17. Dante
17
DANTE
T he heat of my need for Chiara is overwhelming. I can’t help myself. And I know we don’t have time for all I want to do to her—she’ll be expected back at the dinner party any second now. But I need her so desperately, I can’t just let her leave.
“Dante, I need you,” she whispers, her voice trembling with need. Her words are a lifeline, grounding me in this moment, even as I feel myself spiraling out of control.
Our foreheads touch, our breaths mingling as we pause, savoring the moment. The anticipation is nearly unbearable, the need to be together overwhelming. We don’t have much time, but for now, it’s enough. We are here, together, and nothing else matters.
We kiss again, and as our hands continue their frantic exploration, the world outside fades away. All that remains is the overwhelming desire, the desperate need to be as close as possible, even if only for a moment.
We’re both half-dressed, clothes in disarray, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is this moment, this burning need we have for each other.
Our bodies are pressed together, her softness yielding to my hardness, fitting together perfectly despite the cramped quarters. The scent of fabric softener mixes with the intoxicating perfume of her skin. Her lips on mine are fierce and unyielding, as if we can’t get enough of each other. The confined space of the cleaning closet only amplifies the intensity between us.
I try to stay quiet, to stifle the groans that threaten to escape my throat, but it’s impossible. Her mouth swallows my sounds, her tongue tangling with mine, her breath hot and sweet as we kiss with a ferocity that speaks volumes. It’s like we’re trying to imprint this moment, this connection, into our very souls.
Chiara’s hands are everywhere—my shoulders, my back, tangling in my hair. I can feel her trembling against me, each shudder sending electric jolts through my body. I slide my hand between us, fingers seeking, finding, and she gasps against my mouth, her hips bucking in response as I curl my fingers inside her. Fuck, she’s so wet .
“You’re always so wet for me, Chiarina,” I whisper into her ear.
“Dante,” she breathes before she bites down, muffing a cry. “Oh, please, don’t stop .”
The electricity of our bodies ignites. We are two ravenous beasts, consumed by the desire to please one another.
Her hands search their way down my body as I finger her, caressing my abdomen before finally resting around my hardened cock.
I reciprocate her passion with fervor. Both of us are in the same rhythm of pleasing each other, relentless as we build each other with pleasure higher and higher until a chorus of soft moans rips through the linen closet.
I push my fingers harder, and she claws at my back while I thrust my hand into her depths, each motion propelling us toward the apex of climax.
“I want to be inside you,” I whisper into her ear before I remove my hand from her slick pussy, drawing out a whimper from her.
Without warning, I enter her, and it’s like coming home, her warmth enveloping me, drawing me deeper into her.
The sensation is overwhelming—her tightness around me, the way she clenches and relaxes, the slick heat that surrounds me. Every thrust feels like heaven, each movement drawing us closer together. Her moans are muffled against my lips, but I can feel them vibrating through me, a testament to the pleasure I’m giving her. She’s lost in it, her eyes closed, her body arching against mine, and it drives me wild knowing I’m the one bringing her to this level of ecstasy.
We move together, a rhythm as old as time, our bodies locked in a dance of passion and desperation. The shelves rattle with our fervor, the linens threatening to tumble down around us. We’re both clinging to each other, as if letting go would mean losing something vital, something irreplaceable.
I can’t help the fear that gnaws at the edges of my mind. Is this really our last time together? Chiara swears it isn’t, but there’s a part of me that can’t shake the feeling that this might be it. That after tonight, everything will change. I try to push the thought away, to focus on her, on us, but it lingers, a dark shadow over the brightness of our passion.
Chiara might not pick me in the end. If she doesn’t, I want to leave her with such an overwhelming sense of belonging to me that being with another man will never be the same. I want her to think of me every time she comes from now until her dying breath. It might be petty and driven by jealousy, but I want to ensure I’m permanently seared on her heart—just like she is on mine.
We reach the peak together, a silent scream caught in our throats as our bodies convulse in unison. For a moment, time stands still, and all that exists is the two of us, entwined and inseparable. The feel of her climaxing around me, the way she tightens and quivers, sends me over the edge. And then, slowly, reality seeps back in, the sounds of the world outside the closet intruding on our private haven.
I collapse against her, my face buried between her breasts, the linen closet filled with the sounds of our pants as we try to steady our breathing and the smell of sex.
The intensity of what we’ve just shared leaves me feeling both exhilarated and vulnerable. It’s as if all the pent-up emotion, all the fear and longing of the past week, has been poured into this one, explosive encounter.
I pull back just enough to look at her. Tears glisten in her eyes as she whispers, “Dante.”
It’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.
A fierce need burns inside me to take her again, to hear her scream my name until it’s the only word she knows. But I know her family and that bastard Pyotr will be looking for her. I can’t keep her hidden here, no matter how much I want to.
I’ve never felt so connected to her, so completely in sync. It’s like we’ve reaffirmed our bond, reminding ourselves and each other of the depth of our feelings. The thought of letting her go, of watching her walk back to that party—back to Pyotr—is almost physically painful.
Grunting, I slide out of her, and I suddenly feel empty. Reluctantly, I step back, letting the cold air rush between us. It’s near agonizing to let Chiara go, but I know I have to. We move quickly to put ourselves back in order. I help her get her dress back on and zip it up, my hands lingering on the warm skin of her back. I can’t resist pressing a soft kiss to the nape of her neck, smiling as she arches and softly moans.
It’s a small victory, a reminder of what we’ve just shared. Something that Pyotr never will.
She turns to me, nervously fiddling with her hair. “How do I look?” she asks, her voice quavering. “I don’t want it to look like I–I?—”
“Like you just got fucked within an inch of your life?” I suggest softly, smiling as I can almost feel her cheeks flame even in the darkness of the closet.
I tenderly cup her cheek, swiping the pad of my thumb against her skin. “You look beautiful, as always,” I say, my voice thick with emotion.
And she does.
Unable to resist, I sweep her into another kiss, so sweet and tender that it makes her gasp against my lips.
“You go first,” I tell her softly as I pull away. “We can’t risk being seen together.”
The words taste bitter in my mouth, a harsh reminder of our impossible situation. But I force myself to step back, to give her space to leave.
“I love you,” I whisper as she reaches for the door handle. “Remember that. No matter what happens out there, remember this moment. Remember us .”
Chiara nods, her eyes still glistening, and with one last lingering touch, she opens the door and disappears into the corridor. I lean against the shelves, trying to steady my breathing, every fiber of my being yearning to pull her back and make her mine again.
I count to ten, then twenty, giving her time to get back to the party without arousing suspicion.
Just as I’m about to open the door, I freeze. Pyotr’s voice, smooth and accented, drifts through the thin wood.
“Chiara, where have you been all this time? And why do you look so flushed?”
My blood runs cold. I press myself flat against the wall, hardly daring to breathe. My every muscle is tense, ready to spring into action if needed, but I know I can’t move. I can’t make a sound. The slightest noise could give me away.
I strain my ears, trying to catch Chiara’s response. Will she be able to come up with a convincing lie? Or will Pyotr see through her and realize what we’ve been doing?
The thought of being discovered, of Chiara being caught in this compromising situation, fills me with dread. I silently curse myself for being so reckless, for putting her in this position.
But beneath the fear, there’s a part of me that almost wants to be found, to step out and confront Pyotr, to claim Chiara as mine in front of everyone. The possessive urge is so strong it’s almost overwhelming.
I clench my fists, forcing myself to stay still, to stay silent. One wrong move now could ruin everything—for me, for Chiara, for our future together.
So I wait, frozen in place, my heart pounding so loudly I’m sure they must be able to hear it in the hallway. And I pray, harder than I’ve ever prayed before, that Chiara can find a way out of this situation.