14. FOURTEEN #3
“Holy shit,” he gasps between bursts of laughter. “It’s so easy with you, it’s not even fun.”
His apathetic mask clicks back into place so quickly, it’s a masterclass. I blink, reeling, looking for any trace of that smoldering affection, but his smile is cruel and mirthful now. It’s like he’s slammed a door shut between us.
But for a moment, I swore there had been something else.
No. Another damn game—I was just naive enough to fall for it this time.
Red floods my vision. Whatever I thought I had seen in Dante’s eyes…. It doesn’t matter. I’m so angry, I can’t think. I’m nearly shaking. One furious thought blares above all others: I will not be some plaything for his amusement.
I could run. I could shove him away, curse his name, and refuse to speak to him. But that’s precisely what he expects of this wide-eyed girl, isn’t it?
No—I will not run. I’ll use his favorite language against him.
With hate blazing in my eyes, I reach up, grasping the hand still cradling my face.
I feel possessed, guided by instinct alone, as I brush my mouth over his wrist. Dante stiffens.
Seeing the immediate effect, I continue along his palm, up his ring finger, then the first—savoring his eyes widening with every stretched moment.
Fuck you, I think as I part my lips and take his first two fingers into my mouth.
The sheer, dumb surprise on Dante’s face is my prize.
I double down, sucking and testing how deep I can take his fingers into my mouth.
I don’t have to wonder long if it feels good to him—a soft gasp escapes Dante’s parted lips.
I smile around the digits, my free hand grasping at the hem of his shirt, pulling him closer.
He’s slackjawed when I slip his fingers back out, guiding his hand down. Good. Let him writhe a little for a change.
I barely have a moment to catch my breath before Dante snaps forward—shoving the two fingers back in with enough force to make me stagger back a step. I would gasp if he wasn’t filling my mouth, but only a muffled mewling noise comes out.
Dante’s eyes blaze as I stare up into his face, swirling with a dozen emotions—curiosity, confusion, arousal.
“Go on,” he whispers. His thumb and other fingers squeeze my jaw tightly, painfully.
A new wave of self loathing rolls in when I feel myself getting wet. The pinch of pain feels good.
His fingers are deeper in my mouth this time, the taste of his skin flooding my tongue anew. My eyes water. Even as I glare at him, butterflies roar in my stomach, rebelling against my loathing. I find myself caught in a strange marriage of humiliation and pleasure.
He shifts against me, and I notice tension tenting the fabric of his trousers that leaves little room for interpretation.
It takes a second to register what it is, what it means.
My eyes widen, intimidation and pride coursing through me in equal measure—I have made that happen.
Dante tracks my lingering glance with a flicker of a half-formed guilty twitch of his lips that barely registers.
This new, dark game has changed, galvanizing the air between us. He thinks I can’t take it, and I refuse to be cowed down by this arrogant dickhead. I clasp his wrist, sucking hard, taking him as far back as I can. My eyes flutter, another gasp caught in my throat when I nearly gag.
Dante gives a soft, guttural suck of air. It’s raw, real. He never takes his eyes off me, like he’s feasting on the very vision of me—his gaze dark and heavy-lidded, glittering with satisfaction.
Another shoot of anticipation courses through me. Fuck, why does it feel good, pleasing him? To have earned such a look? Am I truly so desperate for praise?
Without warning, Dante relents. He pulls his fingers out, leaving me gasping with spit on my chin that I hastily wipe away.
I’ve never done that before. Given the look on his face, he knows I haven’t. We stare at each other, each panting slightly in the charged silence.
Well… He’s certainly not laughing at me now.
I can see the question stirring behind his eyes—what kind of a virgin does that?
I don’t know. If I glanced at my own reflection right now, I wouldn’t recognize myself.
As the seconds stretch out, I think he might ask to fuck again. I’m terrified to realize that even now, even knowing he’s full of shit… A part of me arches toward him. It’s irrational, maddening. I want to strangle him. I want him to scoop me off the ground and kiss every place that aches. I want—
What do I want? Will I say no if he asks this time?
Of course I will. I hate him.
“What was that?” Dante finally rasps.
I chew my lip before smirking. I’m taking his searching look as my victory.
“I thought you thrived in the murky waters of the undefined and all that.” I put on a bit of pomp at the end, lifting my chin as I mock his arrogant drawl.
He snorts softly as I push him away, his unyielding body suddenly pliant to let me pass. My heart is still galloping as I extinguish the oil lamp, pulling back the quilt on the bed.
“Truce?” Dante calls after me.
In response, I shoot a vulgar gesture toward him without a backward glance.