20. Dante
Dante
R oman and I sit at my desk, watching and re-watching the video we took of Marie's interrogation.
I cringe inwardly at how abrasive and rude we were to the woman.
She's been nothing but lovely, if a little aloof, throughout my life.
A consummate professional. Which is exactly why I trust her—trusted her—up until the phone incident.
"I swear on your father, Dante. I had nothing to do with it. Please, take my phone, look through my records. I assure you, it was not me."
"Then who was it?" Roman pressed further, leaning over the table.
His bulk is intimidating, even on video. I steeple my hands and watch for any fidgeting, any shift in Marie's position, analyzing every microexpression that might flash across her face. There's nothing. She flicks her gaze to the camera, and then back at my own face.
"I don't know. But I promise you this: Melody is safe with me. I still have that shotgun under the sink, Dante. The one your mother gave me in the 90s."
"I need to go back to the gym," Roman mutters, staring at the screen next to me. "But what are your thoughts, sir?"
I sigh and rake my hands down my face, scratching at the stubble. "I trust her. I believe her."
"I agree."
We told Marie as much when we concluded the interrogation, but the whole situation has me nervous.
I don't get nervous like this often. And as much as I'd like to deny it, I'm worried for Melody's sake, too.
That murderous woman has wormed her way into my heart, and I don't ever plan on letting her go.
But she doesn't need to know that yet.
Roman leans back in his chair. "I reviewed the external footage for the week. Nothing is amiss, no package deliveries, not even a sketchy character walking by. I don't like it, sir."
"What about the week before? And anywhere Melody went with Helena?"
"Nothing. It's like it never happened."
"But it did happen!" I slam my fist on the desk, rattling the monitor. "It did happen. And we don't have a fucking clue how . That's not acceptable, Roman."
"You're right, sir. Of course, you're right. But we don't even have any leads. This has never happened before." He shakes his head and leans forward. "Seraph is up to something. Has to be. Maybe a new alliance, a new inductee, that has more resources."
"More resources than the Goetia? Ridiculous. No one has more than us," I assure him. Or maybe I'm trying to assure myself.
"Sirs?" Valencia pokes her head in the door. "Is everything alright?"
"Yes, of course. Just a lively discussion," I lie.
"Um, okay. Your two o'clock is here." She looks over at Roman before scurrying away. I raise my eyebrows at him, and he shrugs.
"Should we alert the others?" he asks.
"Not yet. We need to be sure before we raise any alarms. If it turns out to be nothing, then we'll look like fools. If it turns out to be something , however…." I huff out a sigh. "We'll need everything we can get. The Seraph can't fuck us over. Not like this."
Melody fidgets with her sketching pencil on the couch, stealing glances at me. She's shockingly easy to read, and she has a secret.
"Spit it out, love." I slide a hand to her thigh.
"I'm sorry I yelled this morning," she mumbles. "And I'm bad at shooting."
"You'll get better with practice." Her thigh is so warm and soft, and I want to crawl under her skin. "Did you yell this morning? I don't recall."
"Maybe not yell. But I was irritated. And I'm sorry." She leans into my touch and nuzzles her head into the crook of my arm. "You've been really nice to me."
"Don't tell anyone, but I like you." I lay a gentle kiss on the top of her head and breathe in the scent of her shampoo. Rosemary mint. Delightful.
She mumbles something into my side. I slip my hand from her thigh and lift my arm, allowing her to snuggle in closer.
How adorably domestic. This woman has flipped my life upside down and made me feel emotions other than a desire to possess.
If anyone had told me six months ago that I'd be snuggling with a veritable serial killer, I'd have laughed them out the door.
I do not snuggle . But here I am, holding my wife close, smiling idly at the rise and fall of her chest.
"I said I like you, too," Melody pipes up, shifting under my arm.
Fuck. My heart. I so badly want to pull her closer and show her exactly how much I like her.
I want to shower her with presents. I want to marry her all over again.
I want to take her around the world and yell that my wife likes me, from the top of the pyramids.
Instead, I settle on a genuine smile and kiss the top of her head again. She sighs happily, then wriggles away from my arm. I raise an eyebrow as she melts to the floor and positions herself between my knees.
"What are you doing, love?" I ask, genuinely perplexed.
"Showing you how much I like you," she giggles and unfastens my belt. Oh, fuck. In a heartbeat, my cock is hard and fighting to release itself from the confines of my pants. Pants should be illegal. Pants are no longer allowed in this household—assuming no one else is home, that is.
I shift in my seat, helping her slide my briefs down, and I can't help but gasp when she snatches my cock in her hands. Everything about her is so, so soft. Her hands. Her mouth. Her plump ass, her squishy belly. I love her softness.
"Have you been a good boy today?" Melody mumbles as she eyes the tiny bead of precum that's already leaking out.
"Such a good boy, I'm the best boy." What am I saying? Good boy? I've never called myself that in my life. But for her? I'll be the best goddamn boy on the planet.
"Mm, yes. You sure are." She gently licks a trail up the underside of my cock, slowly, slower than I can stand. She's got me squirming in my seat like a school boy. And when she lowers her lips to the throbbing head, my eyes roll back as she slowly wraps her lips around it.
"Fuuuuck," I groan and resist thrusting into her mouth. "Fuck, you're so good at that."
"Mmhm," she vibrates around my dick, and I'm on fire. She's set me on fire. I am but a simple flame, and she is the inferno. Every gentle lick burns me brighter. She hollows out her cheeks and sucks me in deep—I can't feel my toes. I don't think I need toes, anyway. Toes don't matter.
All that matters is that my wife likes me, and she's got my cock in her mouth. Her hair flutters as she bobs her head, up and down, gulping me in deeper and deeper.
"Can I touch you?" I whisper between gasps.
She shakes her head, and I nearly scream at the sensation—not to mention the denial.
Fuck, I want to grab her. I want to shove my cock down her throat.
I want to dominate her, but she's dominating me— from her knees.
Every forgotten god, every demon in hell, every man that has ever lived and died has never been as lucky as me.
Fuck. I love her. The realization hits me like a train as she expertly slides her tongue around my frenulum, eliciting another gasp.
If I'm not careful, I'm going to come right down her throat.
Every groan from me invigorates her, and she sucks me down deeper, again and again.
Her tongue is magical. Her mouth is magical.
She teases the head of my cock and slips my foreskin up and down, masterfully pushing me closer to the edge.
"Please?" I squeak out. "I'm going to come if you don't stop—"
She pulls back, and my cock leaves her mouth with a pop . I whine pitifully, but the noise dies in my throat as I watch her peel off her clothes—I couldn't tell you what she was wearing, but every soft curve is unveiled, and I'm about to come from just looking at her.
"I thought you wanted to breed me?" Melody teases and trails her finger down my chest.
"I do, I do, please—"
"Shush, my good boy. You'll get yours." She straddles my legs and lowers herself down, rubbing my cock along the seam of her cunt. Oh my god, she's so wet.
"Do you like that? Do you like seeing how wet I am, just from blowing you?" she whispers into my ear.
"I love it so much, so much—please—" I almost see stars when she slips my cock past her lips and buries me to the hilt in one fluid motion. She is an angel. A demon. A succubus. She rolls her hips and rocks me in and out—there's no way I'll be able to hold on long enough to make her come. "Fuck!"
"What, you don't like it?" Melody whispers in my ear, giggling a little.
"I love it! Please, Melody, I'm your good boy—but I can't hold on forever, I'm going to—"
"Shh, baby. Come in me. Breed me. Fill me up.
" She leans back, allowing me the perfect view of her heaving breasts as she rides me like a goddamn stallion.
I lean forward myself, unable to keep my teeth away from her soft flesh.
She gasps as I latch onto her breast and my arms encircle her ample waist. "Such a good boy, using your teeth like that—yes! "
Every bite is followed by a reverent kiss as she rocks her hips along my length.
She draws out my orgasm like she was made for it, made for me .
Strung tighter than a bow string, I snap when she slams back down and grinds her pelvis against mine.
I can't feel anything but my cock—I can't see anything—all I know is that I'm coming hard, and Melody praises me for every drop.
"You're so good, Dante. So good. That's right, give me everything, my good, good boy." She runs her nails up and down my arms, causing goosebumps to erupt all over my flesh. On the verge of overstimulation, I gently push her back and slide her to the floor.
My god, she looks like a succubus. Those big brown eyes stare up at me in the dimming light, her lips swollen from my rough kisses. I love it. "But I didn't make you come, love."
"That's okay—" She averts her gaze, but I cut her off.
"No, it isn't. Hands or tongue?" When she doesn't give me an answer, still shyly looking away from me, I press in further. "I said, 'hands or tongue?'"
"Is tongue okay?"
Is tongue okay . I scoff and give her a sharp look. "Don't ask stupid questions. Sit on my face."
Her mouth flops open like a fish as she shakes her head. "No, I'm too big—I'll hurt you."
"If I die, I'll die happy. Now sit on my fucking face, wife."
Without waiting for her answer, I shimmy to the floor and lay my head at the foot of the couch. She carefully swings a leg over my face and hovers just out of reach.
"No. I mean sit on my face. Brace yourself on the sofa and sit on my face before I make you," I command, and she finally lowers herself all the way.
Her musky scent fills my nose, and I groan a sigh of relief.
My wife's soft thighs envelope my ears, blocking out all sound.
This is perfect. She's perfection. Fucking hell, I absolutely love her.
I swipe my tongue between her lips and revel in the taste of our combined arousal.
We taste so good together. Just like I instructed, she braces herself on the couch and tilts her hips, angling her sweet cunt perfectly on my mouth.
Her clit throbs between my lips as I catch it and swirl my tongue around the delicious little bud.
My wife's soft thighs shiver and quake as I coax her orgasm closer.
She rocks her hips along my tongue, making sure the pressure is just right for her tastes.
I am her fuck toy. I am her good boy. And I aim to be the best boy she's ever had.
The only good boy she'll ever have. She is a hundred percent mine forever, especially if I have to— get to—eat my way to her heart.
I snake one hand up to my face and plunge my thumb into her cunt, angling it perfectly to hit her perfect spot while sucking her clit over and over.
Just the way she likes. Before long, and I wish it was longer, she squirms at my touch, and I feel her walls constrict.
The orgasm hits her like a freight train, and I smile into her beautiful pussy. She's right. I am a good boy.
Melody gently clambers away from my face and lies down on the floor next to me, catching her breath. I pull her close to my chest and play with her hair in silence, absolutely blissful.
"Am I still your good boy?" I whisper.
"Oh, Dante. You are the best boy."
With my wife sleeping next to me, I lay awake and stare at the darkened ceiling.
White matte paint stares back at me, not a chip to be found.
Good boy . Holy hell, that really got to me.
I suppose it's to be expected as an Ivy-League boy, overachiever, destined for greatness my whole life.
Of course I have a praise kink. I can't believe it's taken this long to figure out.
I can't let her go. I'll need to have the contract nullified.
But the thought of keeping her against her will makes my stomach roil with guilt.
I never allowed myself to think about it, or maybe I didn't want to think about it, but I want a life with her.
With this spitfire woman. I do want her to have my children.
I want her to be happy with me. Raise our babies with me—babies, plural, because there's no way I could stop myself from knocking her up over and over.
As many times as she'll let me, to be honest.
Beyond that, she fits in perfectly. My savage woman, my murderous wife.
She saw me slice up Chad like a Christmas ham and didn't go running.
She didn't rebuff me. She joined me. And she fucked my brains out in a pool of his blood.
I smile at the memory and glance over to her sleeping form, admiring her peaceful expression. So beautiful. So soft .
I make a silent vow: I will never let her go.