Chapter 37
ESSENCE
While Dante and I enjoy our food, we chat comfortably about our childhoods and teenage years. He had somewhat of a strained relationship with his parents—his mom’s pregnancy was a surprise, and his parents hadn’t necessarily wanted to have children.
My heart hurts for him, because he’s such an amazing guy and deserves to be surrounded by people who love and want him.
Ebony and I, on the other hand, had a great life with our parents.
We weren’t rich, but my dad always made sure that his wife and daughters had everything they needed and wanted.
There was never a time in my life where I ever questioned if my parents loved me, and I’m now realizing how much of a blessing it is to have had such a loving family.
I reach across the table and place my hand over his. “I’m sorry, Dante,” I say quietly. You deserved to have an amazing childhood.”
He smiles and lifts my hand to his lips to kiss my knuckles softly. “Thank you. I think that’s why I wanted kids of my own so badly as I got older. I wanted to give them the life that I didn’t have. He sighs sadly, and his eyes soften. “I just hope that I gave Leo a good life.”
“You can’t seriously doubt that you did, Dante,” I say emphatically. “You were an amazing father to him. He was so proud of you that he talked about you every single day. He’d tell all his friends about how his dad was a firefighter and got to drive a firetruck.”
We laugh, but now the tone of the evening has shifted. Dante puts his elbows on the table and clasps his hands together. He rests his head against his clasped hands and closes his eyes, no doubt trying not to cry.
I scoot my chair around the table so I’m sitting next to him with our backs towards the rest of the restaurant.
“It’s just you and me back here,” I say quietly, running a hand soothingly over his broad back. “You can be vulnerable with me, Dante.”
He lets out a deep breath and looks at me, eyes red and cheeks streaked with tears. How can he look even more beautiful when he’s crying?
I raise my hand to wipe the tears away, but he grabs it and puts his face into my palm.
“I don’t deserve you, Essence,” he whispers.
I shake my head. “We deserve each other—and we deserve to be happy.”
The two of us sit in silence for a long while, listening to the sounds of soft chatter, utensils scraping against porcelain dishes, and glasses clinking.
Dante pulls away first. He wipes his face with his napkin and takes a sip of his water.
“I’ve never felt safe enough to cry in front of a woman before,” he says honestly.
I frown in disbelief. “Really?”
He nods. “A lot of women see it as a weakness.”
“I think men who don’t cry are weak,” I say quietly yet fiercely. “They’re the ones who end up hurting the people around them.”
His thumb runs across my knuckles softly. “It sounds like you’re talking about Evan,” he points out.
I shrug. “Yeah. We were together for over two years and I never once saw him cry.”
A calmness comes across Dante’s face, and for a moment I wonder if he’s spaced out. But then he grins manically, and I try to pull my hand out of his grasp but he grips it like a vise.
“Dante—”
“Did you know that men with fragile egos cry the hardest when they’re afraid?” he asks with a deranged glint in his eye.
My heart starts to race, and all I can think of to say is, “Oh.”
But Dante doesn’t even notice.
“Evan cried like a little bitch when he saw me in my mask,” he goes on. “He was nothing but a blubbering fucking baby who begged for his life. It was pathetic. I just couldn’t believe you kept choosing him over me.”
He chuckles harshly.
I really don’t want to know the details of the night he murdered Evan. It’s taken days for me to put the depraved act out of my mind and forget about the fact that Dante killed for me.
“It was a mistake that I deeply regret,” I admit, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction. He really scares me sometimes. “It should have been you all along.”
He looks at me with warm, honeyed eyes that mask his dangerous side. “I’m glad you understand that, flower.”
His lips are soft and warm as leans in and kisses me, and despite the place his mind just came from, my cheeks flame.
“Do you want to split a dessert?” I ask when I pull away, face flushed and heart racing. I desperately need something cold to cool me down.
“I’ll buy you whatever you want, Essence, but I’d rather have you for dessert,” he says, but not quietly enough for my liking.
I turn my head and look around the dining room to make sure no one heard him.
“You can’t talk like that in here,” I chastise him. He ignores me, though, and runs his hand up the inside of my thigh.
Dante leans in close. “Look at that couple over there.”
He points to a table across the room in the corner opposite ours.
The man and woman are going at it as if they aren’t in a crowded public place.
He’s got his hand up her dress, and when I focus enough I can see the slight movement of his arm.
He doesn’t give her a chance to breathe as he devours her mouth with his.
Dante’s hand glides higher and higher until he’s reached my clit. He groans when he feels that I’m not wearing any panties.
“Fuck, fiore,” he growls in my ear, that slight Italian accent doing me in once again. “You’re killing me.”
Leaning against Dante, we’re silent as we watch the man pleasure his date.
His movements are fast and jerky as he continues to finger her.
Dante dips his own finger inside of me before pulling it out and rubbing my arousal over my clit.
I gasp and try to close my legs, but he bites the shell of my ear in warning.
“We can’t do this here,” I say through gritted teeth, trying hard not to moan.
I can feel him smirk against my hair when he asks, “You’ve never had sex in public before?”
“No! What if someone sees us—?”
“Like we’re watching them over there?” he asks matter-of-factly. “They’re so into each other that they don’t even know they have an audience.”
I let out a breath as he swirls his finger around in a circle. My belly clenches with need. “Dante—”
“Relax, baby,” he whispers, grabbing my chin and turning me back to the couple across the room. “Live a little, why don’t you?”
I try to frown, but he grabs my clit between his thumb and forefinger and applies the slightest bit of pressure as he strokes me up and down. My toes curl from the feeling, and I have to fight the urge to let my head fall back.
“Good girl,” he murmurs close to my ear. I swear I could come just from his praise alone.
Across the room, tremors wrack the woman’s body as she nears her orgasm. The man never once breaks their kiss, doesn’t let her catch her breath for one moment.
That’s probably for the best because she ends up moaning into his mouth. To my surprise, no one else around them hears or even seems to notice what they’re doing.
Dante and I watch everything, and he doesn’t stop pleasuring me even after the man has made his date climax.
“They’re done, Dante,” I breathe, wiggling to try to get him to stop, but he won’t let me go.
“And?” he asks. “That doesn’t mean we’re done. I’m not stopping until you come all over my fingers.”
He continues to rub small circles over that bundle of nerves, driving me over the edge. My breathing is labored, chest heaving and body covered in sweat. I have to clap a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming.
I silently plead with him to stop, but I can’t focus on anything other than how he’s making me feel right now.
He manages to draw out his torture, leaving me panting and breathless and desperate for release, and I'm almost afraid I won’t get it, but then he snakes his free hand around my waist and pricks me with something.
I gasp, mostly from the surprise of it, but then the sharp pain turns into pleasure.
Pressure quickly builds in my clit. I’m grinding against his fingers, using him to satisfy my need to come. He pricks me again and again, and after the fifth one, the fucking floodgates open.
I bury my face in his neck and bite down into his flesh where his neck meets his shoulder. He groans but doesn’t pull away or stop rubbing me until I slump against him in a heap.
My eyes are closed, and bright stars dance behind my eyelids. I’m not sure how long we sit there, but when I finally pull away, my face is red for a whole different reason now.
I just got fingered in a fucking restaurant.
Dante is able to read the emotions on my face, but instead of reassuring me that everything is fine, he just smirks like the cocky bastard he is.
I frown at him. “I can’t believe you just did that.”
“You’ll be alright,” he teases, kissing the tip of my nose.
Dante cleans his hand as much as he can—and by “clean” I mean he licks me from his fingers and uses his napkin to wipe off the rest.
When the waiter comes with the check, he takes out his wallet, pulls out some cash and tucks the bills inside the check holder.
I panic when he stands up.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, noticing the alarm on my face.
My hands sweat as I’m hit with a fresh wave of embarrassment.
“How am I going to stand up?” I ask him quietly, looking around the restaurant to make sure no one is looking at us.
“Well, typically, people will lean forward and push themselves up…” he says sarcastically.
I roll my eyes and punch him playfully on the thigh. “You know what I mean.”
“Just stand up. No one will notice as long as you act like a normal human being.” He says that last part pointedly.
I shoot him a glare but take his proffered hand and stand up. My cheeks are on fire right now, so I don’t say anything as I grab my purse and follow Dante out of the restaurant.
When we’re finally out into the cold October night, I take a deep breath and exhale. Dante hands his ticket to the valet, and we stand on the sidewalk while we wait for the truck to be brought out.
“I’ve never been so mortified in my life. Maybe I should let them know that the seat needs to be cleaned?”
“Do you really want to go back in there and explain to them why?” Dante asks. “You know they’ll need an answer.”
“You’re right,” I say on a sigh, then I smack his arm.
“What was that for?” he asks.
“I told you that was a bad idea!” I complain. He just taps my nose like I'm a cute little kid and tucks me into his side. I wrap my arms around his waist and snuggle against him, savoring the safety his body heat provides me.
The valet finally comes around with Dante’s truck. He gets out and starts to walk around to the passenger side to open the door for me, but Dante stops him.
“I’ll do it,” he says a bit curtly. “Thank you.”
The valet, a young guy who’s probably in his late teens, nods quickly and wishes us a good night. Dante helps me into the truck before getting into the driver’s seat and leaving the restaurant parking lot.
I look over at him and frown. “Did you really have to scare the poor kid like that?”
He shrugs. “No one gets to pull your chair out or open your door but me.”
I chuckle. “You don’t want anyone to be nice to me?”
“Of course I do. But I don’t want to give anyone the opportunity to steal you away from me.”
“Do you really think a simple act of kindness from a complete stranger would be enough for them to steal me away from you?”
“Are you admitting that you’re mine?” he counters, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.
I look out of the window at the other cars driving by. “Maybe.”