Chapter 11
ETHAN
A fter Dante disappears inside, I make my way in as well. I ignore the chatter that’s begun to flood into the large parlor room now that the ritual is over.
The ritual.
As I head upstairs to the very room I was told to, I think about those two women kneeling on the bench.
One Dante’s cousin, and the other her fiancée. I can hardly remember the words that were spoken by Dante’s father and repeated by them because I’d been so focused on the blood aspect of it all.
It seems so uncomfortable to me—the idea of watching someone I’m related to cut themselves and lick the blood off their partner, or perhaps themselves if they’re doing it alone. Quite frankly, it gives me the ick, yet at the same time…I can’t deny that some part of it was arousing.
Both physically and mentally.
I still feel shaken, maybe even more so after Dante’s kiss. So when I open the door to his bedroom, my plan is to immediately get in his bed.
However, as I close the large mahogany door behind me, flip on the light, and take in the dark atmosphere of the room, I can’t help but wander around.
His bed is a four-poster with a deep blue duvet and matching pillows.
In a corner of his room is a desk with several cubbies and golden handles on the drawers.
Next to it is a small bookcase. I’m insanely curious what books are in there, so I crouch down and run my fingers along the spines.
Historical mysteries make up a good portion of the books, with a few I don’t quite recognize, but they appear to be from a similar time period of the late 1800s to the mid-1900s.
“I’ve never even seen him read,” I mumble to myself.
I stand back up.
The bedroom smells like Dante—warm, musky, and a little bit like tobacco. It’s clean, though. Everything is tucked neatly away, the bed is made, and no clothing sticks out of the closed closet door. Most likely a maid keeps it this way, as I can’t imagine Dante cleaning his room.
There are a few things out of place on the nightstand, I notice as I step closer to the bed, like a small pair of gold-rimmed reading glasses. I brush my finger along the bridge. I’ve never seen him in these.
I blush as I think about him in glasses, reading in bed…and wearing nothing else.
I swallow hard and bring my attention back to what I’m in here for—lying down.
I pull the covers aside to reveal cream-colored silk sheets. All of it looks immensely more comfortable than my own bed, so I take my shoes off and slowly unbutton my jeans. Nervously, I look toward the door.
I’m a stranger in this house, and though I’m surrounded by Dante’s belongings and scent, it still feels odd to be here.
I debate not taking my pants off, but I can’t possibly sleep in my jeans.
I unzip my jeans, the sound seeming much louder than it actually is, and then crawl into bed.
“Damn,” I whisper with a sigh. The bed is so soft. I instantly sink down into it in relaxation, like all the weight of the last few days is just fading away.
Until flickers of not only the ritual I just watched, but Dante grinding me into the couch at the safe house, cross my mind.
My breath catches in my throat and I close my eyes tightly.
There are so many conflicting feelings swarming my chest and stomach, including the hot rush of blood to my dick.
I feel sick. How can I be turned on after what I just watched?
Dante said he thinks it’s a turn-on, that it gets him riled up. He even offered to help me, but I can’t shake the feeling of guilt about it.
Guilt…and fear.
If I’m in a relationship with Dante, does that really mean I’ll have to do that ritual? The way he’s been talking about it, it doesn’t seem as though it’s a choice. Perhaps it is, but the choice not to means no longer seeing him.
My chest is suddenly tight at the thought.
Just a few days ago I was telling myself I didn’t care about Dante Romano. Now the idea of not getting to know him more, not knowing what our future could be like…it fucking sucks.
Still, the guilt about everything that’s occurred so far is heavy. What will my parents think? What will this mean for my life?
Within this flurry of emotions, arousal is still quite strong, and it only makes me feel worse.
I roll over onto my stomach and press my face into the bed. Dante’s scent only floods my senses with more vigor. I groan into the pillow and press my hips against the bed more firmly. My cock is squished between the mattress and my body.
“Just go to sleep,” I huff to myself.
I try not to squirm, not to think about any of it anymore, but it’s difficult.
But somehow, perhaps because of how exhausting the last few days have been, combined with how utterly comfortable the bed is, I manage to fall asleep.
The hurricane of my thoughts morphs into my dreams, but I can’t quite make any of them out. Dante’s face, Lena, Nathan, the ritual, my car exploding, they all swirl around me too quickly for me to comprehend before the dream switches to something else.
Nevertheless, my heart is racing, and I gasp myself awake. As I sit up in bed and pull my sticky eyes open, I realize it’s dark all around me, except for a beam of moonlight cast through curtains on my left.
A large, warm hand slides onto my stomach under my sweater and T-shirt. I gasp softly.
“Sorry, baby. You alright?” Dante’s voice, gruff and sleepy, asks in the darkness.
I take a slow breath. “I-I don’t know.”
With a shaky hand, I reach up and brush my fingers through my hair.
“The last few days have been…a lot.”
“I know,” Dante whispers.
I feel his hand slide over my stomach and around to my side, his arm capturing me, he pulls me toward him. I lie down against him, rolling onto my side and searching for him with my face. My nose brushes his bare chest, and heat prickles my skin from my cheeks all the way to my thighs.
“What’s on your mind, puppy?” he asks me.
I slide my hands up to his waist and curl my fingers along the contours of his muscles. It feels so surreal, almost like a dream.
“I feel like this is moving really fast,” I tell him. My voice is just as quiet and tired as his.
“Is that so bad?” he replies, and I feel his mouth slide along my hair.
I shiver. “I’m not sure. It all scares me. How intensely I feel about you already. How intense you and your family are.” As I speak, I rub circles into his skin with my thumb, feeling his body growing warmer under my touch.
Dante’s arms envelop me even more. I feel the rumble of his voice in his chest against my face and neck.
“Are you scared you’re gonna get hurt?”
I think for a moment. “Yes, maybe. I’m also scared of how excited it makes me. I feel guilty.”
“You just need time,” Dante reassures me.
“I feel like I need more time than I have.” My voice cracks.
“For what?” he asks.
I bury my face in his chest. Feeling his soft skin, the speckling of body hair against my nose and chin, and his heart beating strong within his ribcage, helps settle my anxiety.
“C-Coming out. Getting to know you, your family, telling my friends and family. Knowing what I want.” The words come out a bit rushed.
Dante suddenly grabs my chin and forces me to look up at him. I grunt softly, but open my eyes and gaze at him in the dimness.
“You have as much time as you need,” he says huskily. “Whatever you need from me, I’ll do it, Ethan. Anyone tries to push you, I’ll fuck them up.”
Blood rushes to every single part of my body, especially my face and cock.
“T-That’s not necessary, Dante, but…I appreciate it,” I insist. “I’m going to need to figure things out at some point.”
“You will, and you have nothing to feel guilty or wrong about, you understand me?” he asks, looking deep into my eyes. His warm, slightly minty breath washes over my face. I breathe him in and nestle even closer.
“Yes, Dante. I’ll do my best.”
“Good boy,” he whispers, and then leans down and kisses my lips softly.
Something about this moment is so much warmer and gentler than I imagined, even with his hand wrapped under my jaw.
“All that matters right now is that you want me, right?” he asks against my mouth.
I moan softly and rub my lips against his, but he pulls back just enough that I can’t kiss him. I strain against his hand, trying to move forward.
“Mmh. Yes, Dante,” I mutter.
He chuckles softly. “Good.”
He kisses me one more time before letting go of my throat and jaw and then lying back down. I can’t help but frown a little.
“Now I’m awake,” I say with a sigh as I drag my fingers along his stomach.
Being with a man is so much different than being with a woman, even Lena.
I don’t feel terrified to touch his bare skin.
I don’t feel an impending sense of doom at the idea of him undressing me.
It feels strange, in the sense that I don’t really know what I’m doing, but lying here next to him, both of us half-naked, feels natural.
I ignore the guilt that crosses my mind, along with the idea that there’s something wrong with me because I took so long to figure it out.
I use Dante’s warm body and strong arms as comfort as I tilt my head toward his shoulder.
“Me, too,” Dante mutters. “Tell me about you. More about you.”
“What don’t you know from stalking me?” I ask, my voice muffled against his skin.
Suddenly I feel a smack against my ass cheek through my boxers. I gasp and my hips jolt forward, rubbing against his thighs and groin.
“Sassy boy,” he rumbles near my ear.
My head is dizzy, and if I went soft while I was asleep, I’m definitely at half-mast now.
“Fuck,” I mumble.
“What, did you like that?” he asks, amusement in his voice.
I dig my nails into the skin at his waist. “Y-Yeah.”
“Then I’ll do it again, when you tell me more about you.”
My neck and chest are flushed, my nipples hardening as well, and I feel like a pathetic dork for getting so hot and bothered over so little.
Still, I do as he asks.
“I enjoy reading cheesy romance novels sometimes,” I tell him. “And…I’ve watched some of the movie adaptations online.”
“Of course you have,” he snickers at me.