46. Dante
Dante
P om.
What the fuck is she doing here?
“There,” Chio says, stepping in closer, pointing. “Pink silk dress.”
Air punches straight out of my lungs.
Fuck .
I quickly pull myself together, forcing logic through the lust-fogged haze.
The club is packed, body-to-body. There has to be more than one woman in pink silk…right?
“Which one?” My voice comes out harsher than intended.
“Dark hair. Pink slip dress. Looks like she’s got a garter on her?—”
“Finish that sentence and it’ll be your last.”
Shit. Where the hell did that come from?
Chio freezes instantly, realizing too late he’s stepped directly onto a D’Angelo landmine. But fuck—who can blame me?
It’s bad enough that Pom is not only here, but she’s here with my pervy, asshole uncle.
Has she let him touch her? Fuck her?
Because if that’s really the case, the girl has shit taste in men and the IQ of a fucking pigeon.
Either way, she’s got issues. But here’s the worst part. The real kick straight to my balls.
She’s here .
At my club.
Again.
The twisted, filthy things I could do to punish her for daring to return here?
So. Fucking. Depraved.
My dick’s seconds from snapping off at the thought alone.
But then she turns—and those wide, startled eyes lock onto mine?—
Holy fuck.
Something hot and sharp punches through my chest, nailing me right to the fucking spot. I stare at her, utterly frozen. And she’s staring back—a shivering deer caught in headlights.
Voluptuous.
Breathless.
Trapped.
And fuck me sideways, I want her.
Annoyed she’s here—annoyed that one look has me instantly pussy-whipped—I snap out a rough, clipped, “Leave me.” Because, goddammit, I need my head straight, and right now my dick’s hijacked every last thought.
“But sir, the girl?—”
“I said go.”
“Yes, sir.” His footsteps retreat, each step a ticking clock in my skull.
“Wait.”
The footsteps halt immediately.
I grit my teeth, forcing out a command. “Take her home.”
“But your uncle?—”
I fire a dark, vicious glare over my shoulder.
Chio nods. Silent. Dutiful. Accepting the order like a blade under the nail.
“Yes, sir.”
My fingers clamp tighter around the cold steel railing as molten heat knots low in my gut.
Like a horny teenager faced with Aphrodite rising naked from the fucking sea, I can’t decide if I should fall to my knees and worship her—or just jerk off to her right here.
Somewhere in the hazy background, my booze-drenched brain registers the obnoxious clatter of heels.
I ignore it, but delicate hands invade anyway, sliding possessively over my back, fingers tugging softly at my hair. The nauseating cocktail of cheap perfume and bubblegum hits me full-force, utterly failing to disguise bottom-shelf vodka and—Jesus fuck—pastrami.
“You’re still so tense,” what’s-her-name purrs as my gaze stays locked on the only woman worth seeing tonight.
And maybe that’s my problem.
I’m fixating on a girl who’s too young. Too pure. Too tangled up with my sick fuck of an uncle.
And too overflowing with pouty lips and perfect tits for her own good.
And mine.
Because if I keep staring a second longer, there’s no telling what depraved shit I’ll do.
“I’m as ready as you are, D,” the woman whispers eagerly, her hand drifting south, palming my dick straining violently against my slacks.
It’s also obvious she remembers my name about as well as I remember hers—a trait I’ve come to appreciate in one-night stands. Though, sadly, it’s been a while.
Because the only woman I actually want—the one I’ve wanted far too fucking long—is Riley.
Not that I can ever admit it.
But the way she’s staring up at me now—huge doe eyes, plush, fuckable lips—means I’m either fucking her, or fucking her out of my system.
And considering I’m about to willingly march to my death for my family, I deserve something to take the edge off.
Given the warm body currently excavating my ear with her tongue and handling my cock like she’s gunning for employee of the month at a dairy farm, I’ll grit my teeth.
The alternative? A one-way ticket straight into hell’s VIP lounge—complete with a lifetime of relentless shit-talk from my brothers.
Fine. Decision made.
The walking, talking blow-up doll it is.
She pops her gum obnoxiously, timing so terrible it’s almost impressive. “You ready for me, baby?” she coos.
So now I’m baby.
I snatch her hand away from my cock, pretending her touch doesn’t make my skin crawl, and sear every last sinful inch of Pom into my brain.
Purging my sick obsession? Easy fucking peasy.
I’ll just think of her while I’m fucking what’s-her-name.
With more force than intended, I yank the blonde toward me. She stumbles, giggling as I drop onto the sofa, leaning back like a king about to be serviced.
She moves to join me.
I stop her cold with a look.
Surprise flickers through her eyes. “What?”
I drag off my tie—slow and deliberate as my voice drops into a dark, merciless command.
“On your knees.”