Chapter 10
Lucia
For the first time, my heart listens to the sirens wailing in my head. “You can’t keep doing this, Dante.”
His name slips out in a moan, and he groans a deep, rough rumble, hearing it the same way. It’s hot and needy—nothing as planned.
My pulse hammers in my throat when I strive to get this wreck back on track. “You can’t keep showing up and—”
“And what?” He cocks a brow, loving that I’m void of an excuse. “Watch? Isn’t that the purpose of strip clubs? You come, watch, and then leave.” His eyes narrow, and his anger makes a mess of my panties. “Or in some cases, you watch, come, then leave.”
My stomach gurgles. I hate the thought of him leaving to the same degree I loathe the thought of not speaking to my son.
Needing space to get my head screwed back on, I leave the stage. As I head toward the dressing room, my legs shake. It isn’t from nerves. It’s because of the way Dante looks at me like he’s solving a puzzle only he understands.
Heavy footsteps mimic each click of my boots.
Of course they do.
Men like Dante Caruso always have to have the last word.
I know this, so why the hell is his insistence making me more happy than angry?
I shouldn’t want him to chase me. I shouldn’t want his attention. But I do. Very much so.
Hating how weak I’m allowing him to make me, I get snappy. “If you’re here for a remake of the performance I gave you the other day, forget it. You can’t afford me.”
He huffs out a half-laugh, half-growl. “I’m not here for that.”
I hide my disappointment with a snarl. “Sure.”
“I’m not.” Anger sharpens in his tone. He’s annoyed I would even imply that’s why he’s here.
I turn to face him. “Then what was that about?” I gesture with my head to the empty club.
He tilts in close, as if his nearness will answer everything. I fight the urge to lean into his embrace. He’s infiltrated my dreams every night since the day we met, and no matter how much I resist, the pull is intense.
I still fight, though. “You’re acting like a jealous twit.”
“Jealous?” His scoff echoes around the barren corridor.
I act as if his dismissive tone didn’t burn me. “And now you’re following me.”
“I’m talking to you.”
“You interrupted my routine.”
He works his jaw back and forth. “That wasn’t jealousy.”
“Then what was it?”
He hesitates for barely a second, but I see the truth beneath the cracks my rejection made in his armor.
He’s jealous. But that isn’t all I see. The protectiveness radiating out of him is just as strong.
It’s a fight not to smooth the groove between his brows with my tongue, but I keep my feet planted when he mutters, “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.”
His eyes lock onto mine, dark and unreadable. “I’m not here to fight with you.”
“Then why are you here?”
He steps closer. He isn’t within touching distance, but near enough to heighten my senses. Heat rises in my stomach when he crowds me against the wall with slow, deliberate strides. His predatory stalk is unwelcome but impossible not to get trapped by.
I don’t run.
I should, but I don’t.
The rawness in his eyes can’t be overlooked.
“I’m not here to play games.” I breathe in deeply to drink in his scent. It is masculine and familiar, with a hint of freshly cut grass. Huh? “I’m here to offer you a job.”
My laugh is callous and filled with shock. “Once again, you can’t afford me.”
He ignores my jab. “Camille likes you.”
His statement impacts me more than I anticipate. I blink as a rush of moisture stings my eyes and nose.
“You brought her out of her shell.” He inches closer. I have no clue how. There’s barely an inch of air between us. “So who better than you to be her nanny?”
I react as if he slapped me. I stagger back, humiliation burning through me. The air ripples in my balk, and my lungs refuse to replenish with air.
Nanny.
The title slices through me.
He’s not here for me.
He’s here for his daughter.
I understand. I swear I do. I’d do anything to secure Gabriele’s happiness, so how can I judge him for doing the same for Camille? But the truth burrows deep, and it hurts like a bitch.
Bobbing under his arm, I enter the dressing room and quickly pack my things. If I stay, I’ll say something stupid—or worse, let him see how much this hurts.
“Running won’t help,” Dante says behind me, shadowing the doorway with his brooding frame. “I bought every strip club in the country. You won’t work at one that doesn’t belong to me.”
I whirl around as disbelief and anger singe my veins. I’m about to call him a liar, but the words are stuck behind a lump in my throat. I can see the honesty on his face, the certainty that I’ll never dance for any man who isn’t him.
I’m furious, but amid the flames, the calm of being wanted weaves through the carnage.
Dante’s expression darkens instantly. His glare is possessive and dangerous, and it does wicked things to my insides. Though I’d rather we keep that to ourselves.
Although I’m relieved I didn’t imagine the sparks that have kept me going the past week, I get bitchy when pushed into a corner. “Then I guess I’ll have to revert to the tricks I used on you last week.”
Before I can react, his hand shoots for my throat, and he squashes me against the only solid wall of the dressing room. His grip isn’t firm enough to cause concern. The only spasms I feel are desire. It’s an electric mix that leaves me confused about which way is up.
“I won’t share you.” His voice is subdued with assured confidence. “Ever.”
I don’t respond. I can’t. It’s taking all my strength not to kiss the arrogance off his face.
If I do that, if I surrender as I did years ago, I’ll never make it out alive—and neither will Gabriele.
A sudden urge to sit down overwhelms me as I fight the yearning hissing between us. “You can’t keep doing this.”
“I’m not doing anything.” Dante’s words say one thing, but his eyes tell a different story. They’re locked on mine, dark and intense, reading every thought I’m striving to hide.
“You interrupted my performance. The clients—”
“There were no ‘clients,’ angelo. The room was empty.”
His gaze lowers to my mouth for the briefest second when I snarl. “Exactly. That’s my point. If you want a return on your investment, you can’t kick out the clientele. At this rate, you’ll go bankrupt in weeks.”
His lips curl into a sly smirk. “Worth it.”
“Dante…”
His groan wobbles my knees, and my resolve wavers.
“Yes, Lucia?” He speaks my name softly, as if cautious to say it out loud.
He slants in slow enough that I could stop him, but fast enough that I can’t think about anything but how close his lips are to mine.
One more inch and we’ll be kissing.
“We can’t do this.”
When my tongue darts out to moisten my lips, it skims past his mouth. Don’t judge. Big breaths separated my words, so my mouth is bone dry, and if he weren’t standing so close, I wouldn’t seem like a harlot.
Dante’s minty breath fans my cheek when he murmurs, “Do what?”
His thumb counts my pulse as he wedges his leg between my thighs. My outfit is so skimpy you’d swear there isn’t a single piece of clothing between us. The friction is amazing, and I grind down without hesitation.
“Dante…” I say again, huskier this time, practically moaning.
My fingernails scratch at the wall as I use his girthy thigh to keep me upright. “Yes, angelo?”
He’s near enough that if I tilt my head a smidge, our lips will touch.
So that’s what I do.
I brush my mouth against his and moan when he immediately replies to the silent demands of my lusty head. Quicker than I can blink, he spears his tongue between my lips and curls my legs around his waist.
The flavors of his tongue burst on my taste buds and inspire a lust so dense that before my head can caution me against it, I yank at his belt. I’m desperate to feel the weight of his rapidly thickening cock in my hands again, and willing to do or say anything to achieve that.
A shudder rolls through my body when Dante displays just as much impatience. With one hand on my ass, holding me in place, the other frees his cock from his boxers. It bobs free with a girthy boing and then rises toward his belly button.
I mewl when he swipes the broad crown over my clit. I’m still wearing panties, but the friction is amazing. Tingles pulsate through my body when he holds my panties to the side with his thumb before he coats the head of his cock with my wetness.
I shouldn’t be so wet after only a kiss, but the truth can’t be denied.
I’m drenched for him.
“So fucking wet, angelo,” Dante moans against my mouth, his needy breaths forming condensation on my top lip. “But I think we can do better.”
Not speaking another word, he hoists me higher up the wall before he buries his head between my legs. The sensation of his tongue on my clit almost immediately detonates the bomb teetering low in my stomach, but his moans and the softness of his beard make me want to relish every second.
He devours me with greedy licks, teasing bites, and wicked words that pull me under even faster than his deliriously handsome face does. He tells me how much he loves my taste, and that if he was only served my pussy for the rest of his life, he would never go hungry.
“Oh…” I moan when he hits my clit with back-to-back flicks.
His strokes become more urgent the more I fight to hold back my praise. I don’t mean to be a bitch. I’m merely ensuring he knows this is out of the ordinary for me. Before our romp in the Viper Room, I hadn’t had sexual contact in a very long time.
I thrash my head side to side when his lips enclose my clit and he sucks it into his mouth.
I’m not strong enough for this.
Not even close.
“Dante…” I shout his name on repeat as wave after wave crashes through my womb.
My climax is long and blissfully strong.
All the negativity I couldn’t let go of the past week vanishes as Dante brings me back from the clouds with perfectly placed licks and an endless stream of compliments.
God, a girl could get used to this hype.
I’m exhausted by the time I’ve finished riding the thrilling wave, but Dante isn’t close to being done with me yet. As he marks my neck with a love bite, he opens me with his fingers, then buries his cock in deep.
I still as pain shoots through my pussy.
He’s so thick, long, and unbelievably divine.
“That’s it. Accept me inside,” Dante murmurs when I swivel my hips, fighting to push the pain to pleasure.
When he slips his hand between our bodies and rolls my clit between his thumb and index finger, the pain slowly subsides. I love how full I feel, but pleasure will also triumph pain for me.
I’ve been hurt enough.
“Tell me when you’re ready for me to move—”
“Now,” I interrupt, breathless. “I’m ready now.”
Dante’s soundless chuckles fan my neck with his hot breaths. Before I can panic that I’m making a fool out of myself, he slowly withdraws.
The walls of my vagina suck at him, begging him to stay. It hurts being taken by a man as well-endowed as him, but I much prefer it over the hollow emptiness I feel when he pulls out to the tip.
We grunt in sync when Dante rams back in. He stuffs his cock until it bottoms out at my uterus, and his balls slap my ass.
The spasms it instigates spark signs of a new orgasm forming low in my core. They’re strong and tingling and have me to the point of begging.
“God. More. Please.”
Dante grips my ass firmly enough to mark as he pounds into me on repeat. We fuck like wild animals, uncaring of who may hear us. It’s a dirty, naughty encounter, but ten times better than anything I could have ever imagined.
Within minutes, more than a fine layer of sweat dusts my skin.
I come with a moan, Dante’s name shooting from my throat.
“Yes, angelo,” he grunts, screwing me senseless.
Over and over again, he bounces me on and off his cock. He fucks me possessively, stealing every breathless moan he works hard to achieve. Inevitably, the throbbing of the veins feeding his magnificent manhood reveals he’s seconds from free-falling.
This was never going to be long and loving.
They don’t call it fast and dirty for no reason.
As I coerce him over the ledge, Dante pistons his hips. He thrusts and thrusts and thrusts until my name leaves his mouth in a mangled roar.
I fall into orgasmic bliss with him, the spurts of his hot cum too overwhelming for me to act nonchalant.
It takes several long seconds for the throbs of our releases to subside, and even then, Dante is still hard as steel.
“Christ, angelo,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the sensitive skin on my neck. “It just gets better and better.”
He slowly withdraws before placing me back on my feet. My smile is lazy when he cleans up some of the mess between my legs with a handful of tissues he tugs out of a box on a dancer’s makeup cubicle.
My panties have only just snapped back into place when a shout cuts through the lusty haze swamping us.
“Code pink!”
Every stripper, no matter what they’re doing, freezes when those two words are shouted. It’s the universal warning that a child is nearby.
I turn my head, and my heart launches into my throat. Camille is standing outside the dressing room, wearing soccer cleats and a bright yellow uniform. Her hair is pulled out of her face in a messy bun, and her shoes and knees are scuffed with dirt.
Suddenly, Dante’s scent before we altered it with a quick, dirty fuck makes sense. He was at Camille’s soccer game… which he left because of me.
Guilt engulfs me. How could I have been so selfish?
I’m desperate for space, and luckily, Dante is too. He immediately inches back as his hand shoots down to fix his zipper back in place.
As his daughter’s blown-wide eyes take in the glittering costumes in the props room, his jaw muscle twitches. He doesn’t want this life for her, just as I wish I had another option.
I need money, and I need it fast.
Some think stripping is unethical, but it’s legal, so it is the logical choice.
Dante’s once-lusty eyes dart to Camille, who’s too busy admiring the dancers’ props to notice our gawk. Then he shifts them back to me.
Embarrassment washes over me when he drapes a towel used to wipe off body oil over my body. There’s no desire in his eyes now. No longing. He appears ashamed, and it prompts my feet to move before I can answer a single plea of my heart to spend time with Camille again.
Before I can slip out the back door of the dressing room unnoticed, someone says, “I’m sorry, signor. She bolted before I could stop her. She wanted to see the ballerinas.”
Despite the frantic throbs of the veins in his neck, Dante’s clipped timbre is low and controlled. “It’s fine, Agnese. I’m done here anyway.”
His eyes lower to mine, and the message in them is unmistakable.
We’re not done.
Not even close.
Then he turns, gathers Camille in his arms, and walks away.