Chapter 6 #2
“Right then,” I mutter, unabashedly staring as they make out like fiends. “I’ll just be on my way then.”
Eric waves me on as Dmitri pins him against the wall, and I heave a theatrical sigh, already mourning the Eiffel Tower dreams that clearly aren’t happening today.
My gaze drifts to Dante standing to the side with Monica’s paperwork.
He glances up as I approach, cheeks already darkening with that familiar flush.
“What’s gotten into them?” he asks, gesturing vaguely toward the wall where Eric and Dmitri are basically dry-humping in broad daylight.
“Ah, I’m afraid that was my doing.” He arches a brow, still scanning the pages. “I may or may not have insinuated that the cure for Eric’s sore throat was a nice, deep salt gargle.”
Dante chuckles and meets my eyes for what might be the first time since my birthday.
“He’s not the only one suffering right now, you know,” I tease.
Unmistakable suspicion crosses his face. “He isn’t?”
I force the world’s most pitiful fake cough. “My throat’s sore now too. Maybe a gargle would do me some good.”
“Theo,” he groans.
My grin spreads wide as I close the distance another inch. “Pretty sure it’s spreading quickly.”
“Is that so? And where, pray tell, is it spreading to?”
“Definitely my face.”
“Your face?” he repeats, the words catching in his throat.
“Mmm hmm.” I tilt my head, fluttering my lashes to sell the innocence. “If the symptoms are the same, I think the cure probably is too. Any ideas where I might be able to get it?”
He takes another backward step until his shoulders hit the wall with a soft thud, and I follow, crowding him without quite touching.
“For fuck’s sake, Theo,” he mutters, eyes flicking up to the ceiling like he’s searching the rafters for patience.
The flush creeps down his neck now, and I can see the pulse jumping under his skin.
“You wanna play doctor, big guy?” I wilt dramatically, letting my body go limp. “You wouldn’t leave me here to suffer, would you?”
Just like I knew they would, his arms snap around me to catch me before I go too far. He lifts me into a bridal carry in one smooth, effortless motion, and I relax against his chest, making myself as boneless as possible.
“Well, it’s obviously too late for you,” he says as he takes a few steps.
“Is that your opinion as a medical professional?”
He nods solemnly, lips twitching. “It is. You lived a good life, though.”
“I don’t like how you said that in past tense,” I say, grabbing his neck and hoisting myself higher to look around the studio hallway. “Where are you taking me?”
“Shhh…” He wraps one hand around the back of my head and tucks my face into his chest. “Just relax into it. Don’t waste the last of your energy fighting. That’ll only make it harder.”
“Oh, I’ll make it harder, baby…” I murmur against his shirt, then pause. “Wait, what are we doing?”
He stops beside the giant garbage can in the rear of the studio, leaning forward so the backs of my thighs rest against the rim. “It’s such a shame we couldn’t do more to save him.”
“But you can save me!” I insist, clutching tighter. “I told you what you could do. Dante!”
“It’s like I can hear him saying my name, even now.”
“What are you doing to me?” I demand, scrambling to hold on as he pries my fingers from his neck one by one.
A maniacal grin spreads across his lips. “It’s such a tragedy to lose such a young, beautiful soul, but death claims us all, eventually.”
“You wouldn’t dare put me in that trash can!” I shout, climbing his torso and wrapping my legs around his waist as my arms circle his neck. “Dante!”
He gives up with a deep belly laugh that rumbles through his chest and into mine, arms banding around me to keep me steady. One of his hands lands on my ass, and his palm brushes the base of the plug nestled inside me.
My hips jolt forward on pure reflex, grinding against him in a sharp, involuntary thrust. An out-of-control moan slips from my lips, right beside his ear. My cock was already half-interested from the carry and the teasing, and it springs fully to attention, pressing against his stomach.
He freezes for half a heartbeat, breath catching audibly.
His fingers flex against my ass again before he seems to register what he touched.
The laughter dies in his throat, replaced by a low, unsteady exhale.
His eyes meet mine, pupils blown, and for the first time since my birthday, he doesn’t look away.
“Theo,” he rasps, voice wrecked in a way that sends heat pooling low in my belly. His grip tightens—not pushing me off, but holding me closer.
I swallow hard, pulse thundering in my ears. “Still think I’m dying?” I whisper, leaning closer to drag a kiss along his jawline. It’s barely more than a fleeting touch, but his lips fall apart in a quiet gasp, body going unnaturally still beneath me.
After a pause that stretches like eternity, his hand flexes.
I don’t move, don’t even breathe as his fingers tiptoe across the distance and press against the base of the plug again.
Once, then twice, each pulse sending liquid fire racing through my veins.
That’s all it takes for me to harden fully, cock straining against my shorts as I exhale heavily, matching the sudden quickening of his breath.
I drop my lips to his skin once more as he pushes a third time—harder—then a fourth, holding it there while every muscle in my body lights up.
I can’t stay still any longer. With a slow sway of my hips, I grind my aching cock against him, gasping at the sharp jolt as the plug drives deeper inside me.
Years of pent-up want threaten to spill over as I dig my heels into his back and rock shamelessly into the friction.
My hand finds his cheek, fingers raking through the short beard as I try to turn his face toward me.
“More,” I beg in a broken whisper, flexing my abs again. “Please, give me more.”
My words shatter the fragile bubble we’d stumbled into.
Dante jolts like a cornered animal, shuddering back to reality. I knew better than to speak, knew better than to break the spell, but it’s too late. His hands slide to my hips, and he shakes his head once.
“I need to put you down,” he says softly. As much as I try to pretend the rejection isn’t tearing me open, tears prick hot behind my eyes. I refuse to let them fall here where he can see.
Nothing good will come of it. I never want his pity. His love and attention, yes. But not pity. Never that.
I stay silent as he lowers me to the floor, then rest my forehead to his shoulder to hide the flood of emotion threatening to spill over. “Why don’t you want me?” I whisper, the words barely audible.
He doesn’t answer, and the silence is louder than any refusal.
After a few deep breaths to wrestle myself back under control, I turn and storm away without another word.
“Theo,” he calls after me.
I shake my head and walk faster. My name leaves him again, more urgent this time, but I can’t face him. Not now. Not like this.
I push through the door into the blinding afternoon sun, blinking against the glare until I reach my car. Only when I’m locked inside, engine running and the world muffled beyond the windows, do I finally let the tears escape.