Chapter 17 Estella #2
There’s a thrill in knowing he feels like he has no patience for me, and there’s a sharp, dizzying realization that strikes me.
I feel the same toward him.
When Cane brought me his file, I was perched on the edge of my own restraint, ready to crawl up the walls.
Even the word patience felt meaningless—a brittle thing that had no place in the box of my mind anymore.
I teetered on the brink, every nerve screaming, every thought burning with the urge to lose control.
The desire I have for him isn’t just strong; it’s impossible to rein in. It’s a force that hums beneath my skin, demanding release, unrelenting and consuming.
“You want me to wear it, don’t you?” I tease. My fingers brush gently across the blazer as I trail the golden, shimmering lines. “I’m not stupid, Dante. I know what this is about.”
He takes a moment, the crackle of static filling the space between us. “And what do you think this is about, Estella?”
An invisible hand grips my core, twisting and tugging, sending another jolt of electric heat and exquisite pain spiraling through my lower stomach. I clamp my thighs together, intensifying the ache, my breaths coming in shallow, ragged gasps as if oxygen itself has abandoned me.
Did he coat these boxes, these gifts, with some lethal poison—a poison now coursing through my skin, anchoring me to him with a dizzying, blinding craving?
It’s as if I’m unraveling, thread by thread, dissolving into a singular creature driven by one primal instinct. Logic, reason, restraint—all vanish the instant our games begin. Only he remains, and the need he ignites.
“Control,” I breathe, the word trembling on my lips. “I’m your mentor and your partner in crime, but it can’t be more than that. But you—” I trail off, licking my lips nervously.
Every word fights its way out of me, clawing past a stubborn blockage lodged in my throat, refusing to let me speak like a normal person.
Emotions surge and collide behind my eyes, buzzing and hammering against my skull, testing the edges of my endurance.
I can’t untangle them, can’t grasp the beginnings or ends, only feel the relentless, chaotic pressure building inside.
“Breathe,” he instructs, and that single word is enough.
I draw in a breath so deep it sears my lungs, my nose capturing the delicate, powdery sweetness of the perfume.
It’s like plunging into a pool alive with naked electric wires, each current sparking and shocking the water around me, sending relentless jolts through my chest. The waves drag me lower, down, into darkness, and just as blackness begins to creep into the corners of my vision, he pulls me back, steadying me against the chaos.
I swallow a lump, straightening my aching muscles. “You want to control me, and you’re ridiculous if you think that from now on, you will do that. I’m still in control. Don’t mistake these little moments for weakness.”
“Weakness?” he repeats, shock rippling through his voice. “I never said that was you showing weakness, Estella. I’m not trying to take over, and you know this. I’m not taking that power away from you—never.”
My breathing gradually steadies, and the tiny spark of anger I had managed to summon fades with each word he utters.
“Everything remains the same. Except, now, I can finally show how I really feel, and you can do the same.”
I frown. “So, what is that you’re feeling?”
There’s a short pause on that side of the line. I suck my bottom lip between my teeth as anticipation builds.
“I’m addicted to you. Every word, every breath, every calculated move you make. You slip into the fractures I’ve carried for years, filling them like you were crafted for the spaces inside me. And the only thing I can offer back is what you deserve.”
I take shallow breaths, my lungs tight, ice coursing through my veins and turning my blood into splintered shards. The adrenaline still hums beneath my skin, but now one feeling rises above it all—heavy, consuming, leaving more questions than answers in its wake.
“Put it on,” he commands, and my body instinctively flinches at the sound of his voice. Rough and steady, the tone that bears no room for arguments.
I move on instinct. Carefully putting the phone on the bed, my hands reach for the blazer. I let my fingers linger on the soft, sumptuous fabric one last time before lifting it. In one motion, I drape it over my shoulders, sliding my arms into the sleeves, letting the blazer settle onto me.
He stays silent, yet I can feel him leaning closer, attuned to the soft rustle of the fabric. That awareness sparks something inside me—a slow, warm current of realization creeping into my mind.
I never imagined Dante could feel this intensely about anything. Over time, as I started noticing the subtleties, I realized he wasn’t as boring as I’d assumed, but this… this fire in him, I hadn’t seen it coming.
He wants it as much as I do, if not more. It lingers in the cadence of his voice, that barely perceptible tremor beneath his carefully measured words, a secret he can’t fully hide.
I bite my lower lip, my hands gliding under the back of my neck as I pull out my hair, letting it sprawl across the blazer.
My eyes snap to the other boxes with pants and shoes in them, and no matter how magnetic the pull is for me to reach them, that spark of rebellion takes over, clouding my mind.
A thought takes over, as I wonder if he’d actually do what I’m thinking about if he were here. If he’d punish me for not wearing the full set, for not completely bending under his rules.
Shifting my legs from one side to another, I almost roll my eyes at the wetness that pools between them. Tingles that spread are nearly unbearable to endure, begging me to put my hand there, to do something.
“Now what?” I ask, silently cursing myself for how shaky my voice is. I don’t want to fully give up control, but my body betrays me. With how wobbly, sloppy, and shaky I am, I’m practically willingly giving him everything that’s left.
“Are you sure all the boxes are empty?” he probes.
A wicked smirk pulls up my lips, and the idea resurfaces. A part of me enjoys the thrill of unknowing, of him hiding somewhere close yet so far away, but another part wants him to be here, to see the smirk, the gleam in my eyes—everything that will bring back the beast I saw in the hotel room.
“I don’t know,” I answer, unable to stop the smirk from growing bigger.
A thrill coils deep in my chest, twisting and turning, growing sharper with every second.
It carries with it a mischievous, almost childlike impulse—a desperate urge to kick my feet, to giggle uncontrollably, to surrender to the chaos bubbling under my skin.
The sensation is so vivid, so unrelenting, that I have to grab the sheet, folding it tightly between my fingers, twisting and wrinkling the fabric.
A low, deep chuckle comes from the other side of the phone. Dark and dangerous, it reverberates with the weight of beginnings I’m not sure I’m ready for, laced with promises that send tiny shivers crawling along my spine.
The smirk that had been tugging at my lips vanishes, replaced by an almost instinctive seriousness. My muscles soften, slacken, betraying me, leaving me more vulnerable than I intend. The truth is undeniable—I am poisoned, utterly undone, and it isn’t just the anticipation.
It’s the sound of his voice, seeping into me, binding me, leaving me weak and strangely willing.
“Very interesting,” he muses, each word laced with a subtle, tantalizing flavor, dripping with a slow, irresistible seduction that makes my mouth ache to taste it. “I think it’s going to be fair, don’t you? To give you only half of what you want from here, for that rebellious spark of yours.”
A sharp pang of frustration slices through me, nearly ripping a whine from my throat. I despise the way he wields the power he has over me, the way he knows that I ache for more, that I can’t get enough.
“I want you to think about it. Close those pretty eyes of yours and think about how you want this to unfold.” Closing my eyes, I inhale sharply, and he must hear it very clearly, because he hums in approval.
“Just listen to my voice, Estella. Picture me walking in while you’re on your bed right now. What do you want me to do?”
I focus, the different scenarios storming through my brain, rattling any remains of rational thoughts that may have left.
“I want you to sit down on the bed near me and touch me,” I say, words followed by a soft gasp.
My mind races, firing off a dozen scenarios at once, each more vivid than the last, and I can barely keep up. I press my eyes tightly shut, desperate to lock onto just one, and a surge of electrifying heat lashes through me, setting my cheeks ablaze with a deeper, burning crimson.
I was always open about my desires, but now, I can’t say a word, can’t continue describing my fantasy.
The truth is, I want him to walk in and take complete control.
I want his hands all over me, in me, around me.
I want to smell that perfume of his, I want to take another bite of his neck and draw blood until there will be no clean spot left on his skin.
I want him to devour me, and I want to do it back.
The brisk air from the open window sweeps across my skin, raising goosebumps in its wake, yet it barely scratches the surface, failing to reach the ice that has settled deep within my bones.
Unspeakable, inappropriate—these strong words don’t cover the intensity of what I want, not even close.