Chapter 26
Chapter
Twenty-Six
Dante
W here the fuck is she?
I left that dead fucker, strode across the floor of the club like I wasn’t covered in blood, like I wasn’t crazed as I am. I strode past the gaping patrons, the staff who shrank back. Past Darcy and her filthy look as she organized people with equipment I barely glanced at.
They’ll go in through the back, down the narrow walkways that connect to the private rooms. It’ll be clean and ready, and no one will be able to prove anything more than a physical fight happened in there.
In my room, I wash my face, clean off the blood from my hands. Then I pick a new outfit in harried, angry movements. Another suit in black, just to fuck with her. I hang the suit in the office near the sofa and chairs, and pour a triple whiskey, trying to ignore the fact that my dick is so fucking hard it aches.
Where the actual fuck is she ?
I strip my jacket, tie, vest. I pull off the cufflinks, undo the shirt, and pace. Each step is a bite of violent intent.
The wild heat and anger, the unfurled and hungry beast within remains unfed.
The innocent fucking vixen isn’t here.
How dare she disobey? How?—
If she’s with Knight, I just might kill him, too.
I spin my computer and stab the button to bring up the feeds. But he’s upstairs. Near the bar, drinking something harder than wine, anger on his face. Right until a very rich older woman comes up to him. One he likes to have every now and then and play Daddy.
Asshole.
But his smile is fake, and he’s shaking his head. I’m so sick of him right now with those fucking dimples and curls, and the fact he fucking bit my omega, that I just might kill him, anyway.
A little.
Then there’s Reaper. Sure, I’ve known him forever, but he’s?—
But a knock sounds on the door. “In. Now.”
“Dante?” She pokes her head around the door, and I narrow my eyes.
“Don’t make me repeat myself. You’re late, so that’s a punishment in and of itself. And this? Fucking talking back and standing there? Angel, you’re going to be in chains, covered in wax, whipped and tortured with ice for the rest of your fucking life at this rate.”
Her eyes widen, and I don’t miss the sexual interest that lights up, even as she tries to squash it.
“I like obedience.” I crave control. I am control. She…she tests it.
But she steps in. And her nipples are hard, poking into the material of her top. Fuck .
I look at her. And then I’m on her, mouth devouring, tasting, licking, and biting. It’s like I need her. Like I can’t fucking breathe without her.
I push one hand under her shirt, and she’s not wearing a bra. Goddamn it. The anger drives itself higher and my vision tunnels down to black and her. I thumb over her nipple and a burst of sweetness hits, flaring and fanning the fires.
I want her. More than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire fucking life, and I hate it. I hate her for it.
I shove her the fuck from me, and then take a deep swallow of the whiskey to try and rid myself of her taste.
“Dance.” I wave a hand at her.
“D-Dante? Y-You just…”
“I know what the fuck I did,” I growl. Moving away, putting my phone on my desk, and setting it up. I turn back. “And if you don’t dance, you might not fucking survive.”
She makes a sound. “You’d kill me?”
“If I fucking touch you right now, I’ll take you so hard, I’ll do things to you that’ll leave you ruined for anyone else.” I take another swallow then put the glass down. “Dance.”
The savageness is free, lashing at me. And the ravenous monster snaps jaws to taste more of her.
I had a morsel. A taste.
I want more.
But if I keep fucking touching her, I’ll hurt her. I’ll take her too hard, rough, and wild. I’ll chain her up and empty myself in her over and over and whip her if she dares come. In the mood I’m in…fuck safe words, fuck soft hands and gentle ways.
I’m not gentle.
Right now, I don’t give a fuck about her innocence. I’ll corrupt her, bring her down to Hell with me
Her virginity is neither here nor there, but her innocence? Unleash me on her as savage as I am, as riled by blood and the kill? I’m not sure I can pull back. I’m not even sure I can stop myself from touching her.
I don’t know if I’d want to.
But this dark anger and savage need in me demands the taste of denial. Holding off until I can’t? It’s the sweetest payment ever.
I can’t touch her.
I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.
She’s fucking mine.
I look at her. “Do it for me.”
“What?”
“Fucking dance, Angel. Now .”
She shakes her head. “No?—”
“Do it for me.”
“I’m not?—”
“I said do it, Angel. There are rules, remember? Show me a good lap dance.” I take her face in my hand and push her into the door. “So fucking help me. Just dance or I’ll fuck you here and now so hard you won’t be able to walk. I’ll fucking rut the shit out of you, Angel. Knot you. And you know you want that, don’t you? You’re aching for it, slicking up for it.”
“Dante, please.”
I lick her throat, and I’m close, fucking close to sinking my teeth into her, drawing blood, making her mine in the most elemental way. I shove her away and turn.
“You broke my fucking rules, so you’ll learn how to fucking lap dance properly. Who knows?” I narrow my eyes at her. “I might even rent you out.”
Thing is, she looks at me, feeding the darkness in me. Because her face, her body, the way she breathes, the way her scent fucking blooms, it tells me she’s turned on.
She’s fucking waiting to be sullied, destroyed, to be turned into something else, something that I can take down into the depths .
I pull my chair out in front of my desk and sit. “Show me, Angel.”
She reels.
“Behind you on my desk is my phone. Press play.” I’m not in the mood to explain how it works in the private rooms.
She’s not going near one again. Not unless it’s with me. And, if I let the other two live, they can join in, too.
Slow, sensuous music fills the room.
“Move your hips, casual, as the music moves through you, Angel.”
She does, jerky at first, but when she turns to look at me, I speak again. “Move.”
I’m fucking perverse. I know it. Because I want to teach her how to lap dance, how to make money from a man. How to, if she wants, decide how she’ll take it further for more money.
Even though there’s no scenario that doesn’t end up bloodier than the one upstairs if she so much as thinks of setting foot in a private room with a man who’s not me. Or Reaper. Or Knight. If I don’t murder them, too. I probably won’t. But anyone else?
I will tear them into pieces.
I want to bring her down, degrade her, see how far I can go, see how much she likes it.
Punishment without the whips and chains. Or the wax. Then again, there are all kinds of punishments. This is one, and she looks fucking amazing doing my bidding.
“No. Don’t look at your mark. Not yet. Don’t speak to him, make him wait, sweat, wonder if you forgot him. Stretch it out. Deny him the thing he wants, because he’ll want it a whole lot more.”
Denial. My language, and she can speak it. I see it as she stills and listens to me, and then she moves, just looking at the wall, touching the covering, and the pull on my senses and dick is real .
I’m not lulled or soothed. If anything, she hooks into a darker piece of me. There’s the rage and there’s the desires that drip with blood. I want this. The torture. Her moves that wrap around me like her scent and test my limits.
She’s getting into it now, and my hunger grows. Control slips.
As the music moves through her, she rolls her hips, her ass shifts a little, side to side. She pulls her ponytail, loosening it, just a little.
I think she was going to release it and changed her mind, but it gives her a just fucked look and it’s mind blowing.
She swirls to the side and her nipples are hard, then she turns back and does something with her top.
Oh fucking hell, she’s rolling it up, her back’s exposed a little more inch by inch.
“When you’re ready, when the moment feels like it’s going to break, wait a beat, and then glance over.”
My voice is rough and her whole being vibrates in response. The room’s filled with us, the scent we make together, that sex thing that’s beyond addictive, something I’ve experienced exactly once before. But not like this.
There’s nothing like this. No one like Lizette.
She looks at me, and I almost come, my cock jerking in my trousers.
I groan. “Now, casually come toward me, but don’t touch me. Touch the chair, move by, then stop. Look at me once more.”
Shit, she does and the need claws at me. I need to touch her. Taste her again. I need to fuck her, rut her.
She’s not degraded. She fucking likes it.
“Come to me and move your ass against me,” I say. “Then your tits, come in close, breathe my skin, rub that fucking pussy against me.”
I shut the fuck up because she slowly comes back like she forgot something, and she trails her fingers over my shoulder, up my throat, through my short beard.
And that touch is liquid electricity, lighting me up and pushing me higher. She rubs her tits down my arm as she bends, turning her ass in my fucking face, and I’m hit by the heady aroma of her. Gardenias and spice and something I’m labelling as please fuck me now.
She’s way too close for a fucking lap dance, yet she doesn’t feel close enough.
She rises and arches and then begins a slow dance, her body moving around me, over me, and we stare at each other. No words are spoken. This is a battle and conversation on a different level.
She makes fucking hot and dirty sex in the air with the music. It’s almost a filthy version of making love. Making lust.
She exudes it everywhere, and I’m having a real hard time not taking her in all the ways.
I can feel the thrum of her heart, the heat of her sex, the slick of her desire, and she isn’t even touching me.
Until she does.
Lizette straddles me and starts to rock that cunt against me, up and down my aching cock. Her wetness slows her down, gives her shorts a drag that feels both like hell and divine. Her hands come up, and she lowers her top, giving me a front seat view to the most gorgeous tits I’ve ever seen.
Her nipples are dark red, with a wide areola. And the fucking minx plucks at them and slides a finger in my mouth. I suck it and then she pulls it free to swirl over one nipple and then the other.
Never in my life has my control been so tested. I want her to fuck me. I admit that. And she wants me to take hold of her and have my way with her.
It’s a fucked up battle of wills that’s soaked in erotic intent.
My Angel is a dark pony. She rubs her bare tits against me and then she puts her hands either side of my face and kisses me.
I explode inside, my control in tatters. I hook a hand in her hair and rock up against her while dragging her over me, and I plunder her mouth hard.
She tastes of whiskey, sex, and need. She’s dark and light, innocent and the fallen. She’s perfection and addiction, and—Fuck. I. Need. Control.
Breaking the kiss, I pull her head back by her hair as she rocks harder into me, little mewling sounds spilling from her.
I want to bite her throat, but instead I lock on to her nipple, my other hand pushing down into the shorts as I shove three fingers into her. I bite hard on her nipple.
Reward or punishment, I don’t know, but she cries out, her cunt spasming on my fingers as I suck on that nipple. I switch to the other tit as I start thrusting roughly into her sweet, hot, tight pussy. She’s wet, slick. She’s willing, and I rub her clit.
Oh, fuck. Control’s out of reach. I’m ready to throw her down on the ground and have my way.
What the living fuck am I doing?
Before I completely lose it, I shove her from me. She falls onto the ground by my feet with a humph, her eyes wide with shock while I’m fighting the urge to suck my fingers.
“You’re not giving lap dances.” I look down at her, tits out, shorts pulled low on her hips. She looks like she just had sex. And it's an image now burned into my memory. I know I’ll be jerking off to this moment in time, this picture of her.
Or—No.
She needs to be punished.
I crave it.
I find and lock on to the one thing that gives me a strand of my control.
“You came.”
“I—”
“But now, it’s time for punishment, and another fucking lesson, Angel.”
“What?”
Standing, I grab her by the arm, lift her up, and push her to the guest sofa at the side of the office. Then, I pull her shorts down and off.
The world’s prettiest pussy is spread open before me. Puffy lips, a small patch of trimmed black hair right above her exposed clit. And she’s wet. I pull the lips apart, and she struggles.
I grab her hip and look at her. “Do that again, and I’ll tie you down. I’ll find the biggest dildo and fuck you senseless with it. Both holes.” She whimpers, and it’s pure want. “Spread those legs and keep them spread.”
Dipping my head, I bite the delicate skin of her inner thigh. I dive in, a man starved beyond reason, and it’s not a feast, it’s carnage. I thrust my tongue in her, shove two fingers in her ass and pump. She squeals and grabs at me, shaking, moaning. Her hips rise.
She loves it.
Angel tries to rub herself into me, to get more, and I pull out, and use my chin to rub and grind into her as I push my other two fingers into her cunt. She’s not big, all delicate and soft and unbelievably responsive as she pushes my frenzy higher when I realize I don’t have to stretch my fingers wide to have them in both her ass and her cunt.
I thrust as I close my mouth around her clit, sucking hard, thrumming her sensitive nerve bundle with my tongue. Scraping it with my teeth.
She’s fluttering. Tiny wingbeats against me as she’s on the edge of coming.
So, I bite down, still my fingers and change the tempo.
Over and over, I lead her to the edge and snatch her orgasm away. The power it fills me and makes me invincible. Her personal God. I can do anything. I have the fucking power .
I’m not letting her come. No matter how hot and tight she is, no matter how sweet her juices, and she’s beyond fucking sweet. She’s glorious. She’s goddamn worth killing a hundred men to have one taste. She might even be worth dying for.
I keep going, learning all the little things that make her wild, all the things that make her whimper when I stop. I learn every fucking one and pack them into my arsenal that I’m going to use against her at a later date.
I’m fucking drunk and high on her. She’s getting closer and closer, at a faster pace. Each time I bring her to the brink of release, her moan gets more guttural, and she keeps whispering please .
Her body’s shaking, and I’m pretty fucking sure she’s bathing my sofa in her wetness. Just like I might suck that juice out of the material when she’s out of here.
She almost comes, and I can feel heat streak hotter in her, her jerk of her hips higher, and she undulates faster, trying to rub one out on me.
I curl my fingers inside her, taunting her G and A spots, and she’s slurring.
“I’m…I’m…oh, God?—”
I pull out of her, right as she’s about to come, and I stand staring down at her.
Those pretty dark eyes flutter open, and it takes a moment but she focuses on me. “No, please, Dante, please.”
I smile slow, nasty, evil. “On your fucking knees.”
“I want to come.”
“Knees.” I grab her ponytail, wrapping it about my fingers, tugging hard, her little cry sweet fucking music. “You don’t get to come.”
She scrambles up, panting, tits out. Fuck, I wish I had my phone in hand to take a photo.
I tug her head to me. “On your fucking knees. On the floor. Now.”
I loosen my hold enough to allow her to move, and she sinks to her knees in front of me.
That savage, vicious front moves in. I’m going to play a filthy little game with my control. See if I’ll end up fucking her before she can fucking blow me. I give myself fifty-fifty chance. Generously.
“Take my cock out.” I look at her.
Hate. Resentment. Lust. A perfect cocktail of an Angel storm.
“I—”
“Do it.”
Swallowing, she shakes as she does so. Her eyes widen as she sees the size and heft of me.
“Lick around the head, under the edge.”
She comes in, tongue out, and she delicately touches me.
Everything goes haywire and my cock jerks. She moves in a little more, and she starts to lick, taking me into her mouth. She sucks and starts trying to move, her eyes glitter as she looks up at me.
“Take me deep. I want you to fuck your own mouth with my cock, take me all the way down.”
I let her move on me, enveloping me in the heat and wetness of her mouth, the sucking moves, and the slide of her tongue. She’s hot, alive, and not very good. But every moment is both agony and bliss and the best fucking blowjob I’ve had. Because fuck, she might not have skill, but that mouth’s magic.
Our entwined scents bloom and roll in the air, and I grip her hair as she manages to get me almost all the way in, little choking noises and her fast little swallows at the back of her throat a god’s gift of stimulation.
But I need more.
I grab her hair and force her forward on my cock. I push into her throat, fucking her face hard, and then pull back a little, and I snap my fingers and those glorious eyes, tears leaking, full of hate and lust and need, lock with mine.
I stop, and she sucks on my cock. I give her my most depraved smile, running a finger through the drool on her chin, and I paint her face with it.
Her gaze shifts away as she sucks. And I laugh softly.
“Still hate me, Angel? Even with my cock in your mouth?” I stroke in and out. “Go on, Angel, look up at me and tell me how much you hate me.”
She makes a sound, and I start to pound her again as her eyes roll up to mine and she grabs at me, pulling me to her, gobbling me down even though I barely fit.
Filthy fucking little Angel. She likes a good hate mouth fuck.
She gags on my cock and stays there, her uvula working me.
I crack. Come apart. My control is shattered and just the wild ferocity of the need. The hunger is there. I grip her hair down to the scalp, and I start fucking into her mouth, hitting her throat, deeper and deeper each time until its fucking balls to her chin, with a rough, hard beat.
She’s still grabbing at me, and I don’t even try to hold back. I grab a fist of her hair and hold her in place, slamming in and out like I’m brutally fucking her cunt.
It’s too big—the orgasm is there, built to monstrous proportions since the moment I walked into that fucking room upstairs. Since that first guy dared even think about touching her. I slam into her, into her throat, and she’s gagging now, drool slicking the way, and she’s going at me too.
Power surges through me like nothing else before, and the wild bite of the orgasm’s electricity zaps down my spine. My balls rise. I grab her with my other hand too, holding her as it shoots up my cock, and I come so fucking hard that some dribbles out of her mouth. I stagger, dragging her with me, not willing to let her go .
Black stars burst in front of my eyes as the orgasm rips through me.
The waves keep crashing and building, and it’s transcendental.
When it ebbs, I pull out, staggering back.
Holy fuck. That…that was like knotting.
I stare at her, and my cock jerks. The ache of desire whispers through me again, but I tuck myself away. It doesn’t matter that she’s a vision with drool and cum down her chin, her tits. Her thighs glistening, the puffy lips of her cunt slightly spread and red.
I find her shorts and toss them to her.
“Dante?”
“Get. Dressed.”
“Dante, please, I…I want to come.”
She doesn’t move, and I haul her up. “Get dressed and get out. And no, you don’t get to come. Punishment, remember? So, you don’t come.”
“Or?”
I savagely round on her. “Or so fucking help me, I’ll chain you up in the dungeon. Get dressed and go to your room.”
“Dante, please.” She struggles, hopping around as she pulls on the booty shorts.
Her shirt’s down, but it’s wet from our shared fluids. She looks good and fucked.
“Jesus, dude.”
I whirl around at the voice. Knight stands there. Shock, anger, and disgust on his face. That’s for me. There’s concern, too.
That’s all for Lizette.
“What the fuck do you want?” I snarl.
“Showing off your tats?” He nods at my chest. “For the girl, or just because?”
Lizette shoves me, her clothes back on straight. “You’re an utter bastard. ”
I ignore her flung words as she runs off.
Knight shakes his head as I button my shirt. “What the fuck’s wrong with you? She’s a good person. She’s lovely.”
“She’s a liability.”
“And you’re a fucking monster.”
With that, he takes off after her.
I close my eyes.
He’s right.
I’m a fucking monster.
The biggest one of all.