11. Dante
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DANTE
The Viewing Room was a clinical showcase for Gennaro Corporation’s elite offerings.
It was a stage where flesh was displayed behind one-way mirrors for the voyeuristic pleasure of unseen patrons.
I’d performed there countless times, my body the canvas on which an endless parade of clients had projected their darkest desires while they touched themselves in the shadows.
Tonight was a test, presented as a reward. But I knew better. Every gesture of apparent generosity was another potential noose around my neck.
The man waiting on the bed made me pause.
Renato was devastatingly handsome. He was all lean muscle beneath tight jeans and a black shirt that clung to his body.
His face was a study of contradictions. Renaissance masters could have carved his delicate features, framed by dark hair that fell in perfect disarray.
But his golden-hazel eyes told a different story of carnal knowledge and sinful promises.
He was an angel promising the naughtiest of sins.
Men that beautiful were always dangerous in my world. The question wasn’t if he’d be trouble, but what kind and how soon.
I wondered why someone so stunning would need to work in a place like Gennaro Corporation, but I didn’t ask. Everyone had their reasons.
He rose from the bed with fluid grace, closing the distance between us. He took my hand, pressing his lips against my skin while looking up through thick lashes. “Buonasera, handsome. I’m Renato,” he murmured, his Italian accent enhancing the words.
My mouth curved into the start of a smile, performing for Salvatore’s evaluation from behind the glass. “I suppose you think that’s charming.”
“I’m Italian. Of course I’m charming.” His confidence was absolute, unshakable.
Salvatore’s eyes stared me down through the glass, ensuring I performed well with his newest acquisition.
“Show me how charming you really are,” I challenged, my voice dropping to the register that made clients go into debt for me.
“How can I resist such a tempting invitation?” His lips pressed softly against mine, a coaxing touch that gave way to primal heat as he tilted his head for another taste.
His tongue traced the seam of my lips, requesting entry rather than demanding it. Most clients kissed to claim territory. Renato kissed to uncover secrets, pulling involuntary responses from me I couldn’t fake.
The horror of Salvatore touching me earlier faded in the face of Renato’s exquisite skills. My cock hardened, straining against the silk of my robe. I tangled my fingers in his hair, using the grip to guide the kiss while giving the illusion of surrender.
When we broke apart, I inhaled and nearly staggered. His scent hit me like an addictive narcotic. Dark spices, sandalwood, and amber made my mouth water. I followed the scent to its source, trailing my lips down the column of his throat.
His flavor exploded across my tongue, making my blood burn. A wet spot formed on my robe where my erection leaked precum. In all my years working at Gennaro Corporation, I’d never had such an immediate, visceral reaction to a stranger. “What the fuck kind of cologne are you wearing?”
“The kind that will bring you to your knees, begging for another taste of me.” His voice was smoke and velvet, the arrogance in his words backed by absolute certainty.
“Sweet merciful fuck.” I sucked hard at the pulse point where his scent was strongest. My reaction wasn’t part of the performance anymore.
He reached for the tie of my midnight-blue robe with bold familiarity. “If you think that’s enjoyable, wait until my mouth is on you.”
“Prove it,” I challenged.
“With pleasure.” He pushed the robe from my shoulders, letting it pool at my feet. His eyes devoured every inch of exposed skin, lingering on the hard lines of my abdomen, the jut of my hip bones, and the rigid length of my cock. “Get on the bed.”
I moved to the center of the mattress, displaying my body at the angles I knew would be most visible to our audience.
Renato tugged his shirt over his head, baring a torso that looked carved from marble. His chest was broad, dusted with dark hair that narrowed to a trail disappearing beneath his waistband. The light caught on planes of muscle that spoke of strength carefully honed, not for show but for use.
When he unbuttoned his jeans, my dick twitched with interest. He wore nothing underneath, his cock springing free as he pushed the denim down his legs.
It was long, thick, and had a slight upward curve that promised to hit all the right spots.
The head was flushed dark with blood, a bead of precum glistening at the tip.
He knelt between my spread legs, bracing himself over me for another kiss that made my toes curl.
His hands mapped my body with confidence, finding sensitive spots to trace with his fingertips before following with his mouth.
When he reached my nipples, he circled one with his tongue before sucking on it, applying the right amount of pressure with his teeth to make me arch off the bed.
His exploration paused as his fingers found the first scar, a thin white line across my collarbone left by Zhao. It was a mere scratch compared to the damage he had done to my back.
Some clients avoided my scars, uncomfortable with the evidence that I wasn’t just a fantasy but a person who had suffered. But to most, it made me exotic and dangerous. It gave the illusion that I was a perfect whore who could withstand their violence and come back for more.
“Your body tells stories,” he murmured, bending to press his lips against the mark. “This one speaks of survival.”
I tensed as his mouth moved to a jagged line on one of my ribs, carved by a rival captain’s knife when I’d been three seconds too slow escaping a hit that left four men dead behind me.
“So beautiful,” Renato whispered, his accent thickening as he moved to a jagged line across my thigh from one of Salvatore’s earliest lessons in obedience. “Your body is a battleground. These scars are proof you’ve won every fight.”
I grabbed his hair and yanked him up for a punishing kiss, desperate to reclaim control. “Less talking,” I growled against his mouth.
Rather than being annoyed, he leaned into it. “As you wish.”
Occasional sharp nips of teeth kept me grounded in the pleasure, reminders that he was still part of a transaction. But fuck if it wasn’t the best performance of my life.
His hands moved everywhere, stroking my sides, gripping my thighs, cupping my ass to pull me closer. He treated my body like an instrument he was determined to master, learning which touches produced gasps and which drew moans.
“Why don’t you show me what your mouth can do?” I challenged.
Renato slid downward, his hands following the path his mouth had taken. He stroked my erection with torturous slowness, his breath hot against my sensitive skin as he pressed open-mouthed kisses along the shaft. “Fuck, a cock like this is worth getting on my knees to worship.”
Before I could order him to stop teasing, his tongue swirled around the head of my dick. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure up my spine, making my hips buck. He took me into his mouth in shallow bobs before taking me to the back of his throat in a smooth motion.
His mouth was pure sin. Hot, wet, and expertly working me with a combination of suction and tongue with a level of skill I had never experienced before. I threaded my fingers through his hair, not to guide him but to ground myself in the sensation.
The touch made him moan, making the vibration travel through my cock and up my spine. I forced my eyes open, unwilling to miss the sight of such a beautiful man debasing himself for my pleasure. Renato’s golden gaze met mine, full of challenge and hunger.
I’d had thousands of blow jobs in my life, from clients who wanted to please me, from other workers during group sessions, from people who prided themselves on their oral skills yet came up lacking.
But he was the first to make me feel like I was being consumed from the inside out, pleasure radiating from my balls to the very tips of my fingers.
I’d prepared myself before entering the room, slicking my hole in anticipation of what was to come.
Renato took full advantage, sliding three fingers inside me while continuing to suck my cock with unholy skill.
The intrusion burned, my body resisting before yielding to the pressure.
He curled his fingers, searching for and finding that spot that made me cry out.
The dual stimulation overwhelmed me. Each time he swallowed around my cock, he brought me closer to the edge. I fought against it, not wanting it to end yet, but my body had surrendered to his skill.
When he let me slide deep into his throat and curled his fingers, I lost the battle to resist. My back arched off the bed as I came harder than I had in years, Renato’s name torn from my throat in a shout that wasn’t performative.
He swallowed every drop, his throat working me to completion. When he pulled back, he made a show of licking me clean for our unseen audience. His fingers continued their merciless assault on my prostate, sending aftershocks of pleasure through my oversensitized body.
“You moan my name so beautifully,” he said, his voice rough from taking me so deep.
“It’s easy when you have such an exceptionally talented mouth,” I replied, the words coming out more honestly than I intended. My body felt boneless, ecstasy still humming through my veins.
“That’s not all that’s talented. Shall I show you?” His fingers twisted inside me, making me gasp.
“Please,” I moaned, the wantonness in my voice only partly for show. I needed to feel him inside me, needed to know if the rest of him was as intoxicating as his mouth.
He moved up to brace himself over me once more, his weight a delicious pressure. The hard length of his cock pressed against my thigh, hot and insistent. “Who could resist you?”