Chapter 19
Dante
“Oh fuck,” I groaned, my body pressed flush against the cool tile of the shower as Nick’s thick cock stretched me wide. “Just like that, Nick! Just like… that…”
His hands gripped my hips harder, fingers digging into my skin as he thrust deeper. The water cascaded over us, hot and relentless, but I barely felt it. All I could focus on was the way he filled me, the way his breath came in ragged gasps against my shoulder blade.
“God, Dante,” he groaned, his voice rough with need. “You feel so fucking good.”
I couldn’t form words anymore. Could barely think.
Every thrust drove me higher, pushing me closer to that edge I was desperate to reach.
My palms were flat against the tile, my body trembling with the effort of holding myself up.
The healing ribs protested, but I didn’t care.
Nothing mattered except this. Nick was inside me, claiming me, making me his in the most intimate way possible.
His rhythm changed, became more erratic, and I knew he was close. One of his hands left my hip, reaching around to wrap around my cock, and I nearly came undone right there.
“Cum for me,” he growled in my ear, and the command in his voice sent electricity down my spine.
I lasted maybe three more strokes before I shattered, my orgasm ripping through me with such force that my knees buckled. Nick held me up, held me together, his own release following seconds later. I felt him pulse inside me, and heard my name fall from his lips like a prayer. It never got old.
We stayed like that for a long moment, both of us breathing hard, the water still running over us. When Nick finally pulled out, I had to brace myself harder against the wall to keep from collapsing.
“Jesus,” I breathed, turning carefully to face him. “It’s like you’re trying to break me in half.”
“Are you complaining?” he asked, his green eyes dark and satisfied.
I shook my head, leaning against the wall. “Never ever.”
He kissed me then, slow and deep, and I tasted the promise in it. For me, this wasn’t just sex anymore. This was something more, something that terrified and exhilarated me in equal measure. But I wasn’t ready to say it. Not just yet.
When we finally made it out of the shower, after Nick insisted on washing me carefully, his hands gentle on my bruised ribs, I felt boneless and content in a way I’d come to love in the last week. We dried off quickly, both of us aware that we’d taken longer than we probably should have.
“We’re supposed to have dinner with my family ten minutes ago,” Nick said as we dressed, his voice carrying a note of apprehension. “At the main house. Mom’s been asking about it all week, and I ran out of excuses.”
My stomach dropped. Right. His family. The people who still looked at me like I was the enemy, despite everything that had happened over the past few weeks.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I asked, pulling on a clean shirt. “Your mom can barely look at me, and your dad still acts like I’m going to pull out a gun and shoot everyone at the dinner table.”
“I know.” Nick sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. “But we can’t avoid them forever. And maybe... maybe it’ll help. Show them that we’re actually trying to make this work.”
I wanted to argue, to say that his family would never accept me, that this dinner would be a disaster. But the hope in his eyes made me bite back the words.
“Okay,” I said instead. “If you think it’ll help, we’ll do it.”
His expression softened, and he crossed the room to pull me into a kiss that made me forget why I’d been worried in the first place.
“Thank you,” he murmured against my lips. “For trying.”
“I’d do a lot more than have dinner with your parents for you,” I admitted, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
The look he gave me then made my heart race. But before either of us could say anything else, there was a knock at the front door.
“Nick? Dante?” It was Angelo’s voice, slightly muffled. “Mrs. Wesley wanted me to check on you two to make sure you’re still coming to dinner.”
“Thanks, Angelo,” Nick called back. “We’ll be there in a few minutes.”
We heard footsteps retreating, and Nick turned back to me with a rueful smile.
“Guess it’s time to face the music,” he said.
I nodded, already dreading the next few hours. But as Nick took my hand and squeezed it reassuringly, I realized that maybe I could survive anything as long as he was beside me.
Even dinner with the in-laws who hated my guts.
The walk over to the main house was short.
We really only lived a quarter of a mile away or so.
But it felt like stepping into a different world.
The house loomed larger than it ever had before, its warm lights spilling from the windows like eyes watching our approach.
I could smell something cooking—roast beef, maybe, and fresh bread—and my stomach twisted with nerves that had nothing to do with hunger.
So much for the tough mobster persona. Apparently, that didn’t work on in-laws.
“You okay?” Nick asked quietly, his hand finding mine in the darkness between the houses.
“Yeah,” I lied. “Just... preparing myself.”
“They’re not that bad.”
I shot him a look. “Your sister would slit my throat in a second if she got the chance.”
“That was only at the beginning,” Nick said, but his tone lacked conviction. “She’s had time to cool down.”
I wasn’t so sure about that, but I didn’t say anything.
We were already at the porch steps, and I could hear voices inside.
Angelo’s laugh, deep and genuine. Mrs. Wesley saying something I couldn’t quite make out.
And then a woman’s voice that had to be Heather, sharp and cutting even when I couldn’t understand the words.
Nick squeezed my hand once more before letting go, and I felt the loss of contact like a physical ache. We were back to being careful, to maintaining distance. The thought left a bitter taste in my mouth.
He opened the door without knocking, and we stepped into warmth and light and the overwhelming smell of home-cooked food.
The living room opened directly into the dining area, and I could see the table already set with mismatched plates and well-worn silverware.
Mrs. Wesley stood at the stove, her back to us, while Mr. Wesley sat at the head of the table with a beer in his hand.
Angelo was helping set out serving dishes, and Heather was staring at me like she was trying to decide where to hide my body.
“Boys!” Mrs. Wesley turned, her smile bright but not quite reaching her eyes. “We were starting to worry. Come on in, dinner’s almost ready.”
“Sorry we’re late, Mom,” Nick said, moving toward the table. “Got caught up with some ranch business.”
I saw Heather’s eyes narrow, like she knew exactly what kind of “business” had delayed us, and I felt heat creep up my neck. Did she know? Could she tell just by looking at us?
“Dante,” Mrs. Wesley said, her tone polite but distant. “I hope you’re feeling better. Nick says your ribs are healing well.”
“Yes ma’am,” I replied, staying near the door like I wasn’t sure I was actually welcome. “Much better. Thank you for asking.”
An awkward silence fell, broken only by the sound of Angelo setting down a bowl of mashed potatoes with slightly too much force.
“Well don’t just stand there,” Mr. Wesley said gruffly, gesturing to an empty chair. “Sit down. Food’s getting cold.”
I moved toward the indicated seat, hyperaware of every eye on me. The chair was next to Nick, at least, which was something. I sat down carefully, my ribs protesting the movement, and tried to look like I belonged there.
Heather took the seat directly across from me, her green eyes—so much like Nick’s but colder and harder—fixed on my face with undisguised hostility.
“So,” she said, her voice saccharine sweet. “How’s married life treating you, Dante?”
“It serves its purpose,” I replied, trying to play it aloof. Judging by the change in her expression, that was the wrong thing to say. So I quickly added, “But the arrangement seems to be benefiting us both.”
Heather’s eyes flashed with something dangerous, and I watched her jaw clench. “Benefits you both,” she repeated slowly, like she was tasting the words and finding them rotten. “How exactly does it benefit my brother to be your property?”
“Heather,” Mrs. Wesley warned from her position at the stove, but her daughter ignored her.
“No, I want to know.” She leaned forward, her elbows on the table in a way that would’ve earned me a smack from my own mother back in Jersey. “What benefits does Nick get out of this arrangement? Besides keeping the ranch that should’ve been his, anyway?”
I felt Nick tense beside me, and I knew I needed to tread carefully here. One wrong word and this whole dinner would explode before we’d even taken a bite.
“He gets a partner,” I said, keeping my voice level. “Someone who’s invested in making this ranch successful. Someone who—”
“Someone who bought him like cattle,” Heather interrupted, her voice rising. “Let’s not pretend this is some kind of equal partnership, Dante. You showed up here with your mob money and your threats, and you took what you wanted. Just like your family always does.”
“That’s enough,” Mr. Wesley said sharply, but Heather was on a roll now.
“Is it though? Because I’m the only one willing to say what everyone’s thinking.” She gestured around the table. “Mom won’t say it because she’s too polite. Dad won’t say it because he feels guilty. But I don’t have to pretend to like you just because you forced a marriage to my brother.”
“Heather, please—” Nick started, but she cut him off too.
“What? You want me to act like everything’s fine? Like we’re one big happy family now?” She laughed, bitter and sharp. “He’s a criminal, Nick. His family ruins lives. And now you’re tied to him forever because Dad made a stupid deal with the devil.”