Chapter 40
Theo
Three weeks have passed since Jesse’s arrest, and his bail was set at an outrageous amount. Between my recording of his confession and the video taken from the crowd, the evidence was damning. Until a hearing date is determined, he’ll be behind bars.
Dante and I will be called to testify, along with Tai, since he saw the immediate aftermath of the incident at the party. It’s nerve-wracking, but necessary to make sure he gets what he deserves.
The media frenzy has hit the band hard again after the video of me and Jesse surfaced. We’ve been bombarded with edits and remixes of the fight, and enough slow-motion replays to fill an entire day. Requests for interviews have skyrocketed, and the trial will only exacerbate it.
Things had just calmed down from Eric and Dmitri’s media storm, and here I am introducing another. There’s no point in worrying, though, so I don’t.
Instead, I focus on the task at hand.
Dante is driving around town, running a few errands I put together as an excuse to get him out of the house for a while. Just as I’m adding the finishing details to my outfit, a text from him pops up on my screen, telling me he’s on his way.
I drag my hands down my torso in front of the mirror, admiring my work.
My skin-tight, sheer white shirt clings to every line of my body, paired with a large navy blue collar.
Instead of a bow tie, I’ve crisscrossed strips of red tape over each nipple, the sharp contrast standing out against my pale skin.
Underneath my pleated, short blue skirt, white thigh-high stockings with lace tops hug my legs. While I’ve been getting dressed, I kept the suction-cup dildo in place, working myself open and edging so many times I’ve lost count.
Dante calls my name as the front door hinges creak. I stroke myself once more, fighting to hold back. “In here!” I shout.
He walks into the bedroom and stumbles to a stop.
His eyes drift slowly—first to the red tape crossing my nipples under the sheer fabric, then lower to where my cock peeks out from under the skirt with a thick string of pre-cum hanging from the tip.
His gaze darkens, breath catching audibly as he takes in the full picture.
For a long moment he just stands there, staring, like he’s trying to decide whether to speak or simply cross the room and take me apart.
As I saunter toward him, I add a deliberate pep to my step that makes my erection bounce against the fabric of the skirt with every sway.
“It was time to check something off my Fucket List.” I flash him a teasing grin, grabbing the hem of his shirt and tugging it over his head in one smooth pull.
Once it’s off and tossed aside, I turn so my back is to him, leaning forward just enough to let the short pleats ride up and reveal the curve of my ass.
“Do I make an acceptable Sailor Moon?” I ask with a playful shimmy.
“Decided against the pigtails?” he asks on a breathy exhale, already lunging forward. His hands grip my cheeks, spreading them gently before one finger slips inside me, testing the slick heat I’ve spent the afternoon preparing.
“Wanted you to pull my hair,” I say with a quiet moan, sinking onto his finger, “and thought that might be difficult with a wig.”
He spins me around and claims my mouth in a kiss that’s all urgency and heat, clumsy in the best way.
I fumble with the buttons of his pants, shoving them down his hips until they pool at his feet.
He stumbles stepping out of them, but we hold on to each other, steadying one another until we’re both upright again.
My hips rock instinctively, rubbing my cock against his. The friction builds too fast, so I force myself to stop before I ruin the second half of my surprise.
“Sit on the bed,” I order.
Once he’s positioned exactly where I want him, I strut over, making sure the skirt flounces with every step so it flashes teasing glimpses of my thighs, the lace tops of my stockings, and the way my cock bobs beneath the hem. “Are you ready for me?”
“Fuck, yes,” he groans as I get closer, bending forward just enough that the fabric of the skirt drifts over the head of his cock.
“You want to make me come?” I squirt lube into my palms and coat him in slow, deliberate strokes.
“Yes,” he groans, hips thrusting up into my touch.
“Lean back on your elbows.”
He obeys without hesitation, reclining just enough to give me room. I drop to my knees over his hips, straddling him so the pressure of his erection presses firmly against my ass. I rock gently, letting him slide between my cheeks.
“Fuck, I’ve wanted you all day,” I groan.
He reaches between us, fingers finding my open hole, and lines the head of his cock up perfectly. The blunt pressure makes me shiver, already aching for him to fill me.
With one hand firm on my hip, he thrusts up hard while yanking me down. Ecstasy explodes through me like scattershot, arching my spine backward in a sharp, involuntary curve. My orgasm rips out of me, shredding every nerve from head to toe before jetting free in hot, pulsing bursts.
The air slams from my lungs in a low moan.
The first spray is so pent-up that a few drops catch my own face, while the rest peppers his abdomen in a messy, shotgun scatter.
My ears ring, barely registering his surprised curses as I ride through it, whimpering while I grind down against him.
My cock pulses visibly, sliding slick over his stomach and leaking thick ropes across his skin.
His eyes go almost comically wide before he snaps into motion.
“Jesus… fucking… Christ,” he groans, gripping me with both hands and driving up into me again, drawing out every last tremor of my release. “How the fuck?”
“Edged myself for hours waiting for you,” I gasp with a full-body shudder.
He groans low in his throat and stands, keeping me impaled on him with his arms hooked under my knees. I clutch his neck for balance as he carries me to the wall and pins me there, driving in deep. My head thuds back as I cry out, pleasure teetering right on the edge of pain.
He folds me in half, pressing my thighs flush to my stomach until the stretch burns. Every inch of him feels impossibly thick and deep, and liquid fire courses through me with each thrust. The friction is overwhelming, hammering me into the wall until my breath catches on every stroke.
The wet, obscene sounds of our bodies moving together fill the room, broken only by the moans we can’t hold back. “You’re so fucking tight,” he mutters, voice gravel-rough. “And you’re going to come again before I’m done with you.”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” I manage, voice strained from the relentless jarring of my body. His thrusts send shockwaves through me, my head bouncing off the wall again and again.
He crashes his mouth against mine, kissing me like he’s starving, then spins us without breaking the connection and walks back to the bed, still buried inside me.
“Get on your hands and knees,” he orders, voice low and commanding as he sets me on the mattress.
“I want to see your pretty little skirt bounce while you take me.”
Before I can move, he flips me so my chest lands on the bed, jerking my hips up and giving me just enough room to slide my knees under me. Dante leans forward, placing his palm at the top of my back and dragging it slowly down my spine, fingers tracing every vertebra with deliberate care.
He never stops touching me as he pushes inside—slow now, no longer rushed or frantic, but with a carefulness that almost brings tears to my eyes.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs, rocking against me in long, measured strokes.
“You make me the luckiest man in the entire world. Thank you for waiting for me.”
I lift up and twist my head over my shoulder. “I would’ve waited forever for you.” His smile is sweet, full of quiet love, as our lips meet. Kissing is awkward in this position and strains my neck, but it’s worth every second of the effort.
“Now,” he says, voice dropping low and rough, “bend over and be good for me.”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the mattress and arching my back.
“More,” he instructs, pressing gently on my spine until my cheek rests against the sheets.
“There you go… that’s my good boy.” He eases in deeper, stretching me open again until it feels like he’s everywhere—fingertips ghosting over my skin, cock moving with reverent patience inside me, even the brush of his thighs against mine sparking electricity.
“Look at you in your pretty clothes,” he says, voice thick. “Did you touch yourself all day waiting for me to fuck you in your skirt?”
“Yes,” I groan as he pushes down on my spine, deepening the arch until every thrust drags along that perfect spot. Jolts of pleasure shoot across my skin and through my veins like summertime lightning, raising every hair on my body.
“Did you come while I was gone?”
“No,” I whine, “but I wanted to so bad.”
“Why didn’t you?” He picks up speed just enough to make my cheek rub against the sheets, the fabric twisting beneath my head as he plunges in and out. Sensation sizzles up my spine, through my balls, and straight to the aching tip of my cock.
“Because I was being your good boy,” I moan as he slams forward, forcing my hands to fly out and brace myself. “Wanted to come on your cock.”
He reaches beneath me and surrounds me with his fingers, stroking in perfect time with his thrusts. We rush toward the edge together, bodies locked in sync. “And what do good boys do when they’re bred full?”
“They… fuck…” The words dissolve into a gasp as the last of his control snaps.
His rhythm turns jerky, thrusts turning shallow and desperate.
A deep moan tears from his throat as he climaxes, flooding me with heat that overflows and drips warm down my thighs.
The sensation of him pulsing inside me and filling me until it spills out shoves me over the edge.
His name leaves me on a whimper as he strokes me faster. “That’s right,” he praises, voice low and rough while I shoot into his hand with a broken moan. His palm slides slick along my length, milking every last pulse from me until I’m trembling and spent. “Good boys come when they’re filled up.”
His hips slow to lazy, shallow rolls, drawing out the aftershocks until he finally stills. With one last kiss pressed to the base of my spine, he drops onto the bed and pulls me close, tucking me against his chest.
“I forgot to pull your hair,” he mutters, fingers already threading gently through the strands.
“Could’ve used the wig after all,” I slur, words thick and heavy as my eyes drift closed. Exhaustion crashes over me like a wave. I know we should clean up, but my body refuses to move. My eyelids feel weighted with lead, fluttering a few times before the darkness takes over.
The next thing I register is a warm, damp cloth against my skin. Soft strokes glide along my thighs and stomach, then gently between my legs. I stir, trying to sit up, but Dante’s hand settles lightly on my arm.
“Rest,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you.”
I sink back into the mattress, half-asleep as he wipes away the mess with careful tenderness.
The cloth disappears and a soft blanket settles over me in a cocoon of warmth.
The mattress dips as he slides between the sheets and draws me back against his chest, arms wrapping around me like they were made for this.
“What would I do without you?” I whisper, voice barely audible.
“You never have to find out,” he answers, lips brushing my temple.
And then I’m gone—lost to the world, and safe in the circle of his arms.