his pants and yank them down along with his briefs. The waistband catches on his stiff cock, but I am ruthless. He cries out as his cock is tugged down then springs back up against his belly. I slap his ass and watch red bloom on the creamy flesh.

"Ow!" he shouts furiously and lunges across the island for the knife I left there.

I could stop him, but I'm so fascinated, so fucking thrilled, that I just watch the knife flash toward me. He stabs it into my thigh. I pull back just enough to keep it from sinking in more than a couple inches.

The pain bursts bright as Tristan yanks the knife free. I grab his wrist and quickly disarm him. I set the blade to his throat. He freezes.

I turn the blade away from his skin and slice open his shirt. "Hey!" he protests as I yank the ruined garment down. It catches on his wrists. Frustrated, I get a little rough, but I get the job done.

I spin him around, steadying him as his pants tangle around his ankles. His cock is jutting out stiff and thick. I have the knife at his throat again as I wrap my other hand around that beautiful thing. It twitches in my hand.

My leg is throbbing, but the fight, even the pain, has only made me harder. I want more. I give the knife back to him. His hand curls around the handle as I drop to my knees to untie his shoes. I don't look up. I wonder if he'll try to kill me.

He lets me take off his shoes and socks. He steps out of his pants. Wholly bare, there's no hiding his body's response. I rise to my feet and start undressing as he stands before me naked and aroused. The knife is steady in his hand. His eyes bore into mine—until I take off my shirt.

His gaze roams over my torso. When my hands drop to my belt, his eyes lock there. My erection is pressing visibly against the front of my black pants. He watches with rapt attention as I unfasten them. I pull the waistband of my boxer-briefs clear of my cockhead. Tristan sucks in a breath at the sight of the fat mushroom tip. I let him enjoy it while I toe off my loafers.

When I shove down my pants and bend to pull off my socks, I grunt at the flash of pain in my thigh. Tristan's eyes are on the bleeding wound when I straighten.

I tear open the packet of lube that I grabbed from my pocket. I slick my dick. That draws Tristan's eyes away from the wound. His cheeks are flushed. His lips are parted. Precum is threading down from his slit.

"Did you enjoy stabbing me?" I ask as my hand squelches along my lubed dick.

"It wasn't against the rules."

"No, it wasn't." I step toward him. I limp a little, but it's not going to stop me from fucking him.

I know he's going to attack me when I see the steel in his eyes. I let him lunge. I even let him get in a shallow slice across my left pectoral as I twist to avoid the worst of it. I whack the side of my hand against his wrist. The knife goes flying from his grip. His eyes widen as I grab and spin him. I pin him against the island again. He cries out in surprise when I yank his hips toward me and kick his legs apart.

Tristan's hands brace against the edge of the counter as my slick fingers massage and prod his hole.

"Oh my god," he mutters. "Oh my god."

I wish there were a mirror across from us so I could see his face. I have to focus instead on the way he shivers and makes little sounds of distress and pleasure. His hole clenches against the intrusion of my fingers, but I push in anyway.

"Stop!" he shouts. "That hurts!"

"It'll feel better in a minute." I work my fingers inside him until he relaxes.

"Oh my god," he mutters again. "Fuuuuuck. Oh my god ."

"Better?"

"Fuck you," he says, though it's half a moan as he shudders against the counter. I'm grazing his prostate.

"I need to talk to you," I tell him.

"Wh-what?"

"I want to know why you were so angry with me."

He starts to push up from the counter. "Why the hell do you think?" I push him back down and force another finger into his ass. "Fuck, Dante!"

I think that's the first time I've actually heard my name on his lips. I reward him with another graze of his prostate. His forehead drops to the counter. He makes a whining sound that has my leaking dick twitching upward.

He's almost ready for my cock, so I say, "Answer my question. The truth."

" Fuck you."

God, he's still so angry. I withdraw my fingers and set my cockhead against his hole.

"Oh, shit," he mutters. "Oh my—ahh!"

My brain nearly whites out at the grip of his tight ring on my cockhead. I grunt and push in another inch. His scream is sharp and he yanks upright, so I wait. He's vocalizing, but there aren't any discernible words.

I can tell he's adjusting to it, so I pin him down and push into the hot, tight space of his ass in a slow, relentless glide.

"Fuck!" he barks. "You fucking asshole!"

I pull back and glide in again. Pleasure zips through my balls and cock.

"Stop! I don't—"

I decide I'm being too nice. The slowness is just giving him a chance to resist. So I start fucking him.

He shouts. He screams. He thrashes. I fucking love it.

I can tell the second he gives in. His whole body changes. It gets supple. His ass tilts against me.

Yeah, I thought so. I angle my thrusts to hit his prostate. He moans.

My lubed cock is making filthy sounds in his ass. My balls are slapping audibly against him. Those sounds, combined with his moans, make me grit my teeth against the urge to come.

Tristan reaches down and starts stroking himself. There we go.

It doesn't take long after that. I'm hitting his prostate on every thrust. His hand is jerking frantically. The second he screams, I unleash myself on his ass. I pound hard and fast until my own orgasm is ripping its way through my body. My hips snap forward as my cock kicks inside him, filling him with my cum.

He collapses as his orgasm fades. I hold him up. I'm not ready to pull out. I'm still straining against him. My pelvis is flush against his plush ass. Fuck, it's good.

He makes a sharp sound when I finally pull out. I keep an arm hooked around him as I reach for one of the chairs I pushed aside. I help him onto it. He pitches forward, curling against the counter. I stroke his hair until he stops shuddering. My cum is leaking from his ass onto the black metal of the chair. My cock stirs at the sight.

If I keep looking at that, I'll be hard again, so I leave him there as I limp around the island. I go back to work on the sandwiches. I have to find a new knife. I make two ham sandwiches then go to sit beside him. He stares at the plate I put in front of him.

For a second, uncertainty squirms unwelcomely inside me. I'm not good at this part. After.

But he needs to eat. I try to set a good example by taking a bite of my sandwich. He glares at me. It reminds me that he still hasn't answered my question, but I'll let it go for a minute if he'll eat.

When he takes a shuddering breath, I wonder if he's going to cry. He doesn't. He picks up the sandwich and starts eating.

He only makes it halfway through before he sets it on the plate. He plants his elbows on the counter and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes.

"Tristan."

"You're a fucking asshole."

The resurgence of his anger surprises me. I thought he would relax after sex but apparently not.

Then I realize he's hard again. My dick plumps at the sight. I set down my sandwich. I scoot my chair closer to his. I watch his cock stiffen further under my gaze. He shifts on the stool. The movement makes more of my cum leak from his ass.

He jumps at the brush of my fingers as I dab at the puddle. Fucking beautiful.

He's still leaning forward, so I'm able to finger his hole. He tightens, but I just massage until his sounds of protest shift into little moans.

So much blood is rushing to my cock that I'm dizzied. My abs clench. I'm breathing hard. I need inside that hole.

When I grab him off the chair, he flails. His leg smacks into my wound. The pain bursts blindingly, but I'm used to it, so I manage to get settled on my chair again. I get Tristan on my lap, facing me.

His hands are on my chest, nails digging in. His eyes are burning angrily into mine.

God, he is perfect. I thought he was, but I wasn't sure until tonight. There was a chance that first fuck would shatter him—or turn him soft and submissive. Either would have disappointed me.

"Why are you smiling?" he asks, scowling.

"I'm happy."

"You're insane."

"They're not mutually exclusive."

His nails dig in harder. He still wants to hurt me. My cock throbs. I tug him closer until the underside of his dick is flush against mine. His cock is very pretty. Good length, good girth, so straight. Mine looks big and brutal next to his. He took a lot of cock for his first time.

He's staring down at our dicks. I hope he remembers not to touch me. I don't react well. I knead his ass.

"Put your feet on the rungs," I tell him. "Lift up."

He looks pissed off, but he does it. I grab my dick and hold it ready. Tristan hesitates. The flared tip of his dick is near my face. I almost want to lick it, but that's not something I do.

"It won't hurt this time," I tell him. "Come on. You'll feel better when you're on my dick."

He likes my words. He lowers, gasping when the head of my cock presses against his hole. The tight ring of muscle yields more easily this time.

His head is bowed forward. This is hard for him, showing that he wants it. He keeps sinking onto my dick. I let him take his time. I pushed him past his boundaries with that first fuck. It's important that he recognize that his boundaries are now in a different place. Of course, I'll just push them again. He still has no idea of everything his body can do for him.

He settles against me, his ass flush against my pelvis, my cock fully inside him. He's trembling from the sensations. His eyes are closed. I love watching him learning about his own desires. That distraction is enough to keep me still, even though my body is roaring. The hot grip on my cock is sending waves of pleasure crashing through me. I'll soon switch this and dominate him, but I want a moment of this first.

I wrap my hand around his cock and use my thumb to massage the underside of his tip. A shudder wracks him. Precum pulses from his slit.

He lunges for the new knife. I let him grab it. I let him bring it to my throat. His teeth are gritted, his eyes furious. I nearly purr inside.

I keep massaging his tip until he bites his lip. The knife is still at my throat when he rocks against me. He does it again. He's distracted by his pleasure, so I take the knife from him. Fear flashes in his eyes as I bring the knife to his throat.

"Why were you so angry with me tonight?"

"I told you—"

"No, you lied to me. I want the truth."

He starts to pull away like he's going to get off my dick. I don't fucking think so. I make those decisions. I'm so pissed that I fling the knife to the ground, embedding it in the hardwood floor.

I pick him up and lift him off my cock. We both cry out at the abrupt separation. I leap off my chair, pin him against the island, and thrust into him from behind.

"Tell me," I demand as I fuck hard into his ass. He cries out but doesn't answer. I fuck him roughly for a while. The sound is filthy and beautiful. Grunts, groans, the sloppy plunge of my cock in his cum-filled ass.

When he's close, desperate to come, I pull out. I'm panting and frustrated. My cock is throbbing. I grip the back of his neck and hold his head against the counter. I reach between his legs and grip his balls.

"Please," he whimpers.

"Please what?" I snarl. "Stop? Or make you come?"

" Please ," is all he says.

"Why were you angry?"

"Because …"

I massage his balls and soften my voice. "Why?"

"Because …" He chokes on a sob. "You left me."

I freeze. There's a part of me that suspected that, that wanted him to say that. Even so, I'm unprepared for what it does to me. A weird, warm, painful sensation blooms in my chest. My anger dissolves. I release my grip on his neck. I line my cock up with his hole and press back into the space waiting for me. He lets out a sound of relief—and so do I. I reach around him and grip his dick. I hold him by it as I thrust into his ass.

He starts to arch and push back against me, so I give him what he needs, pistoning inside him until he's screaming. His cock kicks in my hand as mine kicks in his ass and we both come in hard, wrenching pulses.

This time when I pull out of him, he's loose enough that my cum spills down his thighs. I stroke my hand through the warm slickness as I gently bite the back of his neck. He shivers.