2. Dante
CHAPTER TWO
DANTE
Shaw trembled beneath me as I stroked his thigh. Countless sarcastic remarks hovered on my tongue, but the fragility in those beautiful green eyes silenced them. I had no interest in breaking his spirit.
“Yes,” I said. Four years of watching him from across classrooms had taught me patience. Four years of imagining him beneath me while I serviced people who disgusted me as my adoptive father’s collar tightened around my throat.
Shaw pulled his dark green sweater over his head. His skin prickled as my gaze moved down his chest to the tent in his black briefs. I’d deliberately left them on when removing his pants to avoid scaring him off by moving too fast. The longer I dragged things out, the more he’d crave it next time.
I had undersold how frequently I fantasized about dominating him.
He had been my mental escape during sessions with my most vile clients.
I dealt with corrupt politicians who liked to hurt me, wannabe dominatrices who beat me like they wished they could beat their husbands, and rival Mafia captains who fucked me for information they’d never get.
I’d survived by replacing their faces with Shaw’s, imagining our verbal sparring matches ending with him begging while pinned under me.
But I didn’t want him in the brothel owned by Salvatore Gennaro, the man who called himself my father, with surveillance recording every moan.
But men in my position didn’t get to choose.
We took what scraps fell from the table and called it a feast while plotting to burn the whole fucking house down.
I placed a kiss on his inner thigh. His muscles tensed beneath my mouth before his legs spread instinctively, a natural submissive despite his stubborn exterior.
Perfect. I ran my hand up his opposite leg, calculating my approach.
The mental catalog of ways I’d imagined breaking him down to whimpers was extensive, and now I could test which ones made him shatter fastest.
“Dan—ow!”
My teeth sank into his thigh before my name fully escaped his lips. “What did I tell you?” I warned. Using my real name inside the brothel walls was dangerous. Salvatore used information as currency, and Shaw’s knowledge would give him leverage I couldn’t afford.
“You didn’t have to bite me.” He crossed his arms, his mouth settling into a pout. His full lips would look better stretched around my cock, but that fantasy would have to wait until I could take him somewhere private.
“Relax. I didn’t leave a mark.”
Shaw’s eyes tracked every movement as I stood up to unbutton my pants, sliding them down to showcase what made me the brothel’s top earner.
He couldn’t look away, his gaze zeroing in on my prominent arousal.
“Move back on the bed,” I ordered.
He hesitated, then retreated without comment, watching warily as I approached. I pressed him into the silk sheets, claiming his mouth more aggressively. His response came quicker, as the forbidden nature of our encounter stripped away his inhibitions.
I braced my weight on one hand, letting the other wander down his torso. I cataloged each reaction as intelligence to be weaponized later. When I kissed one nipple and then caught it between my teeth, his hips bucked against mine, seeking friction I deliberately withheld.
“Dan—damn it! Stop biting me!”
“Then quit calling me that.” Dragon was the persona I created to survive, the hard shell that endured while the real Dante retreated somewhere Salvatore couldn’t reach.
But until I could free my younger brother from Salvatore’s grasp, I had no choice but to serve as a sex worker in the Mafia’s den of sin to clients whose money fueled the Gennaro empire.
When silence answered me, I moved to his other nipple. I blew across the wet skin, watching goose bumps rise on his chest. The contrast against my paleness highlighted his life of freedom out against my years indoors servicing New York’s elite.
I trailed kisses down his stomach. His body was a temple I intended to desecrate. I traced his right hip bone with my tongue before nipping him.
A broken whimper tore from his throat when I repeated the action on the left side. His hips lifted off the mattress, begging me to strip away his last defense. I dragged the fabric of his underwear down over his thighs, savoring his frustration.
I wrapped my fingers around his cock, pleased to discover he was larger than expected. My night kept getting better.
Self-consciousness flashed across his face. “What?”
I said nothing, teasing him with ghosting touches that promised everything and delivered torment.
“What are you—” He broke off with a gasp when my thumb circled the tip, spreading the slickness gathering there.
“Oh, I’m so going to enjoy this.” He shuddered at my words. I increased the pressure but maintained a slow pace. Time was the only thing Salvatore couldn’t control within the brothel walls, and I intended to maximize every second with Shaw.
My free hand moved to his inner thigh, fingers trailing upward. He tensed, his hand shooting down to catch my wrist.
“Wait,” he said, his voice tightening. “I don’t want to go all the way.”
I paused, studying his face. The flush of desire remained, but he refused to let go of my wrist. Most people who paid for my services expected everything I could give and more. Shaw’s hesitation made me wonder if he was less experienced than I’d assumed. Perhaps even completely inexperienced.
“Would you rather fuck me?” I offered.
Shaw’s eyes widened, and a deeper crimson flooded his cheeks as he looked away. His fingers twisted in the sheets, his jaw working around words he couldn’t say.
“What do you want to do, then?” I asked.
He shrugged, still unable to meet my gaze. “I don’t know.”
“We can do whatever you want. I could suck you off.”
He nodded after a moment’s consideration. “I guess that’s okay.”
I licked a slow path up his erection. He whimpered when I took him into my mouth, a sound I’d replay later during sessions with clients whose touch made my skin crawl. I forced his legs wider, guiding his knees over my shoulders to allow better access.
His breathing grew labored, but his fight for control was futile. Older, more brutal men had crumbled under techniques Salvatore had forced me to master.
It wasn’t enough. I wanted to obliterate Shaw’s self-restraint. I swallowed him to the root until my nose pressed against his pelvis, triggering a strangled curse. I constricted my throat, and his cry bounced off the walls.
Shaw arched, his fingers sliding into my hair.
Unlike the clients who yanked and controlled, treating me like rented property, his grip was gentle.
The sudden contrast made something clench in my chest I thought Salvatore had carved out years ago.
I hummed around Shaw’s length, and his hips thrust upward.
After servicing men twice his size, nothing triggered my gag reflex anymore.
It was one of the many skills Salvatore had beaten into me.
I cupped Shaw’s balls, stroking the sensitive skin behind them until he broke into pleas.
My tongue worked along the underside of his shaft, tracing the prominent vein before swirling around the crown.
I varied between slow pulls and quick suction, never letting him settle into a predictable pattern.
His thighs trembled against my head, his stomach muscles contracting with each sharp intake of breath.
I slid one hand up his chest to roll a nipple between my fingers, and his back arched off the mattress. The dual sensations overwhelmed him, his cock throbbing against my tongue as I pressed the flat of it hard against the sensitive spot just below the head.
“I’m close,” Shaw gasped, his fingers tightening in my hair.
I hollowed my cheeks and took him deeper, humming to send vibrations through him. When he came with a sharp cry, I swallowed every drop, milking him while his hips jerked with aftershocks.
Pulling back, I licked the traces of him from my lips as he struggled to catch his breath.
My instincts screamed to flip him over and bury myself inside him, but the surveillance cameras in the corners remained Salvatore’s constant reminder that nothing in the room was truly mine, not even my own body.
The last person who had caught my genuine interest had disappeared.
The authorities found pieces of him washing up along the East River for weeks.
Raphael had paid for my mistake with bruises that took forever to fade, with cigarette burns that left permanent scars.
My younger brother’s screams still haunted my nightmares.
Shaw stretched, muscles flexing as he basked in the afterglow. He caught me watching him and quickly looked away. The ease of the moment vanished, replaced by a defensive tension.
Instead of fucking him like I was dying to do, I gestured toward the bathroom. “Come on.” The water would muffle our conversation from the microphones, giving us a reprieve from the surveillance.
He followed me into the black marble bathroom, another of Salvatore’s vulgar displays of wealth built on blood money and human trafficking. I turned on the water, testing the temperature before stepping beneath the spray.
Shaw joined me, his gaze uncertain as he waited for instructions. He fidgeted, entirely unsure of what to do with his hands.
I stepped closer, running my hands down his back to his ass, fingers digging into firm muscle to pull him against me. After enduring him watching me in class, it was the ultimate indulgence to touch him without worrying about his friends ruining everything.
His eyes widened as he brushed against my erection. I expected him to jerk away, but he surprised me by reaching out to touch my chest. His fingers traced a jagged scar along my ribs from a client who had paid extra to use a knife.