Chapter Thirty-Five

Adele

"Dante . . . please," I beg incoherently, my spread thighs tense and shaky with need, my moans drowned out by the strains of Vivaldi pouring from the speakers.

I'm sprawled on the floor of the gym, back arching off the soft carpet, my hands cupping my breasts and pinching hard on my nipples in a bid to relieve the ache building in my core.

The featherlight strokes of Dante's tongue on my sensitive folds only stoke my lust. My hips rise eagerly against his mouth, a plea for more of him.

It's been this way for the last three weeks. My early morning walks have been replaced with intense workout sessions with Dante. He spends half an hour pushing my body to its endurance limit, then the next hour teaching me to tackle him. By the time I'm at my wits' end, he'll show me a new skill. Something innocuous yet deadly.

A crushing swipe at the Adam's apple. A jab into the eye or the angle of the jaw. Breaking the nasal bone just right. Targeting the intercostal spaces when stabbing at the heart with an ice pick. Anything could be a weapon, including my body. I've started to look at mundane things and see the deadliness in them.

By the time we're done training, my mind is full of dark possibilities, and my body is overwhelmed with pent-up desire. Sometimes he fucks me in the shower, but most of the time, we don't make it that far.

Like today.

My hand grows a mind of its own and starts to wander down my belly toward my neglected clit, only to freeze at Dante's curt command.

"I told you to keep your hands on your breasts." He raises his head to look at me, his eyes almost black with lust, lips glistening with my juices. Deliberately, his tongue darts out to slide across his full bottom lip. The sight of him this way is beyond provocation.

"Baby. Dante . . . please. I need—"

Before I can finish, Dante flips me over onto my belly, pulls me to my knees, and starts to spank me.

That . . . I needed that.

"Ah!" I cry out with each stinging blow. I can feel my wetness dripping down my thighs. He can, too, because he pauses, spanking me, and catches the wayward trickle with his tongue, then licks up from the middle of my thigh all the way back to my pussy.

Only he doesn't stop there. His warm, wicked tongue continues until it reaches the pucker of my ass, and he starts to eat me there too.

My moans get louder as my pussy starts to clench in need. Shamelessly, I spread my shaky legs wider to give him more room. "Fuck," I sigh. "Please more."

"My dirty girl wants me in here, don't you?"

"Yes, God, yes."

Dante sinks his teeth into the soft round curve of my ass, making me jump and shiver. Then he gathers my wetness on his fingers and starts to stroke the tight bundle of nerves between my ass cheeks. My ass flowers open for him and he presses both fingers deep inside me.

I feel full, stretched tight around his fingers, pleasure curling deep inside me. He thrusts his fingers hard and fast, faster than he usually does, and I tuck my mouth against my arm to keep from alerting the entire left wing to what Dante is doing to me, although I'm pretty sure by now everyone is fully aware of what goes on daily in this gym.

Just when I think he'll finally fuck my pussy and let me come, he spits on my ass and adds a third finger. "Oh fuck. Dante!" The stretching is unbelievable and the emptiness in my pussy worsens, an ache demanding relief now.

"Be good, relax and take it, and maybe I'll fuck your tight ass," Dante rasps against my skin.

My heart slams hard against my ribcage. He's going for it. After all this time of teasing and ass play, he's finally going to do it.

I nod frantically, canting my hips higher and whimpering with anticipation of how good he'll feel in my ass. How much he'll stretch me.

And then his fingers are gone, and he turns me over onto my back while he remains on his haunches between my spread thighs. Confusion furrows my brows, but he rasps, "I want to look deep into your eyes when I take your ass, Addy. I want you to see me as you ache for me."

I nod, lost in his gaze, as he takes hold of his length and slides it back and forth along my drenched pussy. When his cock is fully covered in my slippery juices, he lifts my hips from the floor onto his thighs, presses the fat head to the bud of my ass, and slowly starts to push in. My fingers dig reflexively into the soft carpet as everything inside me tightens. He's bigger than anything I've ever felt back there.

"Ah, Dante," I groan.

He stills. "Tell me how that feels, baby."

"Dante." I babble again, shutting my eyes tight against the pain and pleasure of the invasion, unable to form more words. But my body speaks eloquently as I involuntarily sink down on him, taking another inch of his cock.

"Ah, God!" He's too hard, too thick. Too fucking big, but I want him too much to stop.

Finally, I feel his balls on my ass, and I know he's slid his entire length inside me. The heat and incredible fullness make my breath catch. As there doesn't seem to be enough oxygen, my mouth opens to drag in gulps of air.

Drool gathers in my mouth, but I can't for the life of me figure out what to do with it beyond concentrating on breathing in and out and trying not to lose my mind in pain and pleasure.

I do lose my mind anyway because Dante starts to move.

He withdraws a little, then pushes back in, as much as my tightness would allow, but as the speed and depth of his thrusts increase, my ass, now a ring of pure fire around his large cock, sends bolts of panic to my brain.

My hapless pussy, on the other hand, contracts around nothing, begging for the same treatment my ass is getting. My brain seems lost between those signals of intense pleasure and the biting edge of pain, and all I can do is hold on for dear life and . . . feel.

Dante also looks tortured, his mouth open, moans mingling with mine, and his face drawn into a tight mask of pleasure even as he continues to drive in and out of me with a singular focus.

"Adele, every single part of you is mine. Say it," he commands.

"I'm yours," I babble. "Oh, Dante, I've always been yours."

And then he's fucking me even harder, deep strokes, driving me completely insane. My juices flow freely, dripping back between my ass cheeks and coating his cock with more than enough lubrication to let him fuck me hard and deep.

I feel my climax dancing just beyond reach. Teasing me with the promise of explosive pleasure. I want it more than I want my next breath.

He transfers both my wrists to one of his then finally, finally, slips his thumb between us and starts to stroke circles around my clit.

"Oh my God," I moan, my lids fluttering shut and eyes rolling back. I can no longer keep my eyes on his. And then my orgasm is crashing against me like an avalanche. I scream and buck as my pleasure takes hold and doesn't let go, suspending me in an endless vortex. "Fuck! Dante."

"Addy!" Dante growls as his thrusts lose rhythm and gain more force. He slams into me a few more times, his cock swelling. Still, he doesn't stop flicking my clit, and I don't stop coming.

And then, with a shout and a violent shudder, his thumb freezes on my clit, and he starts emptying into me. Hot, thick jets of cum spurt into my ass and spill out.

I come down slowly, languidly, basking in the wild intensity of my anal orgasm.

"Are you okay, tesoro? "

My body feels like lead, every muscle screaming in a delicious sort of agony.

"My ass might as well be on fire. And I don't think I could sit or walk in the next century. But other than that, I loved it. I'd like to go again, actually."

"Really! Right now?" A few more inches and his eyebrows might collide with his widow's peak.

I bite my lip and shrug. "What, like you can't go? You're insatiable, Dante."

He rears back to look at me in disbelief, yet, as we stare at each other, I feel his cock twitch in response, then start to get harder. I knew it.

He laughs, the delicious sound rumbling through me. "You have no fucking idea, Addy. But," he pauses then whispers against my ear. "Red Wine."

He withdraws from me, then drops gentle kisses on my collarbone, up my neck, and finally, my temple. When he doesn't make another move to touch me elsewhere, I realize what he's done.

"Did you just . . . safeword on me?"

He strokes his fingers across my face and down my neck, over my breasts before coming to rest on my still flat lower belly. "Someone clearly needs to learn their limits."

I roll my eyes. "Are you even supposed to do that?"

He stands, scoops me up from the floor then heads toward the shower. "Not sure. Why don't we check with the local police to see if that's allowed?"

I smile into his neck, and then something occurs to me. "Speaking of, have you ever been arrested?"

He laughs. "That's like asking ice if it's ever been cold. I'm the black sheep of the family. What do you think?"

"I didn't think a crime family could have a black sheep."

"Oh, trust me. I'm the only one of my living relatives who's seen the inside of a prison cell."

Dante's strong arms encircle me as he steps into the shower. With a gentle twist of his wrist, warm water cascades over us, the steady patter of droplets against tile filling the air. Steam rises and envelopes us in a comforting cocoon.

He settles onto the teak shower bench, cradling me in his lap. The water sluices over my aching body, and I let out a soft moan as the heat begins to work its magic on my sore muscles.

"What were you arrested for?" I ask, my words starting to slur with exhaustion.

His soap-slick fingers work on my lower back, kneading the tender flesh with just the right amount of pressure. "Uh, let's see. Dangerous driving. Assault. Drug possession."

I almost purr as his skilled hands move up to my shoulders, working out knots I didn't even know I had. The scent of sandalwood from the shower gel mingles with the steam, creating an intoxicating aroma. "Sounds like you were out of control."

"Pretty much. I was a bit different. Neurodiverse. Which was not an excuse to be an asshole kid."

"When did you stop?" I murmur, my eyes fluttering closed. The combination of the warm spray, his gentle massage, and the lingering endorphins from our session has me floating in a haze of contentment.

"Stop what?"

I yawn. "Being an asshole."

Dante pauses his ministrations, "Who says I stopped?" He teases, his words almost lost in the rhythmic sound of falling water.

"Dante, I'm serious—"

"Everything changed after I took the vows at eighteen. I suddenly had more responsibility. I've been on the straight and narrow since then."

"Straight and narrow my ass," I snort.

"Well, you'd know, wouldn't you." He kneads my ass for emphasis, and I giggle, drowsy with contented sleep.

***

The soft whir of the Fortress' library's climate control system cycles off, breaking my concentration. I take a deep breath and stretch languidly on the beanbag, feeling the satisfying pop of my spine, as I fill my lungs with Dante's rich scent. I can't resist grabbing the neckline of his T-shirt and inhaling again.

I'm surprised by how refreshed I feel, considering the intense workout and play we had today. Contrary to what I thought, I'm sitting and walking fine. I fell asleep in Dante's arms during the shower massage and woke up just as he was leaving for work.

I didn't bat an eyelash when he announced he was going to have a ‘heart to heart' with Tommy Martelli's sons. My shock capacity has diminished considerably in the past few weeks.

Besides, I figured since he didn't use the word ‘chat', it bodes well for the Martelli boys. So, I kissed him goodbye and found my way to this crazy, cozy nook he created for me.

The soft glow of the reading lamp beside me illuminates stacks of books, yellowed newspaper clippings, and manila folders filled with case files. My heart clenches again as I recall the way Dante casually showed me this reading nook.

"I had the cobwebs and mothballs cleaned out in this section just in case you want to start living here," he'd said simply while I squealed like a schoolgirl and leaped on him.

I inhale again, savoring the comforting scent of old paper and ink. The Vitelli library's crime section is far more exciting than any library I've visited, boasting rare first editions and even confidential files that I'm pretty sure aren't meant for civilian eyes. It's a treasure trove that would make any crime enthusiast drool.

Refocusing on the journal in my lap, I try to lose myself once again in the chilling profile of the late sixties' Zodiac Killer, but my mind drifts yet again.

Thoughts of restarting my blog have been nagging at me for days, and every time I come here, they sink their talons a little deeper. I'm thinking I could revive the Scarlett Holmes blog, not as herself but as an anonymous fan who is so invested in her work that they want to keep it going since Scarlett went AWOL.

It's risky, especially since folks at work, and I'm pretty sure Benjamin O'Shea, know I'm the author, but the familiar rush of adrenaline at the prospect of impersonating myself is hard to ignore.

I'm so engrossed in my internal debate that I barely register the soft knock at first. Looking up, I see Aydin's head poking around the heavy oak shelving, her expression a mix of apology and amusement at finding me sprawled on the plush oversized beanbag, surrounded by a fortress of books and papers.

"Sorry to interrupt," she says quietly, "but I have a note for you. From Dante."

"Dante?"

"Yes. One of his men just dropped it off now."

I check the time again and see it's almost midnight. And then I'm tearing through the black envelope.

Tesoro. I have to go to Detroit. There's been another fire at Voltex but it's nothing to worry about.

I will tell you this, though. Yer da is startin' to do me fuckin' head right in. Still, I'll try my best not to kill him. Yet.

I laugh out loud at his deliberate Irish brogue. Sometimes, I forget Dante speaks the language as well as a few others. I reread the paragraph, but this time register the subtle but chilling warning.

Of course, Benjamin couldn't have set the fire to Voltex himself. Dante just slipped his name in there because he wants me to know what could happen.

The war is starting to escalate. It's almost inevitable that those two would clash at some point.

The question is, how would I feel if Dante killed Benjamin O'Shea?

The fact that I'd take that scenario a million times over the reverse somewhat settles things in my mind about how I'd feel about it.

Taking a breath, I continue reading.

I should be done here by Saturday. Looking forward to getting you slick and ready for . . .

I turn over the note, my heart rate kicking up.

. . . our baby's first scan.

Ti amo. DV

"Jerk," I murmur, a goofy smile on my lips, hand cradling my flat belly. Beyond taking my vitamins every day, I conveniently forgot about everything else. Like scans and antenatal classes and baby names. I've blocked out everything else apart from Dante and our overwhelming connection.

Because if I haven't come to terms with who I am, how can I tell my baby who she is?

And now it's getting all too real. Come Saturday I'll see my baby for the first time and face the fact that she's a living, breathing human that belongs to Dante.

And me. Although that's the part I'm still working on.