Chapter 12 Dante
Dante
When I woke, Nick wasn’t in the bed. Sunlight streamed through the windows, and I realized that I’d slept through the night. The second thing I realized was that my pain medication had worn off, and breathing was starting to get very difficult.
I gritted my teeth and forced myself to sit up, every movement sending sharp lances of fire through my chest. The empty bed beside me still held the impression of Nick’s body, the sheets cool to the touch. He’d been gone for a while.
The clock on the nightstand read eight-thirty. I’d slept for over eight hours straight, which explained why my ribs felt like they were being squeezed in a vice. I needed medication. Now.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, pausing as a wave of dizziness washed over me. The room tilted slightly, and I had to grip the edge of the mattress to steady myself. Fuck. This was going to be harder than I’d thought.
One breath at a time, I told myself. Shallow and steady. Don’t push it.
I managed to stand, my legs feeling weak beneath me. The hallway stretched before me like a marathon course. Kitchen. I just needed to make it to the kitchen. The pills were there, waiting.
Each step was agony. My ribs screamed in protest, and I could feel sweat beading on my forehead despite the cool morning air. I kept one hand on the wall for support, inching forward like some kind of invalid.
This was humiliating. I’d taken bullets before, broken bones, gotten the shit kicked out of me in back alleys. But a fucking cow had reduced me to this, shuffling down a hallway in my own house like an old man.
When I finally made it to the kitchen, I practically collapsed against the counter. The pill bottle sat exactly where Nick had left it last night, next to a glass of water. I grabbed both with shaking hands, fumbling with the childproof cap until I wanted to throw the damn thing across the room.
Finally, I got it open. I shook out two pills, maybe I should’ve only taken one, but I was past caring, and swallowed them dry before chasing them with water. The cool liquid felt good going down my parched throat.
I leaned against the counter, breathing carefully, waiting for the medication to kick in. Through the window, I could see Nick out by the barn, talking to Angelo. Even from this distance, I could tell he was gesturing animatedly, probably giving instructions for the day.
He looked good in the morning light. Strong and capable, completely in his element. This was his world, and I was just some city boy trying to wear boots that were three sizes too large.
I thought about last night, about the way he’d held my hand. The concern in his eyes. The softness in his voice when he’d told me to rest. Something had shifted between us in that hospital room, and I wasn’t sure either of us knew what to do about it.
My father’s words echoed in my head. Don’t forget why you’re really there. The marriage was practical, a way to gain control of the ranch. Love was never supposed to be a factor.
But how could I not forget when Nick looked at me like he actually gave a damn? When he stayed by my bedside and made me sandwiches and threatened to call the hospital if I didn’t follow doctor’s orders?
I needed a shower. Maybe that would help clear my head, wash away some of this confusion along with the sweat and hospital smell that still clung to my skin.
The walk to the bathroom was only slightly less excruciating than the trip to the kitchen.
I turned on the water, letting it heat up while I carefully peeled off my shirt.
The mirror showed me what I already knew.
There was a massive bruise blooming across my chest and side, purple and yellow and ugly as hell.
The heifer had done a number on me. But I’d do it again in a heartbeat if it meant keeping Nick safe.
That thought should’ve scared me. Should’ve sent warning bells ringing through my head. Instead, it just felt… true.
I stepped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over me.
I braced myself against the shower wall, letting the spray rinse away the worst of the grime while I tried to keep my breathing shallow.
Even the simple act of raising my arms to wash my hair sent sharp bolts of pain through my chest. I gave up halfway through, settling for running my fingers through it with one hand while the other stayed pressed against the tile for balance.
This was pathetic. Three fractured ribs and I could barely function. How the hell was I supposed to run a ranch like this?
The water started to run cold before I was ready, but I didn’t have the energy to adjust it. I just stood there, letting the temperature drop until I couldn’t take it anymore. When I finally turned off the tap and stepped out, my legs were trembling.
Drying off was another exercise in humiliation. I managed to get most of the water off before giving up and wrapping the towel around my waist. The bedroom felt like it was a mile away.
The thought of getting dressed was frankly, horrifying. So, instead I decided to just crawl under the covers once I got to the bed, leaving my damp towel on the floor beside me. I was going to be alone for the majority of the day anyway, so why bother with clothes?
As soon as I was comfortable, or as comfortable as I could get, I picked up my phone and started scrolling.
There were a couple emails from vendors, a bill from the vet, and other miscellaneous items that I could take care of without having to be on my laptop, which was still out in the kitchen.
By the time I was done clearing through the messages, an entire fifteen minutes had elapsed.
I glanced out the window, already feeling the boredom creep in.
My whole life had been one thing after another.
The family business was a full-time job and running the ranch was too.
My father didn’t allow anyone in the family to be on social media to avoid any slip-ups, so I didn’t even have senseless videos to scroll through to occupy myself.
There wasn’t a single book in the tiny house because I’d never had time to read before.
What the hell was I supposed to do?
I looked around the room. There was no television, only one abstract painting that was purposefully boring, and a single plant in the windowsill.
My gaze wandered over the bedding and the Egyptian cotton sheets before landing on the outline of my dick under the sheets.
It had been a while since I’d had this much privacy or free time.
“Porn it is,” I grumbled, grabbing my phone and wondering how the hell I was going to jerk off with broken ribs. But I pushed that thought away. Where there was a will, there was a way.
I pulled up a private browser and navigated to one of my usual sites, scrolling through the thumbnails with a detached sort of interest. Nothing was really grabbing my attention. The usual fare of overly produced scenes with bad acting and worse dialogue just wasn’t doing it for me today.
Maybe it was the pain medication making me fuzzy. Or maybe it was something else entirely.
My thumb kept scrolling, past the featured videos, past the trending searches, until I found myself typing something into the search bar that I hadn’t planned on.
Something that made my pulse quicken in a way that had nothing to do with arousal and everything to do with the realization of what I was about to admit to myself.
Cowboys.
The results loaded, and I felt my mouth go dry. Men in hats and boots, tanned skin and strong hands. Some of them even had that same lean, muscular build that Nick had. That same confident way of moving, like they owned every inch of ground they walked on.
I clicked on one almost at random, my heart hammering against my damaged ribs.
The video started, and I watched as two men—one dark-haired, one with sandy blond hair that reminded me so much of Nick—circled each other in what looked like a barn.
There was tension there, the kind that crackled in the air before something inevitable happened.
When they finally came together, it was rough and desperate and real in a way those overproduced scenes never were. Hands gripping, mouths crashing together, the blond man getting pressed up against a wooden beam while the dark-haired one…
I palmed myself through the sheets, my breath coming faster despite the protest from my ribs.
This was dangerous territory. This was crossing a line I couldn’t uncross.
I wanted to fuck Nick, that I knew. However, up until this moment, I’d avoided fantasizing about him so I could maintain some distance and control.
But I couldn’t stop watching.
The blond man in the video had his head thrown back, his hat tumbling to the ground as the other man worked him over.
And all I could see was Nick. Nick with that defiant look in his green eyes.
Nick with his hands on my chest, holding me down in the hospital bed.
Nick sleeping beside me, his hand warm in mine.
My grip tightened, and I bit back a groan as pleasure mixed with pain. I should’ve stopped. Should’ve closed the video and found something else, someone else to think about. But my traitorous brain kept overlaying Nick’s face onto the man on screen.
What would Nick look like if I kissed him? Would he fight me at first, or would he melt into it? Would his hands be rough against my skin, callused from ranch work? Would he taste like coffee and Montana mornings? How would his cock feel in my mouth?
I was breathing hard now, each shallow gasp sending sparks of pain through my chest that somehow made everything more intense.
The video had progressed, the two men tangled together in the hay, and I couldn’t stop imagining it was Nick beneath me.
Nick’s legs wrapped around my waist. Nick’s voice in my ear, rough and wanting, begging me to fuck him.
The thought pushed me over the edge faster than I’d expected. I came with a strangled sound that I tried to muffle against my shoulder, pleasure crashing through me in waves that made my ribs scream in protest. But it was worth it. God, it was worth it.
I lay there gasping, my phone still clutched in one hand, the video still playing. Reality came crashing back in slowly. What the hell had I just done?
I’d gotten off thinking about Nick. My husband. The man who’d made it very clear he wanted nothing to do with me that way. The straight man who was only in this marriage because I’d forced his hand.
A sort of despondency crept over me. Imagining Nick wanting to fuck me was just unnecessary self-torture.
Marrying him was one thing, but people didn’t just change their sexuality.
As much as I pretended to be confident he would come around, I was starting to think I was fighting a losing battle on that front.
I closed the browser with shaking hands and let the phone drop onto the bed beside me.
My chest and belly were covered in cum, my dick still half-hard against my hip.
I’d have to clean up, get dressed, pretend this never happened.
But even as I thought it, I knew I was lying to myself. This had happened. I’d crossed that line. And worse, I wanted to cross it again. I wanted the real thing.
I heard footsteps on the porch, the sound of boots on wood. Nick. He was coming back.
Panic shot through me. I was lying here half-naked, covered in evidence of what I’d just done, with my phone right there showing my search history. I scrambled to grab the towel from the floor, to cover myself, but the movement sent such a sharp lance of pain through my ribs that I gasped audibly.
The door opened.
“Dante? You okay? I heard—” Nick’s voice cut off abruptly as he appeared in the bedroom doorway.
His eyes went wide, taking in the scene. Me, sprawled on the bed with the sheets pooled around my thighs. My flushed face. My labored breathing. The phone lying face-up on the sheets, the screen still lit, and my half-hard cock on full display.
For a long, horrible moment, neither of us moved.
Then Nick’s gaze dropped to the phone. I watched his expression change as he processed what he was seeing. The confusion, the realization, and then…
Was that heat in his eyes?
“I—” I started, but I had no idea what to say. Sorry I was jerking off thinking about you? Sorry you caught me? Sorry I’m a fucking mess who can’t keep his desires in check?
Nick’s throat worked as he swallowed hard. His face had gone red, a flush creeping up from his collar. He opened his mouth, closed it, then finally managed to speak.
“I’ll just... I’ll give you some privacy.”
But he didn’t move. He stood there in the doorway, his eyes locked on mine, and I could see the war playing out across his features. Shock, embarrassment, but also something else. Something that looked an awful lot like curiosity.
“Nick,” I said, my voice rough. “I didn’t—”
“Don’t.” He held up a hand, finally breaking eye contact. “It’s… It’s fine.”
He turned and walked away, and I heard the front door close behind him.
I wanted to be more embarrassed, or maybe even upset that he’d walked in on me and saw…
everything. But all I could think about was the fact that he didn’t run.
He didn’t look disgusted. If anything, he seemed almost… turned on.