Chapter 14 Dante
Dante
My ribs woke me up in the middle of the night again, the pain duller than it had been, but still throbbing.
At first, I tried to just ignore the pain and go back to sleep.
But the longer I laid there, the more something seemed off.
When I finally tried to reach for my medication on the bedside table, I realized what was wrong.
Nick was wrapped around me, his breath hot on the back of my neck.
In my drowsy state I hadn’t realized he was so close. He had an arm draped over my waist and a leg snaked between mine. His breathing was slow and steady, so I knew he was asleep. Of course he was. Nick never would’ve cuddled with me like this knowingly.
I froze, every muscle in my body going rigid despite the protest from my ribs. Part of me wanted to shift away, to put distance between us before he woke up and realized what he was doing. But a larger, more selfish part of me wanted to stay exactly where I was.
This was the closest we’d been since our wedding at the courthouse. The most intimate, even if it was accidental. And it felt... good. His body was warm against mine, solid and real in a way that made my chest ache with something that had nothing to do with fractured bones.
I should’ve moved. Should’ve extracted myself carefully and let him wake up on his own, preserving whatever dignity he had left. But instead, I found myself memorizing the feeling—the weight of his arm across my waist, the way his leg fit between mine, the soft puffs of his breath against my neck.
When would I get another chance like this? When would Nick Wesley willingly touch me, hold me, let himself be vulnerable enough to seek comfort in my presence?
Never. That’s when. Because he was straight, and confused, and only in this marriage because I’d forced his hand. This moment was a fluke, his sleeping brain forgetting that he was supposed to hate me.
I carefully reached for my medication with my free hand, the one that wasn’t trapped under his arm. The movement made him stir slightly, and I held my breath, waiting for him to wake up and pull away with disgust.
But he didn’t. Instead, he made a soft sound in his sleep and tightened his grip on me, pulling himself closer. His nose pressed against the back of my neck, and I felt him breathe in deeply, like he was memorizing my scent.
My heart was pounding so hard I was sure it would wake him.
This was torture. Sweet, exquisite torture.
Having him this close, feeling wanted even if it was just his subconscious seeking warmth in the night.
Even the random hookups back in Newark never made me feel like this. This felt almost… sacred.
I managed to get the pill bottle open one-handed, shaking out a tablet and dry swallowing it. The water glass was too far away, and I wasn’t about to risk the movement it would take to reach it.
The medication would kick in soon. I just had to wait. Just had to lie here with Nick wrapped around me like I was something precious, something worth holding onto.
I closed my eyes, letting myself have this. Just for a few minutes. Just until the pain faded, or he woke up. Whichever came first.
His hand, which had been resting on my stomach, moved slightly. His fingers splayed wider, and I could feel the calluses from ranch work rough against my skin through my t-shirt. Then his thumb started moving in slow, unconscious circles.
Was he awake? Was this intentional?
I didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare breathe. I just lay there, every nerve ending in my body focused on that thumb drawing lazy patterns on my abdomen.
“Dante,” he mumbled against my neck, his voice thick with sleep.
Fuck. He was dreaming about me.
“Yeah?” I whispered back, not sure if I should respond or stay quiet.
His only answer was to press closer, his hips shifting against my ass in a way that made heat pool low in my gut despite the pain medication starting to work its way through my system.
I could feel him, half-hard against me, and the knowledge that his body wanted this even if his conscious mind didn’t was almost too much to bear.
I should wake him up. Should tell him what he was doing, give him the chance to pull away before this went any further. But I was a selfish bastard, and I wanted this. Wanted him. Wanted to pretend just for a moment that this was real.
That’s when I made my decision. I would take one thing.
Just one. A single kiss while he slept, like some princess in a tower, and then I would never take anything from him again.
I would resign myself to a sexless marriage, to having him close but never truly having him.
But I needed this one moment. This one last taste of what could never be mine.
I carefully shifted in his arms, moving slowly so I wouldn’t wake him. My ribs screamed in protest, but I ignored the pain. This was worth it.
When I was finally facing him, I could see his face in the dim moonlight filtering through the curtains. His eyes were closed, his expression peaceful in sleep. His lips were slightly parted, and I felt my breath catch at how beautiful he was.
Just one kiss. That’s all I would take.
I leaned in slowly, giving him every chance to wake up and stop me. But he didn’t. He just lay there, his arm still draped over me, his breathing steady and even.
When my lips touched his, it was gentle. Soft. A whisper of contact that barely qualified as a kiss. But the moment our mouths met, something electric shot through me. Nick was beautiful, rugged, and perfect in every way. I craved him more than any other man I’d ever met.
I started to pull back, to end this before I took more than I’d promised myself. But then his lips moved under mine.
He was awake.
My eyes flew open just as his did, and for a heartbeat we just stared at each other, our mouths still touching, both of us frozen in shock.
Then he made a sound—something between a gasp and a moan—and his hand tightened around my bicep, yanking me closer instead of pushing me away.
He was kissing me back.
His mouth was hot and insistent against mine, and I forgot how to breathe. My fractured ribs screamed in protest as he pulled me closer, but I didn’t care. Nothing mattered except the feeling of Nick’s lips moving against mine, the way his fingers dug into my arm like he was afraid I’d disappear.
This wasn’t gentle. This wasn’t tentative. This was desperate and hungry and everything I’d fantasized about but never thought I’d have.
I cupped his face with my free hand, deepening the kiss. He made another sound, lower this time, and opened his mouth to me. The first touch of his tongue against mine sent electricity racing down my spine.
He tasted like toothpaste and man, and I wanted to drown in it. Wanted to memorize every detail of this moment before he came to his senses and pushed me away.
But he didn’t push me away. Instead, his hand slid from my arm to the back of my neck, holding me in place as he kissed me like his life depended on it. Like he’d been starving for this just as much as I had.
When we finally broke apart, both gasping for air, his green eyes were dark with something that made my stomach clench with want.
“I—” he started, but I cut him off.
“Don’t apologize,” I said, my voice rough. “Please don’t apologize for that.”
“I wasn’t going to.” His thumb brushed along my jaw, and I shivered at the contact. “I was going to say I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”
“That makes two of us.”
He laughed, breathless and shaky, and then he was kissing me again. This time I was ready for it, ready for the way he took control, his tongue sliding against mine with an urgency that made my head spin.
My hand found his hip, pulling him closer despite the protest from my ribs. I could feel him, fully hard now against my thigh, and the knowledge that I did this to him—that I made straight, stubborn Nick Wesley want me like this—was almost more than I could handle.
“Dante,” he breathed against my mouth, and hearing my name on his lips like that nearly undid me.
“Yeah?”
“I need—” He broke off, his hips rolling against mine in a way that made us both groan. “Fuck, I need...”
“Tell me.” I kissed along his jaw, down to his neck, tasting salt and skin. “Tell me what you need.”
His answer was to grab my hand and guide it between us, pressing my palm against the hard length of him through his sweatpants. I felt him pulse under my touch, and the broken sound he made went straight to my cock.
“Touch me,” he said, and it sounded like a confession. Like admitting defeat. “Please, just—touch me.”
I didn’t need to be asked twice. I slipped my hand under the waistband of his sweatpants, wrapping my fingers around his cock. He was hot and hard and perfect, and when I stroked him once, experimentally, his whole body shuddered.
“Jesus,” he gasped, his forehead dropping to my shoulder. “That’s—fuck, that feels—”
I stroked him again, slower this time, learning the weight and shape of him in my hand. His breath came in harsh pants against my neck, and I felt his hand fumble at my own waistband.
“Can I?” he asked, his voice already wrecked.
“God, yes.”
He freed my cock with shaking hands, and the first touch of his calloused palm against me made me see stars. This was happening. This was real. Nick Wesley had his hand wrapped around my dick, and he was stroking me like he’d been thinking about it for weeks.
Maybe he had been.
We found a rhythm together, our hands moving in tandem, our breathing synchronized. I kissed him again, swallowing the sounds he made as pleasure built between us.
“I’ve never—” he started, then cut himself off with a moan as I twisted my wrist just right.
“Never what?”
“Never done this with a guy.” His eyes met mine, and I saw fear there mixed with desire. “I don’t know if I’m doing it right.”
“You’re doing perfect,” I assured him, punctuating the words with another stroke that made his hips buck. “So fucking perfect.”
His grip on me tightened, and I felt my control starting to slip. My ribs were throbbing, my whole body was on fire, and Nick was touching me like I was something he wanted instead of something he was forced to endure.
“I’m close,” he warned, his voice tight. “Dante, I’m—”
“Let go,” I told him, working him faster. “I want to see you cum…”
That did it. He buried his face against my neck, his whole body going rigid as he came with a strangled sound that made my toes curl. I felt the wet heat of his release between us, coating my hand, and the sight of him losing control pushed me over the edge too.
I came hard, pleasure ripping through me so intense it bordered on pain. My ribs screamed, but I didn’t care. Nothing mattered except this moment, this perfect, impossible moment where Nick wanted me back.
We lay there afterward, both breathing hard, our hands still wrapped around each other as we came down from the dizzying heights of bliss. The reality of what we’d just done was starting to creep in, and I could feel Nick tensing beside me.
“Hey,” I said softly, tilting his chin up so I could see his face. “It’s okay. Just… don’t run.”
“I’m not running.” But his eyes told a different story. He looked terrified.
“Nick—”
“I don’t know what this means,” he interrupted, pulling his hand away and sitting up. “I don’t… I don’t know why I… enjoyed that.”
“You don’t need to figure it out right now,” I said, trying to soothe him. “Just… sleep on it.”
He looked back at me, his eyes full of fear. “Don’t… Don’t tell anyone, okay?”
I furrowed my brow. “Who would I tell?” I stared at him for a long moment. “Your secret is safe with me.”
He nodded once. “I… I’m gonna get a towel.”
I watched him disappear into the bathroom, my heart still racing, my hand sticky with cum. The moment the door closed behind him, I let out a shaky breath and stared up at the ceiling.
What the fuck had just happened?
I’d kissed him. Touched him. Made him come apart in my arms. And he’d kissed me back. More than that—he’d wanted it. He’d guided my hand to his cock and begged me to touch him.
This changed everything. This was so far beyond the boundaries of our arrangement that I couldn’t even see the lines anymore.
And yet, I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt more hopeful.