Chapter 38
Chapter thirty-eight
Dante
The drive across London feels endless.
Dylan is pressed against my side in the back of Carlo’s car, his head on my shoulder, his hand gripping mine like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. I understand the feeling. Every few minutes I find myself looking at him, touching him, reassuring myself that he’s real and here and safe.
We can’t go back to my flat. The location has been compromised, and even if it hadn’t, I’m not sure I could stand to be there.
Not after finding it destroyed, finding Dylan gone.
Not while knowing all the terrible things I did to Dylan within its walls.
The memories would be suffocating, for both of us.
Instead, I give Carlo an address near Mayfair. One of Dario’s properties, a penthouse that’s been sitting empty for months. Dario offered it to me weeks ago, said I could use it whenever I needed.
Carlo pulls up outside a gleaming tower of glass and steel. Dylan lifts his head, blinking at the building in confusion.
“Where are we?”
“Somewhere safe.” I help him out of the car, keeping one hand on the small of his back. “Somewhere new.”
Carlo catches my eye as we head toward the entrance. “I’ll handle the rest of the cleanup,” he says quietly. “Take care of him.”
I nod my thanks. Carlo has been a better friend than I deserve through all of this. I won’t forget it.
The lift takes us to the top floor. Dylan is quiet, leaning against me, exhaustion written in every line of his body. When the doors open directly into the penthouse, he makes a soft sound of surprise.
The apartment is beautiful. Floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city. Modern furniture in warm neutrals. A kitchen that gleams with high-end appliances. It’s nothing like my old place with its ugly orange sofa and cramped rooms. This is the kind of home I never imagined having.
I accumulated enough money to afford something like this, even several somethings like this, years ago. But I never bothered. Told myself I wasn’t interested. I understand now, that perhaps I didn’t feel I deserved nice things.
“Dante...” Dylan turns in a slow circle, taking it all in. “This is...”
“It’s one of my boss’s properties. He’s not using it.” I watch Dylan’s face, suddenly nervous. “If you like it, I’ll buy it. For us.”
Dylan stares at me. “You want to buy a penthouse? For us?”
“I want to give you a home. A real one. Somewhere that’s ours, that doesn’t have...” I trail off, but Dylan understands. Somewhere that doesn’t have memories of captivity and torture and all the ways I hurt him.
“It’s beautiful,” Dylan says softly. “It’s really beautiful.”
“Is that a yes?”
He crosses the room and wraps his arms around my neck. “It’s a yes. It’s absolutely a yes.”
I hold him close, breathing him in. He smells like dust and sweat and something antiseptic from Liam’s medical check, but underneath all that, he smells like Dylan. Like home.
He pulls away from me and takes a single step back. “Holy Mary! I bet the shower in this place is amazing! And sweet Jesus, do I need a shower!”
He spins away and races off. I hear him exclaim with delight when he finds the waterfall shower. Then I hear the water start to run, followed by another squeal of delight as presumably he steps under the spray. Apparently, excitement has burned away all of his exhaustion.
I grin to myself and drift over to the window to admire the view. It feels damn good to make Dylan happy. I think I prefer making people happy to making them hurt.
It’s a strange thought. Have I secretly always been this way, or has Dylan changed me? I’m not sure I care how it happened. I’m just glad that it has.
I stare out at London and try to adjust to all the new facets of my soul. It’s a peculiar feeling, but definitely a good one.
My thoughts drift for a while, and then the sound of Dylan’s footsteps snaps me back to reality.
“You have to try that shower!” Dylan exclaims.
I turn to find him standing a few feet away, a white towel slung around his waist, droplets of water adorning the freckles on his naked chest. His hazel eyes are bright. Happy.
I swallow.
Dylan walks toward me. He doesn’t pause, like I expect. He flings his arms around me and gives me a hug, with his warm, effortless affection.
I don’t even mind that he is making me wet.
“I’m so glad you found me,” he whispers
“I was so scared,” I admit, the words rough in my throat. “When I found you gone. When I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again. I’ve never been that frightened in my life.”
Dylan pulls back to look at me. His hazel eyes are full of tears now, but he’s smiling. “I knew you’d come. I got your note, but even before that I knew. I just had to hold on until you found me.”
“I will always find you.” I cup his face in my hands, marveling at the fact that I can. That he’s here, that he’s letting me touch him, that against all odds we made it to the other side. “I will always come for you, Dylan. No matter what.”
“I know.” He turns his head to press a kiss to my palm. “I know you will.”
We stand there for a long moment, just holding each other. The city glitters below us, oblivious to everything we’ve been through. I don’t care about any of it. The only thing that matters is the man in my arms.
“I love you,” I say, because I need him to hear it again. Because I should have said it days ago, weeks ago, should have said it every single hour since the moment I realized it was true. “I love you, Dylan. I’ve never said that to anyone before. I didn’t think I was capable of it. But I love you.”
Dylan’s breath catches. A tear spills down his cheek, and I brush it away with my thumb.
“I love you too,” he whispers.
I kiss him.
It starts gentle, tender, a seal on the words we’ve finally said. But it doesn’t stay gentle for long. All the fear and desperation of the past few days comes flooding back, and suddenly I need more. I need to feel him, to prove to myself that he’s real and whole and mine.
Dylan makes a sound against my mouth, somewhere between a gasp and a moan. His fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer. He’s kissing me back like he’s drowning, like I’m the only thing keeping him alive.
“Dante,” he breathes when we break apart for air. “Please. I need...”
“I know.” I press my forehead against his. “I need it too.”
I take his hand and lead him toward the bedroom.
He lets me lead him. He follows me, his hand warm in mine, his footsteps eager.
The bedroom lights are off, but the room is lit by a thousand lights of the city. All painting the room in white and yellow and red.
The floor to ceiling windows take up an entire wall and are impressive. I think about finding the button for the blinds, but then I realize we are so high up that nobody can see us.
I can make love to Dylan while the nighttime cityscape acts as a sparkling backdrop.
The bed is huge, with crisp white linens that look like they’ve never been touched. I lead Dylan to it, watching his eyes widen as he takes in the luxurious room.
“This is...” he starts, but I silence him with another kiss, deeper this time, more demanding.
My hands find the towel at his waist, tugging it loose. It falls to the floor with a soft rustle. Dylan shivers, not from cold but from anticipation. I can feel it in the way his body leans into mine, seeking contact.
“You’re still dressed,” he murmurs against my lips, his fingers already working at the buttons of my shirt.
I help him, shrugging out of my clothes until there’s nothing between us. Just skin against skin, heartbeat against heartbeat. The city lights play across his body, turning him into a living canvas of shadow and light.
His body is a revelation in the dim light.
Lean and pale, dotted with freckles I want to count with my tongue.
The bruises from his ordeal are visible now, purple-blue against his skin, and I touch them gently, wishing I could erase them.
Just like I wish I had the power to erase every harm that has ever been done to him.
I’m too much of a coward to look at his wrists, to see if the wounds I gave him from the zip ties have scarred, if they are visible underneath the marks from his brother’s handcuffs.
“Don’t,” Dylan whispers, catching my hand. “Don’t look at them like that. They’ll heal.”
“I should have found you sooner,” I say, my voice rough with emotion. While the words I should say remain stuck in my soul. I should never have found you at all. You should be happy in your bakery, oblivious to my existence. Free from the darkness of this world.
He shakes his head, cupping my face in his hands. “You found me. That’s all that matters.”
He leans forward and kisses me. Sweet, soft lips against my own.
I moan and pull him closer. All my guilt, self-hatred, and recrimination are falling away.
The only things that are left are hunger and need.
A desire to meld my body with this wonderful man’s and give him so much pleasure that the only thing he is capable of is screaming my name.
We tumble onto the bed. I land on my back with Dylan on top of me. Our lips still joined. All the skin of our chests and stomachs pressed close together.
He is warm in my arms. His skin is soft. His muscles are lightly defined. His body is masculine and divine. The male form made holy by his inner light. Beautiful Dylan all wrapped up in a beautiful package.
My hands drift down his back. They find his pert ass cheeks and settle there, gently cupping and holding all that peachy goodness.
He mumbles something desperate against my lips. He shifts position on top of me and suddenly our hard cocks are pressed together.
My eyes roll back as fireworks ignite in my mind.
Dylan lets out a little whimper that is the sexiest thing I have ever heard in my entire life. I adore seeing him like this. Near feral with lust. Bold enough to take what he needs.