71. Kingsley
71
KINGSLEY
A month after we’ve come back to Seattle, Dante and I have settled into a comfortable routine, and he’s even sent some of his suits and ties over to my place in case he ever needs a change of clothes. We meet in the penthouse almost daily for lunch, and by lunch I mean more than just what’s served on the dining table. He leaves his office daily at 6pm and heads to the penthouse, where he lets himself in, unwinds, and orders our dinner. If I’m not already home, I’m usually there a few minutes after him. Even if I’ve seen him at lunch, I can’t wait to see him again for dinner. We spend our nights deep in conversation, or curled up on my sofa, his had moving up and down my legs as we watch something mindless on TV. We eat, we sleep, we shower, and we fuck. Ruthlessly.
Dante dominates me in bed. He’s as ruthless between the sheets as he is in his business affairs. He shoots me a smirk as I sit in the armchair watching him undress. There’s nothing sexier than a businessman with a gun. He can be cut-throat when it comes to business, but he’s also capable of shedding blood when required. He’s taken to carrying his guns across his chest at all times now. It’s hot when he takes off his jacket and his holster is on display against his bulging muscles. Like next level melt your pants off inferno. I never thought I’d be attracted to someone in the life, but I’ve surpassed even my own expectations on this one. And attracted doesn’t even start to skim the edges of what I feel for this man.
My hands fall off the side of the arm rests casually. He eyes me, watching my reaction carefully as he starts to discard his clothes. He removes the guns, then the holster, and loosens his tie. His bedroom eyes undress me slowly. When he pulls the tie from around his neck, he walks toward me slowly and asks for my hands. He takes me back to a time when he handcuffed our hands together, effectively rendering me helpless. I already know where he is going and what he is going to do with this, and I can’t wait. I hold my hands out and he uses his tie to bind my hands together. I comply willingly, the wet patch between my legs begging for more.
He unbuttons his shirt and it falls open, drawing a gasp from my lips. Even with all his scars, I can’t imagine anything more beautiful than this man’s chest that’s built like a beguiling statue. He’s all rippling muscle and corded veins, and I can’t get enough of him. He removes his belt and unbuttons his pants, but leaves the zipper up, giving me another sexy snapshot to tantalise and fray my nerves. He looks around the room, eyes the scarf draped against the lampshade, and retrieves it. He comes back to stand in front of me, holding the scarf in his hands and pulling them apart to tug on the scarf.
I never know what to expect, but I never feel an ounce of fear when I’m with him. For although he’s hardcore when it comes to sex, he’s delicate when it counts. He always… always …gives me an out.
“I’m going to tie this scarf around your eyes,” he tells me.
“Mmhhmm.” I let him know that I’m ready and waiting.
“Your hands will remain bound.”
I moan, my voice literally begging for him.
“I’m going to take away your sense of touch and sight and I’m going to touch and kiss and caress every inch of your body. You’ll be helpless to stop me.” A warning.
“Who says I want to?” I’m panting.
“By taking away two of your senses, all your other senses will be heightened. And so will your pleasure.”
Take. Me. Now. I insist.
“Do you want to play this game, King?”
“I do,” I tell him, my voice raspy. I’m a combustible ball of fire about to erupt.
“Tell me what you want, King.” He tugs at the scarf.
“I want you.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Tie me up and fuck me.”
His nostrils flare and a lock of wayward hair falls onto his face as he surges forward and stands behind me. The scarf comes down around my eyes, not too tight that it is uncomfortable, but tight enough that it puts a veil of darkness across my sight. He pulls my head back until I am pressing into his erection. Every single thing he does heightens the level of pleasure I feel even before we start. He grabs my ponytail and gives it a pull, then moves a hand across my neck and down into my blouse. I am flying in the dark as I imagine what he is doing by feel only, not knowing what to expect. I gasp in surprise as he rips my shirt off me and I hear the metal ting of my buttons as they scatter across the room.
I can hear his breathing, heavy and laboured. I don’t know how far he’ll go tonight, but it’s never been so much from him that I can’t handle the pain. And every single time has been different, a new experience I never considered could surpass the previous day’s one.
“What’s the safe word, Kingsley?” He only uses my full name now if he’s addressing me seriously. Otherwise it is always King. Our safe word is a serious thing. He takes my safety seriously, and he will stop if I tap out.
“Moneybags.”
“Moneybags,” he repeats, and I can feel the smile in his voice. I can feel the swell of lust radiating from him. I can feel him everywhere, even though he isn’t touching me.
“Stand up,” he commands, and I do, stepping away from the armchair.
I feel his warm body pressed against my back as he lowers the sleeves of my shirt down my shoulders, and lets it drop. I hear and feel the zip of my skirt as he slowly unzips it, but makes no effort to remove it from around my waist. Instead, he snakes an arm around my front and cradles my sex in his hands, moving his fingers back and forth slowly.
“Tell me who this belongs to,” he says, and my breath catches in my throat before I can answer.
“All yours,” I tell him.
“Name, King. I want a name.”
He’s commanding and domineering and powerful, and I love it.
“Dante.”
“And who’s Dante?”
I pause. We’ve been together almost a month. Seen and been with each other daily. Lived and breathed one another, and I can’t imagine my life without him. But we’ve never labelled what this is between us. We’ve never articulated what we mean to one another. Quite simply, we haven’t spoken about it. I don’t know what would be the right word to use. But I’m not afraid to get the answer wrong. If I’m wrong, Dante always corrects me.
I settle on “My lover.”
Dante’s hand stills. Only momentarily, for a few seconds, before he pulls his hand away, steps back a few paces, then orders me to lay down on the bed. He takes my hand and guides me, then pulls my skirt off once I am on the bed and starts to suck on the inside of my thigh.